Two women stood side by side on the crowded walkway. No one seemed to pay them any mind, which should have been the first thing to tip him off. For these ladies to be out at such a time of night, unchaperoned? Quite unusual, but it wasn't his place to point out such things to strangers. That'd be rather bold of him would it not? To make such presumptions. For all he knew their escort was on his way to meet them, or perhaps he's lagging a few paces behind. To give them some privacy so they may converse more freely. He's aware he's staring at this point, if they caught him they'd assume the worst. That he was some rude, uncouth scoundrel, fully intending on causing them harm. When that couldn't be farther from the truth. Mr. William Pratt was just admiring their contrasting beauty. Like the sun and the moon, the two ladies across the road couldn't be more different. The woman on the left had hair as dark as the night itself, with skin as ethereal as a beam of moonlight. Her full billowing white dress was a mesh of lace and frills, it was as though Selene herself had rode her chariot down from the Heavens to grace the mortals of this world. Where as the woman on the right had hair as light as the day itself, with skin as effulgent as ray of sunshine. Her sleek shapely black dress appeared to be made of satin and chiffon, like Electryone herself also decided to float down from above to bless everyone with her presence. She was the one who called to his very soul the most.




Someone knocked into him from behind as they were bustling past, William stumbled. Thankfully righting himself before he could go careening into the road. He would've surely been trampled by a carriage if that were the case. He moves to glare at the offending party, only to find them long gone in the sea of passersby. Returning his attention to the Goddesses across the way, he notices that they've suddenly disappeared. He frantically searches for them, only to come up empty. He realizes he must look like a madman, people are certainly staring at him like one. Face reddening in embarrassment, he mentally scolds himself for being so foolish. He hurries home, hoping Mother isn't too worried by his less than punctual arrival. She isn't, or if she is, she chooses not to mention it. Instead choosing to remind him of a party he promised he'd attend the following night, in hopes that Ms. Cecily Addams would be there. He of course didn't state that as his reasoning, he'd never hear the end of it otherwise. His mother's been adamant about how he should confess his feelings to Ms. Addams. He admits the notion is quite romantic, but wouldn't that be too forward of him? He'd loathe to ambush her in such a way. He's hesitant, strangely enough even more so after seeing those mysterious women. He considers mentioning them in passing, but thinks better of it. There'd be no point to it after all. He doubts he'll ever see them again, unfortunately.




He chastises himself for fantasizing about multiple other women, when his heart belongs to another. After a cuppa tea with his frail mother, and a promise from her that she'd retire for the evening very soon, he moves in the direction of his bedchambers. His nerves are on end, and he fully expects to not receive a wink of sleep that night. Yet he surprisingly sleeps like the dead. He dreamt of the sun and moon on opposite ends of the sky. Day and night met in the middle, right where he sat on a grassy hilltop. He somehow knew he had to choose a side, he couldn't live in both worlds. The night was alluring, but his heart tugged him in a different direction. To the day, the light. Having made his choice, he stood, only to be pulled from his slumber. Back into the real world, where things made much more sense. Two completely different times of day existing in the same place? How preposterous and fantastical indeed. The remainder of his morning and afternoon was that of a boring and typical nature, predictable and repetitive. Evening fell and he had changed into more appropriate and formal attire. He joined his mother in the drawing room, deciding on entertaining her with his poetry before having to take his leave. She once again pushed him to confess, even read his poetry out loud at the party. He internally cringed at the idea, he already knew what his peers thought of him and his writings.




He'd be embarrassing himself in front of everyone. Of course if it would mean he'd win Ms. Addams' affections, he'd read his entire notebook to the crowd. Instead he decided to pitch the idea of reciting one of his works to his love in a private corner of the room. His mother was ecstatic, congratulating him on such a marvelous idea. He refrains from chuckling out how it was all her doing he even came to such a conclusion in the first place. She'd surely keep him well over time by singing his praises to boost his confidence, and that wouldn't do. Being punctual was very important, and something he prided himself on. You could say whatever you liked about William, but you couldn't deny that he was never one to be late. He thinks it's a redeeming quality that sets him apart from the other gentlemen. All his other qualities could arguably be called, less than ideal, at best. He kisses his mother on the cheek before insisting he must be on his way. The carriage was already waiting for him out front. The coachman was privy to the gathering's address, so they wasted no time in such formalities. They reached the estate at a reasonable and timely fashion. He ducked into the building, trying to avoid as many people as possible. If he were lucky, no one would even know he was there except Ms. Addams herself. That was why he was forced to make an attendance after all, for her. He slipped into the drawing room and tucked himself into a chair in the corner.




Deciding to work on an unfinished piece of his to pass time. Maybe he'd even choose to recite this particular one to Ms. Addams when the right moment arose. He tries not to associate the line about 'raven colored clothes' to his mystery woman- the mystery woman. She wasn't his, and although he wasn't a gambling man, he'd bet all the pounds in his wallet he'd see neither hide nor hair of her for the rest of his days. His brain doesn't get the message, and all he can picture is her standing there. Amongst the lamp posts, hoards of people, and cobblestone. Her presence somehow so striking in the busy setting, while everyone else blended into the background. She was absolutely glowing, glistening, effulgent... That's it! The perfect ending to his poem! 'Inspired by your beauty, effulgent.'. He pushes aside the tinge of guilt he feels once he realizes he just wrote a piece about a stranger, instead of the lady he had hoped to court. It's not like Ms. Cecily would know the difference, or maybe she would? Maybe her knowing gaze would pierce his, and she'd see right through him. She'd see him, and know he was lying through his teeth if he claimed she was his muse for tonight. That'd be all too cruel of him. He lets out a discontent sigh. He'll just have to choose one of his other writings for the occasion, one of the many that're about her. He doesn't know why on Earth he feels disappointed. Or why he formed a rather quick attachment to a poem he's just finished, but it feels special for some reason. Perhaps because the woman who inspired it is special herself.




He was so lost in thought, that his tormenters manage to sneak up on him without his knowledge. The group of ruffians snatched his journal from his hands, he let out a cry of surprise. "Hey! Give it back, please.", he weakly pleaded as he jumped to his feet. Edwards pushed him away as the group eagerly manhandled his book. "Easy there, Pratt, we just want to have a little look-see. Don't we fellows?", Hughes laughs while holding the notebook out of the owner's reach. William's embarrassed, angry, and fearful. Bloody Hell! What if they tear out the pages as another form of mockery? What if they run to Ms. Addams, already knowing who his poems are intended for, and steal his confession right out from under him? What if they tease her about it? He makes another lunge for the journal, causing the men to laugh harder as they hold him back. Which they don't have much difficulty doing, he wasn't exactly the strongest. Or very strong at all for the matter. While his peers went out hunting, playing cricket, and lord knows what else, he had better things to do. He stayed inside his own personal library. He read, wrote, and painted on occasion. Not that his interests could help him at a time like this. "Careful! The ink is still wet.", he chided as the men took turns pointing at his latest work. Judging by the expressions on their faces, they don't think too highly of it. He can't say he's too surprised, brutes like them wouldn't get something as soft and meaningful as the poems he produced.




He knew his pieces weren't any good, but poetry isn't always about the words. They're about the feeling behind them. It was then that Ms. Addams made an appearance. "Cecily.", he murmured dreamily as she glided past everyone. He was entranced, yet also simultaneously damning his luck that he'd be in her presence unprepared. If he could only get his notebook back. "Cecily! You must come read the rubbish Pratt's been cooking up! William The Bloody strikes again!", Edwards shouts. The poet in question shrinks in on himself. Bollocks, he wishes the flooring would splinter open from beneath and devour him whole. She can't hear his poetry, not like this! Especially not THAT one! His frightened stare briefly locks onto hers. She doesn't look too pleased. She must be mortified, being accosted from across the room by a gaggle of men. "I have no interest in such things.", she primly states. She turns around and continues her intended route. He doesn't know whether to feel relieved or hurt by such a dismissal. He attempts to shake it off. That was simply her refusal to stoop to their level, she's not like them, and neither is he. They're cut from the same cloth, he's sure of it. They'd make an excellent match he thinks. "But you do agree don't you?", Hughes presses on. She stops once again, her patience clearly running thin. He prays he won't be the one to incur her wraith later on. "What exactly am I agreeing to pray tell?", she huffs.




William's tempted to grab the book from Hughes' unsuspecting clutches while he's distracted, but fears he wouldn't be fast enough to get away. That wouldn't give Ms. Addams a very good impression of him either. So he settles on the action of sulking in place as he's waits for this Hell to be over with. "That Pratt really should get a new hobby. How he thinks anyone could possibly like that drivel is beyond me.", Edwards jokes as he breaks away from the group. The rest of his lot laugh, all except for the butt of the joke himself. He catches Ms. Addams trying to dampen a grin as the berk reaches her. His heart sinks as the wanker grabs her hand to bestow a kiss upon it. That was what he was supposed to be doing at this very moment! "That isn't very nice to say you know.", she lightly points out. Edwards just grins at her, she doesn't push the subject. "I'll catch up with you fellows later, yes? Ms. Addams here owes me a dance or two.", he boldly calls from over his shoulder. Why the nerve of that tosser! To just assume- to not even request her dance card- OWES?! To his shock and horror she bats her lashes at him all while smiling. She should be furious, and offended, and plenty of other not so pleasant things! "Just two?", she asks coyly. The men around him let out cheers and wolf whistles, stirring up quite the ruckus really. Not that anyone seems to bear them any mind. Their lot could bloody well get away with murder if they so wished. "Hand over that dance card darling, and I'll sign my name on every line.", Edwards promises.




He cannot fathom what he's seeing, what he's hearing. That wanker is making a pass at his Cecily, and she's allowing it! No, not allowing, encouraging. Does she- is she in love with him? She giggles as she's handing him her card. Gleefully watching on as his bully scratches his signature under every song, claiming every dance as his own. Claiming her as his own. The message clear as day, she was never William's, and he never stood a chance. It takes every ounce of self control and willpower for him to not burst into tears and flee the building. He can't let on how deeply the unspoken rejection's gotten to him. He won't give any of these pillocks the satisfaction or ammunition to further lay torment to the rest of his days. Edwards whisks his former love off to the ballroom. His heart is on the floor, crushed from where Ms. Addams has stepped upon it on her way out. Like smelling blood in the water, the sharks circle back. "Well don't they make such a fine pair. Pretty soon we'll all being addressing Ms. Addams as Mrs. Edwards.", Abrams predicts. Oh God, so it's official then. She's his intended. He must've told the chaps about his plans, or maybe he's been telegraphing them so plainly while William's had his head in the clouds. Well, buried in his notebook would be a more accurate comparison. "That aside, I do believe we were in the middle of witnessing Pratt's failure to put together a single good-", Hughes attempts to steer the rest of his gang back on track.




He's cut short when in a swift motion, the journal of discussion is ripped from his palms. William just about falls over and contracts the plague once his gaze follows everyone else's. It's that woman from the other night, his Electryone. He can't be buggered to correct himself that she's not his, not when she's standing right in front of him, holding his notebook. Wait a tick, holding his- oh bloody Hell! He's done for if her stunning green eyes skim over the pages. He realizes he's being quite irrational, in that she'd have no way in guessing some stranger was writing poetry about her. Yet fear grips him all the same and refuses to let go. She gracefully shuts the book with care, as if it were her own. He'd sag in relief if it'd go unnoticed. Stepping around the other men, she stands before him. He feels unworthy to even dare to be in the same room as her. She's wearing a different dress this evening, a similar silhouette, but in baby blue and white. Her golden locks are in a complicated updo. She's a vision, she reminds him of a sunny day with just a few clouds scattered across the sky. He opens his mouth to speak, to do anything at all other than stare at her like a complete ponce. His throat is dry, no sound comes out. She returns his journal to him, he gratefully pockets it. "Th-thank y-you, um, Ms., erm?", he somehow manages to sputter out. She giggles as her entire face lights up. He falls in love with her on the spot. Glancing over he sees those horrid men, no further than a foot or two from them, watching on in amusement.




Clearly waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop. For her to rebuff him, for him to make an even bigger fool out of himself. He's sure they're just biting at the bit, all too eager to ask for her dance card. To see who's the lucky fellow that will best capture her interest. The thought makes him madder than he has any right to be. "Elizabeth, Elizabeth Grim, and you are?", Ms. Elizabeth introduces herself as she offers him her hand. He bows as he gently grasps said hand in his own to place a light kiss across her knuckles. Elizabeth, what a beautiful name. It's quite fitting he thinks. Her last name is rather odd, but she does have an American accent. It makes sense that her surname would be just as exotic. He rises as he allows her to retract her hand. He immediately feels cold at the loss of her searing warmth. He almost thinks she would've burned him if they remained in contact for a second longer. "Ms. Grim, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I'm William Pratt.", he says in return. This is fine, formalities, he can barely manage such. She smiles at him, and his heart just about gives out as his face warms. Or perhaps not. "Oh the pleasure is all mine Mr. Pratt. My sister and I saw you the other day on the street. I hope you don't find me terribly rude for running off before introducing myself then. It was dark, and we had to get home before we were missed you see.", she apologizes. He's completely dumbfounded and stupidly hopeful.




She noticed him! She noticed him, and she wanted to meet him. No one ever gives him a second glance unless they need someone to poke fun at. Though he has this gut feeling she's not like the rest of them, she almost has this otherworldly feel to her. A Goddess among mere mortals indeed. He wonders what she could have possibly seen in him that would warrant such a response. "Not at all! That is, I um, understand com-completely. You n-needn't express any um re-remorse for n-not rushing ac-cross the road and uh dodging c-carriages for, erm, me.", he nervously rushes to reassure her. For a split second he regrets not fleeing the estate while he had the chance. His peers are having a right laugh at his expense as he helplessly flounders in front of this charming young woman. It makes him question if this hasn't been some elaborate prank, that Ms. Grim is a friend of theirs. All too eager to kick a man while he's already down. He's not too sure his already broken heart could deal with another unspoken rejection. Her smile never falters as she reaches around and wordlessly hands him her dance card with a small pencil. His eyes widen marginally. She surely couldn't mean to- that is- why? "I don't suppose you'd consider sharing a dance with me?", she shyly offers. His tormenters stop laughing, and he's sure they look just about as shocked as he does. He'd sooner believe that vampires exist, rather than someone like Ms. Elizabeth would crave his company in such a way.




This is a bold move on her part. If he didn't know better he'd almost hope she was making a pass at him. "Well I um, that is, of course I- it'd be my honor Ms. Grim. Uhhh, which dance would you- do you have a preference in? I don't mind- I ummm-", William prattles on until she leans into his space. The air leaves his lungs and he chokes as Ms. Elizabeth hovers over her card. "I'd love for you to take them all, only if you want to of course.", she clarifies. He's certain he's heard her incorrectly. ALL of them, every song? Surely she wouldn't want to waste her entire night entertaining the likes of him. He doesn't think many could stomach even a single dance with him. Yet here she is, with an adorably hopeful and yearning expression on her face. He knows then in that moment he couldn't deny her, not just in regards to this. No matter what she asked of him, he'd try his damnedest to provide her with what she needed. He was completely and utterly in love with this woman, with Ms. Elizabeth. He candle he once held for Ms. Addams paled drastically in comparison to the torch he bears for her. With a nod and trembling hands, his cursive covered the entire rectangle. As she took the card and pencil from him, she bore a smile that could turn winter to spring. In a forward, and borderline improper move, she took his hand in her own. Intertwining their fingers before leading him towards to ballroom. He heard the gits behind them uttering scoffs of disbelief.




For a moment it feels like he's finally bested those barbarians, and then a wave of guilt washes over him. Ms. Elizabeth isn't a tool to be used in such petty games, that wasn't his intention at all in the first place. She wasn't a prize to be won, not that there was any trying by his opposers. Most likely since the assumption he'd get no where with her was an unspoken fact, or it was supposed it be. That wasn't what he was trying to accomplish, and he knows he'd have fallen for her all the same if they were the only ones in that drawing room. That he would've allowed her to lead him anywhere regardless of external factors. They reach the ballroom as the beginning strings of the next song ring through the air. He doesn't bother scanning the floor for Edwards and his intended, he doesn't bloody well give a damn oddly enough. His Golden Goddess rushes to bring him to the center of the festivities. Her enthusiasm is quite contagious, he can't stop himself from smiling at her. Nor would he want to, not when she's looking at him like there's no where else she'd rather be. She rests her free hand on his shoulder as he tentatively places his free hand on her upper back. He takes the lead, raising their joined hands and beginning the waltz. "I must admit, I'm all too pleased to be away from your friends.", she says conversationally. He guffaws at her boldness and at how much he shares the same sentiment.




He's sure that outburst has earned him a few disdainful glares from nearby couples. Yet again, he doesn't feel too bothered by it. Being in Ms. Elizabeth's comforting presence seems to have emboldened him. "I wouldn't really call them friends, but yes, I can see why. I do hope being in their company wasn't too off-putting, and if it was, I can assure you I'm nothing like those blighters.", William firmly states before he could think better of it. He eyes widen as soon as he realizes his mistake. Here he was, claiming to be of a better breed, while in the same breath using a term like 'blighters'. She must think him a fool, a hypocritical pompous fool. He starts to apologize, and is fully prepared for her to leave him there all alone mid dance. He'd deserve as much after all. Instead she stops him by giving his shoulder a light squeeze. Her eyes are alight with mirth, not at all distressed. "I know you're not William, you're a good man, I can feel it in my soul. You needn't censor yourself around me you know. I've heard much more scandalous things come out of my father's mouth.", she giggles. He feels his heart skitter as soon as his name leaves her lips. He's never heard a sweeter sound. He's more than delighted to know she doesn't think the worst of him after his slip up. She leaves his arms as he twirls her around in time to the swell of the music. She sounds so sure of his character, can she see him? For all that he is, for all that he can offer? For all that he'd be willing to do in the name of love?




She returns to his embrace, it feels like that's where she was always meant to be. That his entire life has been leading up to this moment in time. Has been leading up to her: his mystery woman, his Electryone, his destiny. "I'm flattered you think so highly of me Ms. Grim. I-", he starts to respond before she intercepts him. "Elizabeth, please, call me Elizabeth.", she breathes out. Her gaze is desperate, as if she's waited forever to hear him speak her name. He briefly recounts their interactions so far, and realizes he's only ever addressed her by her proper title. Though who could blame him? This was their first meeting, and he was a gentleman brought up right by his dear mother. He considers reminding her how inappropriate that'd be given the circumstances, but his resolve crumbles as he's lost within the depths of her spring green eyes. How could he even dare to go against this effulgent creature's wishes? "If that is what you want, Ms. Elizabeth.", he finally agrees. She looks at him in awe, and another emotion he's too fearful to name. Not wanting to risk calling upon his bad luck with the fairer sex. "It is, but that's not all I want.", she informs him. She piques his interest. He wonders what other unorthodox requests she might have hidden under her skirts. He dips her as the song comes to a close. Holding her there in that intimate moment before the next number begins. He brings her upright before stepping back.




"What else does your heart desire?", he questions. She curtsies to match his bow, he takes her hand in his, and they start the mazurka. She waits until his hand has returned to her back to speak. "You.", she utters. It's due to his years of ballroom training that he doesn't stumble and step on her shoes. He must've gone completely mad, that's the only feasible explanation. The maid came to fetch him this morning and he was incoherent, probably blabbing about the sun and moon to boot. She'd have sent for the doctor, maybe he gave William a strong sedative and this is all an elaborate dream. Or perhaps he was too far gone and they hauled him off to the asylum. His mother too frail and gentle to do anything but watch on in horror as he was taken from her. "Forgive me, Ms. Elizabeth, but I believe I must've misunderstood.", he apologizes with a red face. If she didn't think him unworthy before, she certainly would now. For even daring to-. Her hand leaves his shoulder in favor for his back as they closely circle each other. "Oh no, you haven't. You're what my heart desires. I felt it the moment I saw you on the streets, my soul called to yours. You felt it too, didn't you?", she reiterates. They switch arms and rotate in the other direction. He can't believe- does she really? She couldn't- and yet? He's elated, in disbelief. He could only ever hope that in his dreams she'd return his affections, but for her to confess?




To describe the same pull from deep within he experienced that faithful night? It was like something out of a fairytale. He looked at her with all the love and admiration he dared to convey. "Of course I did, Elizabeth.", he reverently whispered. Her expression reflected his as they stopped spinning. Once again only connected by one hand each, repeating the beginning steps over again. "You're why I attended this party, I knew you'd show. I wanted, no, NEEDED to meet you tonight.", she explains herself. William's surely grinning like an idiot now, but he can't help himself. She came here for him! She chose him, out of every eligible bachelor in London. She wants him, not Edwards, not Hughes, not bloody Abrams, but HIM! He's all too giddy. He's half a second away from saying sod the rules of etiquette, and taking her into his arms for a kiss. The rest of the packed room be damned. He feels loved, and wanted, and accepted, and seen. Really seen, for the first time in his life. "I will be forever grateful that you did, and I will spend the rest of my life ensuring the happiness of yours. If you'll let me, Ms. Elizabeth, I would very much like to court you.", he brazenly throws out there. They interchange hands and his once free one is now on her back. She gives him courage, he finds. Gives him the courage to say how he feels without room for his usually awkward verbal stumbling. "I'd rather you went ahead and married me instead.", she counters.




He thinks maybe being around him loosens her tongue as well. This was all happening rather fast, and dare he say, rushed. He should feel panicked, under pressure, maybe even suspicious of her intentions. A woman was proposing to him during their first proper meeting. He once again entertains the notion of being strung out on sedatives somewhere. "We hardly know each other.", he points out. Sure they get on now, but what about a few years down the line? Hell, how about a few months? She could end up hating him by the end of the week. "What does that matter? We've got forever to spend learning what makes each other tick. Look not with your mind, but with your heart. You're IT for me, we fit together perfectly. You were made for me, William. You're my destiny, our souls are intertwined. You must feel the same. Please, tell me you do.", she pleads. Her hand falls to his back, they turn in sync. His eyes have gone misty. No one's EVER looked at him the way she does. No one's EVER said such poetic and heartfelt things to him. They switch hands and move counterclockwise. "Oh my dearest, my love, my Elizabeth. You have no idea how much you mean to me already, how much you make me feel.", he chokes out. THIS is all he's ever wanted, all he's ever craved, her. "But I do, because I feel the exact same way about you, my William.", she promises. The song ends, and she leads him from the ballroom.




"Where are we going? I thought you wanted me as a partner for all the dances?", he asks in confusion. Had he done something wrong already? Perhaps she's tired and needs a temporary reprieve. "I'm afraid we don't have time for that, my love.", she tells him just as they reach the drawing room. He warms at the pet name, a sure sign that she does indeed love him as he does her. The lads are still gathered around, in similar spots to where they left them actually. William's surprised they haven't hunted down any unsuspecting women to hang off their arms while they trade stories. "Do you have an early day tomorrow?", he worries. He'd loathe to keep her after curfew and be the cause of her exhaustion the next day. "I-", she starts before those dastardly men catch wind of them. They're all too happy to greet them, motioning for the pair to join the group. He dare not refuse, less he wants to be labeled as a rude man by society. Elizabeth lets out a huff as he regretfully walks them over. "Aren't you two still supposed to be dancing?", Abrams asks with a wicked grin. It's just his luck these twits would still be sober enough to remember the slight scene his Elizabeth caused by requesting his presence for the entire night. "I hope Pratt here didn't make a fool out of himself and you on the floor.", Hughes adds on with a laugh. A laugh that the rest of their lot join in on. He winces, his Golden Goddess frowns. "Of course not, William's a wonderful dancer. It's just that it's getting late, and my sister and I must catch the early train tomorrow. So my dearest here will be accompanying me back to the inn we're staying at.", she explains.




William himself tries not to frown at the thought of her leaving London so soon. He for some reason assumed she was a new resident to the area, not that she was just passing through. If she's really- then what happens to them? What happens when she toddles off to her new destination? She spoke of forever, she was supposed to be his forever.. Her hand squeezes his, he forgot she was still holding it. As if she's read his mind, she gives him a look that conveys her intentions, he relaxes. They can always write to each other until their inevitable marriage. Then he'll move her into his- their estate, and they'll be together again. He's so wrapped up in everything that's her, that he fails to register the astounded looks his tormenters are passing around. "Pratt ol' sport, you don't mean to tell us that you're already courting Ms. Grim here.", Hallewell pipes up from the rear. That brings him back to himself. He's the center of attention, and as per usual, he doesn't like it. He looks to Elizabeth for direction. He'd hate to air out their personal plans so soon if it's against her wishes. She nods at him while wearing that blindingly beautiful smile of hers. He falls in love with her even more, if such a thing were possible at this point. He was already deeply entrenched to begin with. She isn't ashamed of him, and he's proud to even be standing near her. "Ms. Elizabeth's my intended.", he states with his chin up. Challenging anyone to question his decision or her sanity.




His bullies' jaws hit the ground at the revelation, and probably at his use of her first name. "You can't possibly be-", Hughes begins to brush off. "Serious? He most certainly is. Now, if you'll pardon us, gentlemen. We must be off, we bid you all a good night.", his Electryone finishes for the man. William laughs as she hustles him out of the house. More than amused at how easily she shut that lot of berks down. His lady really is something extraordinary. "Is your carriage still on the estate?", she quickly prompts. Oh, right, they were meant to be in a hurry. He nods, briskly walking over to the attending butler in order to request for their transportation to be brought around. Stressing that they were in a hurry to get back, seeing as Ms. Grim had an early morning train to catch. The man complied, his coachman appearing a few moments later. Elizabeth ran to him then, and at that point he was starting to get a bit concerned. "What inn are you staying at?", he wearily asked. He's being put under the impression that she's more so fleeing from something rather than racing with the clock. Unless it's both. What if she's in trouble with the law? Or avoiding an abusive family member? "I'm not.", is all she responds with before climbing into the carriage. He pokes his head inside, about to make his confusion and worry very much known. She looks at him desperately, it frightens him.




"Elizabeth-", he begins. She shakes her head. "Take us to your home. I'll explain everything later, or on the way if we have enough time.", she insists. He heavily sighs before instructing Blakeley to take them to his own estate. He wordlessly clambers after his intended, sitting next to her just as they take off. They're touching, it's improper, he's past caring about any of that at this point. Besides, he's more concerned about her well being than what their peers would think if they could lay eyes on them in this moment. "How long do we have?", she questions. He turns to look at her, she's looking out into the night. "Until we've arrived?", he clarifies. She nods, but doesn't face him. A dreadful feeling starts to overcome him, he forces himself not to panic. That wouldn't help either of them. "Not terribly long, thirty minutes.", he relays. She lets out an unladylike snort, he finds it charming. "I think your version of long and my version of long are two completely different things.", she quips as she finally turns to look at him. Even in the dark her eyes still shine, she still shines. He takes her hand in his. "My dear, please tell me what's troubling you so. I'm sure we can deal with it together, whatever it may be.", he reassures her. She smiles at him before taking a deep steadying breath. "I'm not so sure you'd believe me if I told you.", she humorlessly barks. It's his turn to shake his head. "I trust you, and I trust that you'll be honest with me about this.", he says earnestly.




She manages a half smile in his direction as she shakes her shoulders. It appears she's as nervous as him. He's not sure how good of a sign that is. "Do you know what happens when you die?", she asks. He's momentarily taken back. Out of all the things she could've uttered from those perfect lips of hers, he didn't expect that to be one of them. "Well, death is a tricky thing. Who's to say what kind of afterlife may or may not be awaiting us when the time comes? I'm afraid I'm not very knowledgeable on the subject, seeing as how I'm still among the living.", he responds. He wonders what's brought this on before stopping himself. She surely has a point she's getting to, that apparently ties into the absence of life. Has she a family member or close friend who's passed? She doesn't seem to be in mourning, so it would've been nearly a year ago or longer if that were the case. "I do, I know what happens.", she solemnly states. He can't help but quirk his brow at her. How could she possibly claim to know such a great unknown? She is very much alive after all, and William's not completely sure he buys into the idea of things such as ghosts either. "If you're a bad person, when you're about to die, the Soul Eaters come for you. Nasty things they are, corpses that float around in tattered black cloaks. They gobble up your soul just as you pass, and turn you into one of their own. Then they drag you back to Hell with them, and you spend eternity feeling hungry and hollow. Never to feel a moment of peace, happiness, or satisfaction ever again.", she continues.




He finds himself intrigued by the yarn his Elizabeth's spinning. It of course sounds like a load of rot, a fantastical fairytale you'd find in some imaginative work of fiction. Yet she speaks so frankly, concretely, as if this was a known fact to her. He steels himself, she did warn him that he'd have a hard time processing this. Whatever in fact 'this' turns out to be, he'll show her the support and trust he promised he would. Worse case scenario's that she's a bit barmy, and needs a visit from the doctor to get herself sorted. He'd wait for her recovery before continuing to court her if that were the case. However long she needed, he'd grin and bear it. The alternative of losing her by acting like an arse, wasn't an option he was even willing to consider. "So what happens to the good people?", is what he ends up going with. He's knows it's the right move when she smiles at him, looking a lot less stressed than she did mere seconds ago. "If you're a good person, when you're on your last legs, a Grim Reaper will come to see you. They're special souls that've been chosen by other Reapers, to lead normal souls to their final resting place. They'll capture your soul in a bottle, and bring you back to Heaven with them. You're released into a sort of waiting room. Someplace where you don't have form, time doesn't matter. You feel warm, complete, finished, and safe. You somehow know that everyone you love is alright, and you can rest now. You stay there until you're ready to move on. Then you join all the other souls in this beautiful perfect version of the world, where you live happily ever after for all eternity.", she explains.




He's surprised, impressed, and really thinks his lady should take up writing in her spare time. "What does this have to do with you, darling?", he patiently inquires. She doesn't answer him right away. He thinks she must be choosing her words carefully, or rather searching for something to connect her rapid strings of thought together. He has that very problem at times. So much to say, and so many accompanying feelings, that his parchment remains blank as the ink drips from his quill onto the wooden desktop. "Once, a very long time ago, there was only a sole Grim Reaper. The Master Of Reaping, or Master Grim, as he later took to being called. He lived all alone in this palace, right at the edge of Heaven. He sat upon a throne and used his powers to draw all the good souls from Earth into the Waiting Room. He wasn't allowed to leave his home, because his powers were channeled into this giant crystal ball. It grew out of a tree that sat five feet off of the ground, and several feet from his throne. All was fine for a while, until he sensed a disturbance. Soul Eaters, they were wreaking havoc on the Mortal Plane. Devouring souls fresh from their bodies before Master Grim had a chance to save them. He was at an impasse. If he left the palace the crystal would stop collecting souls, but if he stayed there more and more benevolent beings would be lost in Hell. Twisted into the monsters they were never supposed to be. So he placed his hands on the crystal, and injected all the energy he could into it. Hoping that it would be enough to keep the object sustained while he was away.




He felt the crystal engrave something into his palms, it was the infinity sign. Rather fitting if you think about it. That became the symbol of his specialty, being able to reap any good soul, no matter the age, gender, etc. He teleported all over the Mortal Plane that same night. Gathering souls into bottles, and tucking away those bottles into the safety of his satchel. He couldn't stay away from his estate for very long, it wasn't sustainable, but he was able to save so many beings this way. It was never enough, yet better than nothing. He did this for centuries. All until 1589, the year that everything changed. He came across a younger man named Luke, and he instantly felt a connection. Their souls called to one another. This stranger felt like family, he felt like a son to Master. Luke was a special soul, a Reaper, he just didn't know it yet. Realizing what this meant, he tracked the younger man down the next night, and explained everything. Who he was, what their connection meant, and he made him an offer. Come back with him to his mansion, and fight the good fight with him. If Luke accepted, Master would become his father, and he'd become Luke Grim. Fate's a tricky mistress, and that being so, this was a limited offer. You'll only ever meet a Reaper once for a couple of days, if you're lucky. The second time is when your soul is being raptured into a glass container. He had to make a decision that night, before Fate ripped them apart and Master was teleported to some other part of the world.

So Luke did what felt right, he accepted. Master brought him home, and presented him to the crystal. He placed his hands onto the magical object, and it bequeathed to him the powers of a Reaper. Burning into his palms a cross, his specialty being retrieving the good souls of religious individuals. The palace became his home, but unlike his father, he wasn't bound to the estate. He could stay on Earth for much longer, which lessened Master's burden. The original Reaper was quite happy with the turn of events. He felt as if half a hole he didn't even realize existed, was filled. He knew that meant he had another child out there somewhere, and that one day Luke would get a younger sibling. That day was twenty years later, in 1609, when he stumbled upon an ill Darla. He felt the familiar telltale sign of their souls intertwining. He approached the young woman the following night, and much like with Luke, explained the situation. She also accepted, becoming Darla Grim. She too stood before the crystal to receive her powers. She bore the mark of a bitten apple on her palms, her specialty being collecting the benevolent souls of sex workers. Her father felt content, complete. He could tell that meant he wouldn't find any more children, and he was fine with that. More than grateful for the two he now had. It was just the three of them for a long time, and while the siblings were happy, they were incomplete. Missing pieces of themselves they didn't know were lost.




They expressed this to their father, and he reassured them there were children made for them, as they were made for him. They just hadn't found them yet. So they waited, and one hundred and forty-four years later in 1753, Darla Grim bumped into an intoxicated Liam. She was confused, this intense bond she felt couldn't be mistaken for anything else, he was made for her. Yet he didn't feel like a son. She didn't think such a thing were possible, Master hadn't taught her what to do in a situation such as that. So she fled, returning to her home in frustrated tears, regaling her family with what happened. Her father wiped away the moisture gathered on her face. Told her she was correct in that Liam wasn't her son, but in fact her intended, her soulmate. Her other half meant to fit her perfectly. She was thrilled by the news, her brother was a tad jealous, and Master marveled at how his family was growing in ways he hadn't expected. He urged her to go to him the following night. Reveal her intentions and his destiny, should he agree, as her father had done. She heeded his advice and did just that. He agreed without hesitation, and was welcomed into the family as Liam Grim. His palm marks were that of a drop of blood, his powers and specialty lying in gathering the worthy souls of tortured victims. They got married in the palace a week after his Reaper ceremony.




Luke thankfully didn't have to wait too much longer for his own soulmate, twenty years later in 1773, he met Cordelia. So of course he raced home in all his excitement and informed the others of the new development. With all their support, he set off to do what his sister had already accomplished, bringing back a new family member. His intended ended up being a bit of a tougher sell than the more than eager Liam, but as Luke outlined the finer details of his occupation she became interested. It helped that the pull of their connection was hard for her to ignore as well. He succeeded, and she was hence forth known as Cordelia Grim. A crown adorned her palms as her specialty was to pluck the benevolent souls of leaders. As per the new tradition, they'd wed a week later. The siblings' spouses now too felt the previously unnoticed void being filled, but only partially. They were waiting for their children to be found, as these children would be made for them just as much as they were made for Darla and Luke. It was 1840, sixty-seven years later, when Darla finally found her first child. A daughter named Elizabeth. She wasted no time in taking the girl aside. The girl was skeptical, naturally, until she witnessed her mother bottle a soul. That did it for her, looking at the glowing being inside that jar. Knowing the person would be safe and cared for all because of a Reaper. Knowing she could save souls too if she embraced her fate, made her follow Darla to her new home.




Where she was embraced by her new family and calling. They proudly watched on as she accepted her gift from the crystal. Her palms were branded with an hourglass, and her specialty was saving the virtuous souls of the elderly. Elizabeth Grim was where she belonged, and the hole in her parents' hearts was halfway filled up. It seemed that they would indeed have another child. Twenty years from then, in 1860, Liam would come home with Elizabeth's younger sister. A clairvoyant woman named Drusilla. She foresaw her father's retrieval of her, and complied before he even uttered a sound. Drusilla Grim was given a doll on her palms, her specialty being whisking away the pure souls of children. Her parents' hearts were full, their part of the family was complete. It was expected that Luke and Cordelia would have to wait anywhere from between half to a full century for their children. Elizabeth and Drusilla didn't even think to worry about soulmates and children, assuming it'd be their turn in a few centuries. So they pushed away the ache that settled deep within themselves. Until the most amazing thing happened. It was 1880, only twenty years later, and the girls were in London. Saving beings from Eaters, you know, the usual. While traversing through the city, they saw a handsome young man on the opposite street corner. Elizabeth felt a tingle go up her spine, the pain in her chest lessened.




A lone soul called out to hers in the night, an indescribable deep connection formed. He was her soulmate. He was made for her, and she loathed having to leave him there for now, but there were still souls in the area to reap. You can imagine the family's surprise at the news, but they were happy for her. Fate was the one pulling the strings after all, and if her aunt and uncle had a problem, it wasn't with her. So the next night she dressed up, and crashed a party. Gave a sweet poet his book back, and asked him to dance. They may have only shared two wonderful dances, but Elizabeth was already in love with William. She doesn't think a stronger bond between two people could possibly exist, and that's why she's deeply terrified he won't come with her when she's asks him. She's terrified that in a few hours she'll have to say goodbye to you. That no matter how much time will have passed from then on, I'll always have a piece of myself missing. So please, my love, believe me. Believe me, and love me enough to stay with me. To become a Reaper, to become William Grim.", Elizabeth narrates. William stares at her blankly, with wide eyes. No words, he has no words. No thoughts even, except that if she took up a pen name and published that story of hers she'd be famous. He doesn't know whether to call her brilliantly creative, completely off her bird, or both. She wilts under his unmoving expression. She seems to tear up at the thought of him rejecting her.




Something inside of him fractures, he feels like a right git. He blinks a few times. "Can you, pro- show me?", he hoarsely pleads. He wants- no, NEEDS, to believe her. That he's fallen for some equivalent to an angel, instead of an escaped asylum patient. Would that make William himself over the bend barmy, if he actually sees her produce some sort of proof? She tersely nods before ripping her hands away from his own. Had he been holding them for the duration of her story? He hands feel cold and empty now as they drop into his lap, boy is he buggered. She holds her hands out in front of herself palm up. They're blank, he feels sick. She closes her eyes, and a glowing emblem of a sodding hourglass breaches the skin of her palms. He gapes at her like a fish out of water. If she's gone completely carrot top, then he's right there with her. She opens her eyes just as they arrive at his home. Blakeley opens the door for them. Oh, right, they're in a carriage. He numbly climbs out, and doesn't turn around as he hears her feet hit the gravel. He bids the coachman a good night before the man pulls away. What in the bloody Hell was he supposed to do now? How is he supposed to make such a monumental decision in the span of a couple of hours, if they even have that much time left? He can't live without her, he knows he can't. The thought of doing such for the rest of his days feels like a knife to the heart, but to leave Mother and everything he holds dear behind?




"I haven't the slightest clue what I'm to do about all of this, but I believe you, for what it's worth.", he finally says to her. She's standing beside him, she doesn't look too happy, but she isn't crying anymore at least. "It's worth an awful lot actually. Getting you to believe me was half the battle.", she sighs. The answer to this predicament seems so obvious doesn't it? As if there would be any other choice than her. He's sure there are books and parchment in Heaven. He certainly wouldn't miss being teased and ridiculed by all of London, but he would miss her should she depart without him in tow. It's his mother that's the kicker of this. She couldn't possibly live all on her own, regardless of the staff under their employment. Not that she'd have the funds to employ anyone if he left. It'd be too selfish of him to abandon her at a time like this, while she's stricken down by consumption. Yet wouldn't it be selfish of him to break Ms. Elizabeth's heart? To doom her, from what he understands, to remain unwed and alone as her sister and future cousins marry and have children. All because he was too stupid to make preparations. Ensuring that if something were to suddenly happen to him, his mother would be looked after until the end of her days. If only he had the time to make such an arrangement. They walked up the path to the front entryway in silence, stopping just short of the door. "If it were just me, I'd join you in a heartbeat, but my mother..", he trails off.




He can't find it within himself to actually turn her down. This is excruciatingly painful. He'd honestly rather be taken out into a field and shot dead. "Oh.", she chokes out as she turns away from him. Bollocks, why does the Universe hate him so? It looks as if she's about to disappear into the night, he panics. He reaches for her, urging Elizabeth to face him once again. She can't go, he won't let her! She looks so stricken, he hates himself for being the cause of her pain. All his life he's wanted someone to love, and to have someone love him in return. Now that he has it, he's just going to let such a precious thing slip through his fingers?! "Please don't leave me, I just need a little more time to figure something out! Who will- my mother- but I want, I so desperately want..", he frantically whimpers. Her face softens immediately. She understands, he hopes, that she owns his whole heart and very soul. To be without her.. He might as well be reduced to one of those Soul Eaters she mentioned earlier. Unhappy, empty, hungry, never satisfied, and in Hell. That's his fate if he ends up losing his Golden Goddess. "I see what you want.", a female voice calls out to them. William's startled, he lets go of Elizabeth and whips around to come face to face with that other woman, his intended's sister. "Drusilla, whatever are you doing here?", his lady peaks out from around his shoulder to ask. Huh, Drusilla, seems like a fitting name for the young woman in front of him.




She laughs, it reminds him of bells tinkling. She seems to ignore Ms. Elizabeth, focusing in on William instead. She takes a step towards him, her hypnotic stare freezing him in place. "You want something glowing, and glistening. Something, effulgent. You want the Sunshine, you want, her.", she tells him before looking over at the object of his affections. She speaks as if she's entered his mind, made sense of what she's seen, and crawled back out to relay her findings. It's slightly disturbing, yet also oddly comforting. If those two feelings are even capable of coexistence. The sisters survey each other while he's stuck in the middle. One looks curious, the other looks certain. "How did you-?", he begins to question. "Drusilla's clairvoyant, if you'll recall.", his Electryone reminds him. He makes a sound of acknowledgement. He's never met a clairvoyant individual before. Hell, he was positive such abilities were all talk and folklore until Ms. Elizabeth opened his eyes. Now that he's aware, her all knowing hazy gaze is less daunting. "You do want it, don't you?", the dark plum asks. Her attention is still fixed solely on him. The simple question seems to have a deeper layered meaning, at least that's how it feels. Like something's tugging at his innards, scraping against his brain, all in pursuit of the absolute all encompassing truth. "Yes, God yes.", he groans out. She smiles at him with both rows of teeth. It comes across as quite childlike and innocent.




He wonders if that's why she's the only one in her family so far that specifically goes for children's souls. Because her own soul is just as pure and wholesome. It seems like such a bold assumption to make, but looking at her now, he can't picture her as being anything other than. He hears a gasp, it's his Elizabeth. She slides in front of him, blocking Drusilla. It snaps him out of his stupor. "Does that mean you accept?", she prompts with wide eyes. He did agree just then, didn't he? His mind flashes to his poor mother. His mother, who's always rooted for his happiness above all. Who's wanted him to settle down and get married for years now at this point. His mother, whom if she were standing with them right this moment, would encourage him to live his life. To go be happy and in love, bugger anything else. It's then he realized what her sister was doing at his estate without invitation. She was there to help him come to terms with his answer, the only right answer there was. "I do.", he confirms. Ms. Elizabeth's smile is so bright and radiant, he's halfway convinced the sun's decided to come out in the middle of the night to shine down on them. Without warning, her hands are cradling his face, and her lips are pressed to his. The world stops spinning, all the clocks in the world stop ticking. There's only her, everything else falls away. He lets out the most desperate moan at he pulls her flush against him. She's so warm, her touch scorching, she's burning him up.




She's in his head, his heart, his soul. Her essence surrounds his body, she's all he can ever remember thinking about. He's drowning in her. When she finally pulls away from him, his mouth chases after hers. That one kiss wasn't enough for him, he's not sure he'll ever get enough of her. She gives in, until someone clears their throat behind her. His face reddens to the shade of a tomato once he remembers they have an audience, his intended's little sister no less. Yet here he was mauling Ms. Elizabeth right in front of her, right in front of his home! Why, if any of the staff decided to open the grand doors for any reason- goodness! He really did lose himself in her. He lessens his steel grip on her before taking a step back. "I apologize profusely Ms. Drusilla. I didn't mean to subject you to such an intimate display.", William expresses. His lady takes up her place at his side again, interlocking her hand in his. "Oh don't worry about her dearest, she's seen worse from our parents.", his Golden Goddess brushes off. Well that sounds horrific in its own right. When he was younger, he had never bore witness to his parents- and thank God for that. He must admit, his future sister in law doesn't look the least bit disturbed. "Yes indeed, that's not why I interrupted. The pendulum's about to stop swinging, can't you feel it?", the inquiry is directed at the wonderful woman beside him. What on Earth- how would you be able to sense if a clock broke down somewhere, and how is that relevant to the current situation?




"Who is about to- OH MY GOD!", Elizabeth loudly exclaims. Her sister's odd words are immediately forgotten. "Love, what's the matter?", he asks with unease. She drops his hand, moving to rip the entrance of his home wide open. "Come! We must hurry, while there's still time!", she urges before bolting inside. Drusilla's quick on her heels as William brings up the rear. Lagging behind for a few seconds due to him shutting the doors behind them. They dash past concerned maids, going up the stairs to the second floor. He doesn't have time to be confused about what the devil is happening, not when the ladies are making a beeline for his mother's chambers. "Oi! You can't just barge-", he starts to object. The protest dies on his lips as he hears one of the most extreme coughing fits, to ever erupt from his soft spoken mother's mouth, fill the room. Someone closes the door after him, he's not sure who at this point. All he knows is that his mother didn't look nearly this ill before he left this evening. She's laying in her bed, taking ragged short breaths. Her skin is sickly pale and covered with a thin sheen of sweat. Her eyes appear sunken in. All of it combined puts the fear of God in him. He's at her side in an instant. "Mother! Mother, it's me, William. I'm here, what's happened? Have you taken your medication? Have you rung for the maids? Of course you haven't, if you did they would've sent for the doctor by now. The doctor! I'll ring for him right now, don't you worry, we'll have you feeling better in no time.", he distraughtly babbles.




He storms across the room, very much in a hurry to reach the telephone. "William.", someone tries to gain his focus. "What?!", he snaps at whomever thought to interfere at a scary time like this. That someone comes into his field of vision, it's Elizabeth. He instantly feels like a right git for being so harsh, but she's wasting precious time that his mother might not have! Something in her gaze makes his blood run cold. Out of the bottoms of his eyes he sees something glowing. He looks down, it's coming from her hands. He grabs them, quickly turning them over to see those blasted hourglasses in full glow. She's wearing a satchel, she didn't have one earlier. He feels horribly ill, like he might pass out or throw up. He drops her hands, backing away from her. Moving to protectively stand between his mother's bed and her. He's shaking his head as she cautiously approaches. He's crying now, she looks apologetic. "No, no, please, not her. ANYONE but her, it can't be her time yet! SHE CANNOT DIE!", he wails. His pain is her pain, she looks as broken as he feels. She doesn't want to do this, he can tell, but she has to. It's her duty, and if she doesn't, his mother becomes a Soul Eater, a monster. Either way, she's going to die tonight, and there's nothing he can do to save her. He's sure Elizabeth would've already called upon the doctor for him if it would do any bloody good. She wouldn't hurt him like this if there were another way. He already accepted her proposal after all, his mother wasn't keeping him here anymore.




The hands of Fate are an absolute bitch. "I'm so sorry William.", she apologizes as she's fishing a glass carboy out of that damn bag of hers. He falls to his knees and buries his head in his hands. He can't watch, he simply cannot survive the sight of his mother's death. Drusilla hauls him to his feet. She's rather strong for someone of her small stature. "Now now, none of that. There's still time for a goodbye, she'd like that, Ms. Edith said so. She'll be happy to know you'll be looked after.", she soothes. He feels like an inconsiderate wanker. Worried about his own fragile heart, when his mother's the one about to take a trip to The Great Beyond against her will. The least he could do is make her final moments on Earth good ones. "My insightful sister's right, and you must remember; her body may fail, but her soul will live on for eternity.", Elizabeth provides some additional comfort as they make their way over to his mother's bedside. She's not coughing anymore, but she looks very weak. That fit must've taken a lot out of her. He hopes that she'll fall asleep before it happens, that it'll be painless. Then she'll wake up in Heaven's Waiting Room, before moving right along to her rightful place among those other nice souls. Maybe his father will be there to greet her. He valiantly tries to clean up his face, he doesn't want her to worry about him one bit. When she finally notices them, and seems coherent enough, he gently takes one of her hands in his.




"Hello Mother, I have returned from the party. Earlier than I originally intended I admit, but for a very good reason. There's someone I'd like you to meet.", he starts prior to placing her hand in Elizabeth's. She looks surprised but pleased. Well, as surprised and pleased a person can look while on their death bed.. He quivers at the thought before shaking himself out of it. Hold it together ol' chap, don't think about the d-word, he reminds himself. He has to remain strong, for her. "Well hello there my dear, don't you look lovely. I'm Mrs. Pratt, but you can call me Anne.", his mother croaks out. Drusilla produces a glass of water from somewhere, he nods at her gratefully. He holds it for his mother as she gulps some down. "It's very nice to meet you, Anne. I'm Elizabeth Grim, and this is my sister, Drusilla Grim.", his Golden Goddess introduces. Her sister takes the glass back from William as his mother gives said sister a warm smile. "I feel rather lucky, to be surrounded by such young beautiful faces. What's the occasion?", she flatters. Translation, why did he spring surprise guests on her in the wee hours of the night? Instead of inviting them over for a cuppa tea the following afternoon. "Ms. Elizabeth and Ms. Drusilla are catching the early morning train tomorrow and will be out of town. Do forgive me, we didn't mean to ambush you and I know this is sudden-", he scrambles for an explanation.




"Sudden yes, and if I'm being completely transparent, a bit jarring. Though there is nothing to forgive William. I'm touched you were so eager to show me off to your new friends.", his mother jumps in to joke. He can't help but laugh at her attempt to lighten the mood, even when she surely must feel like Hell itself. "Actually Mother, the reason this couldn't wait is because Ms. Elizabeth is so much more than that.", he gently corrects. She moves to sit up, the girls help her while he nervously wrings his hands. What if she thinks the engagement is too sudden? It is of course, out of the proper context, but given the circumstances he'd say it's right on track. It'd mean the world to him if he could get her blessing before- he just really wants her approval. "Oh, and what exactly is Ms. Grim to you, Son?", she asks with an unmistakable gleam in her eye. It seems as though she already approves of a courtship at the very least. He places a hand on his beloved's shoulder, she smiles encouragingly at him. She does that a lot, and he very well needs it. They really are a perfect match. "She's my intended.", he declares. His mother lets out a cry of joy, or relief. Since it's him he'd wager it's a mix of both. She looks back and forth between the two of them, as if to ensure this wasn't a cruel joke on their part. Her eyes are glassy, he thinks she's in danger of crying. "Oh my son, my darling boy, congratulations! You have no idea how happy this news makes me, and how proud of you I am!", she emotionally cheers.




William embraces her out of impulse and knowledge that it's the last chance he'll ever get to do so. As soon as they part his mother beckons Elizabeth closer, she complies. "You take good care of him, alright?", she tells her future daughter in law. His Electryone strongly nods without hesitation. "I promise you, your son will be loved and very well looked after for all of eternity. I will do everything I can to ensure his happiness.", she swears. His mother smiles fondly at her. She lays a hand on his lady's cheek. "That's all I could ever ask for.", she whispers. She lets go as she worms her way back into a horizontal position. "It's time.", Drusilla pipes up from her place beside the nightstand. He clamps a hand over his mouth to choke back a sob. He looks away, hoping to hide his distress. "You look tired, it's okay for you to rest now. We'll take care of everything.", Elizabeth suggests. His mother's struggling to keep her eyes open. "Yes I, do suppose I rather am, quite, knackered.", she mumbles. She closes her eyes, her breathing slows even more so . "Goodnight, Mother. I'll see you in the morning, I love you.", he tells her as he's placing a parting kiss on her forehead. Her chest stops rising and falling. His dearest opens that bottle she had on standby. The hourglasses on her palms bathe the entire space in a warm light. There's a mauve colored glow emanating from inside of his mother's chest. His intended places the mouth of the container against her heart.




The glow from his mother is slowly vacuumed into the glass, the sight is mesmerizing. He can't bring himself to look away, or to shed a tear even. How could he when the entire room's awash in a calm peacefulness? When Elizabeth's done everything dims, the only thing left glowing is his mother's soul. She gently tucks away the precious cargo into her satchel. She then wearily turns to him, as if she's fearful of his reaction. Does she think he'll be rather cross with her for something that was out of her control? He very easily could be, to air out his frustrations on her if nothing else. What a horrid thought. He takes her into his arms, caressing her golden hair as she nuzzles into him. "Does bottling a soul always feel like this, tranquil and reposeful?", he voices his curiosity. She draws away from him to take his hand. "For me at least, seeing as I tend to the elderly. After a long life full of ups and downs, this is a release for them. You were feeling what her soul felt as I removed it from her body.", she explains. That makes him feel marginally better, knowing in some sense his mother got the relief she'd been craving ever since she was diagnosed with consumption. Ms. Elizabeth guides him to the door. Not pushing nor dragging him along, but letting him leave behind this chapter of his life at his own pace. Ms. Drusilla's following them, he doesn't particularly notice. "Where are your bedchambers located?", his love asks.




His face reddens at the thought of his intended standing in the middle of his room so late at night without a proper chaperone. He realizes they're well beyond past such things, but his upbringing simply won't stop nagging at his consciousness. "T-this way.", he awkwardly directs them down the hall. They breach his room without further comment. "Do you trust me?", Elizabeth brings forth from out of no where. He's momentarily taken aback by the abruptness of the question. "Of course I do darling. Have I given you a reason to think otherwise?", he answers regardless. He hopes he hasn't done anything to suddenly put her off. Though seeing as she witnessed his inferiority among his peers, he doubts there's much more he could do to ruin himself in her eyes. She smiles while shaking her head, he swears the area around her got brighter for a moment. She opens her bag, digging around for a moment before pulling out an empty bottle. This didn't look like the one she used for his mother. This one looked rather ornate, as if a miniature tree had grown around the glass. "Lie down on the bed.", she instructs. He complies, although with a slight reluctance. He has no idea what she needs a soul sucking container for, but seeing as though there's only three people here including herself, he has a sneaking suspicion it has something to do with him. Does she plan on leeching his soul from his body? Surely not, he's alive after all, and nowhere near death.




It feels rather odd, laying on top of his blankets in full dress. It was better than the alternative of course, changing into sleepwear and tucking himself in while the ladies were present. His Golden Goddess approached him, palms once again gleaming. He's sure his eyes were comically wide, but he made no move to jump out of bed or shuffle away from her. He said he trusted her, and he was a man of his word. It's when she started to climb onto the piece of furniture he was currently occupying that he attempted to voice his concerns and confusion. She softly shushed him, whispering reassurances of how everything would be all right and no harm would befall onto him. He believed her, he couldn't do anything but believe her. He couldn't even properly process the grief he was trying so hard to compartmentalize, or the overwhelming amount of love he was being showered with. Both emotions were blurring together. He supposes it's only fitting for the two feelings to be so tightly intertwined. As the saying goes, grief and love are sisters. Woven together from the beginning. Their kinship reminds us that there is no love that does not contain loss, and no loss that is not a reminder of the love we carry for what we once held close. He's jarred from his thoughts when he feels the weight of something settling against his waist. Elizabeth's straddling him. If this was the way he kicked the bucket, he has no complaints.




Yet he clenches his jaw all the same, fighting against the urge to remind her how inappropriate such an intimate action was. Fighting even harder against the primal urge to clamp his hands on her hips, and grind her down over his erection that had formed as soon as she sat on him. He feels like a bad bad man. Her intentions aren't to seduce him, he should be ashamed of himself. She gives William a heated look as she places a steadying hand on his stomach. All thoughts of being even remotely ashamed get tossed out the proverbial window as his eyes glaze over. She leans into him as she places the special glass over his heart. "I love you.", Elizabeth reminds him. A red light surrounds them, it takes him a moment to realize he's the source. "I love you too.", he tells her as that calm peaceful feeling from earlier returns. He feels a slight tugging sensation before everything goes dark, almost as if he's fallen asleep. Though not quite, he's conscious, in a way. He feels warm, and safe. He can't move his body, which makes him wonder if he still has one. He couldn't tell you how much time had passed. It could've been as little as a few seconds, or as long as a few decades. All he knew was that suddenly, he was standing in front of his intended. Very much not in the bed he 'fell asleep' in. They were no longer in his house, or inside any building for the matter. The sky was like a watercolor painting, blotted with pinks, oranges, and even yellows. Fluffy white clouds moved at a leisurely pace.




His Elizabeth absolutely glowed, even more than usual, in this lighting. They stood in front of an impressive estate. Complete with winding pathways, pristine fields of grass, towering trees, and babbling fountains. The mansion itself had to be at least three to four floors high, made out of what appeared to be white marble. "Where are we?", he questioned. He heard Drusilla's melodic laughter before she appeared at his beloved's side. "Silly William, we're home now.", she informs him. Right, home, his new home, in Heaven. Or was it the edge of Heaven, was there a difference? Not that he gave a damn either way, the only thing he cared about was the gorgeous girl in front of him. He couldn't help himself, he darted forward. Claiming her in a fervent kiss. She eagerly reciprocated, gliding her fingers through his hair. He was a groaning mess as soon as she touched him. His hands were anchored to her waist, fearing to move them to a place she wouldn't approve of. Not knowing what would be considered too far. She lets out a huff before reluctantly attempting to pull away. He lets her, though he's quite unhappy about it. "There's no need to get pouty, sweetie. After your Reaper ceremony you can kiss me all you like.", his love promises. She wraps herself around one of his arms before leading him towards his future. Her sister hooked an arm through his free one and walked in step with them. He's sure they made quite the picture. Why, if those sorry sods from back h- from London could see him now.




He was received by the rest of the family with open arms, and the ceremony went off without a hitch. His symbol wasn't one of the more on the nose types, like Elizabeth's Aunt and Uncle's, a crown and cross respectively. It was a heart with a smaller one resting inside of it, the smaller tilted at an angle ever so slightly. A circle each for just above where the tops of both hearts sat. The image as a whole represented a mother holding a child. He nearly cried at the realization that his specialty was bringing peace to the gentle souls of mothers. He shared a room with his intended that night. Her room, which would soon become theirs, as it didn't feel right to lay claim to her bedchambers just yet. He waited until a week later, when they were properly married, to make that distinction. William took to being a Reaper rather well, his habit of being punctual definitely served in his favor. He was soothing and caring with all the mothers he assisted. He treated them as he would've Mrs. Anne Pratt. He stopped calling her Mother after he was welcomed into the fold. In his heart she would always be his birth giver, and he would always love her as dearly as he did when they were both still among the living. Though she was not a part of his life now, nor was he in hers. As a Reaper, you're cleaved from your old family and thrusted into a new one. Darla was his mother now, or mother in law if you wanted to get nit-picky. He was the talk of the house for a while.




Turns out you're the most fascinating thing on Earth- erm, in Heaven, when you're new. Makes sense, seeing as it takes a couple of decades at bare minimum per family member. That, and aside from the souls they reap, they've no one else to converse with. It also turned out that this lot was the most supportive group of individuals he'd ever met. If you had a talent or passion for something, this family made sure you had the materials needed for it. William loved reading poetry and other literary works. He was gifted an entire section in the ever expanding library on the second floor. Everyone had a shelf or two with name plates to indicate what volumes belonged to whom. Though to have a doorway to an adjoined room just off to the side, filled to the brim with more book space than he knew what to do with at the time, with his name on it? That was a gift, that was special. He wrote poetry, he was provided with many different types of paper and writing mediums. The ladies of the house even liked his poetry! When the schedules allowed it, they all sat around him as he recited his works, new and old. Elizabeth's favorite was the one he wrote about her the night he accepted her proposal. The men of the house would sit in a time or two as well, it made him feel about ten bloody feet tall it did. That never changed, even when twenty years later in 1900, he wasn't the young pup of the pack anymore. So to speak of course.




No, Drusilla's soulmate Daniel held that title as soon as she presented the fellow with a proud, 'look what I found'. The slim built, calm and collected ginger had prayer beads for a symbol and monks as a specialty. Uncle Luke was awfully chuffed about it. If he were still the insecure man he was before he met Elizabeth, he might be inclined to feel threatened and inadequate. The way his wife looked at him, made him feel like a God amongst mortals, a king amongst commoners. He was her world, and she was his. He could never feel out of place as long as he had her, luckily for him. It seemed that with the growing world population, the need for more Reapers became apparent to the Universe and Fate. 1920 was when good ol' Uncle Luke came strutting in like a peacock with his new daughter in tow. A buxom brunette named Faith, who's gaze wandered too much for anyone's liking. She got an opened cardboard box plastered on her hands, poor bird, and her specialty was the homeless. That was probably the worst marking so far out of everyone's, not that he'd risk his hide by saying so. Then like clockwork, in 1940 Aunt Cordelia arrived arm in arm with their second kid. A bubbly blonde called Harmony, she walked a fine line between being annoying and amusing. She got a briefcase and deals with lawyers. So needless to say, she isn't taking as many souls as the rest of them. From that point it was safe to say that every twenty years they were housing a new member under their roof.




The family was abuzz when 1960 rolled about. Ol' Batface was looking into some renovations for the place, as if four stories wasn't bloody well tall enough. They weren't crowded yet, but rooms were starting to feel a bit less spacious. Like for mealtime and the sort. Everyone else was placing wagers on whether the fresh meat was gonna be a soulmate or a child. They got their answer when his smug cousin Cool Girl strong armed some confident bloke, Robin as he later learned, into the building. His father in law owed him eleven pounds. Faith's soulmate got a hair bow slapped on his palms, ironically enough for a bald guy, and spends his work hours herding teenage birds. A bit of a red flag if you asked him, but the chap wouldn't be a Reaper to begin with if he harbored any ill intentions. By 1980 the palace was sitting at a whopping five stories, they had to have an elevator put in the joint. Much to the insistence of the girls, they also now sported a pool out back. You'd swear this was a hotel instead of someone's home. A bratty bint who went by Kennedy, Harm's new wife, was sure appreciative. Was glad they gave the place an upgrade before she got there. It figures Harmony would manage to reel in someone who's maybe even brattier than herself. Kennedy had a gun of all things seared into her flesh, and loves playing drill sergeant for all the soldiers she bottles. He hasn't the damnedest clue what's going on at that side of the family, but he's pretty sure whoever put that lot together was very stoned when they did it.




Now here's where things really started to go off the rails. All of a sudden, twenty years wasn't long enough, and Fate was way too trigger happy with it's bleeding red string. Everyone just about shit themselves when in 1990 Oz brought his and Dru's daughter Willow home. Her lit candle symbol and specialty being wiccans had her father beaming with pride. The shy redhead had the elders up in arms, assuming this meant more deaths were on the horizon. They feared the Mortal Plane was starting to get out of control. They just couldn't catch a break, could they? Not that they had any say in it, that wasn't where their abilities lied, preventing death. That was the one absolute, the one solid thing that was out of anyone's control. At least the Universe seemed to have more than a single functioning braincell, and knew the Grim family was about to be seriously understaffed. The year 2000 had Dru presenting their second kid, Alexander. That sarcastic twit came away from his ceremony with glowing hard hats and a yen for boxing up construction workers. 2010 came and they got a basketball court, along with Spike and Buffy's first daughter Willamina. When his wife came home that night with an adorable young lady skipping behind her, he felt his world shift. He was a father now, and he didn't hesitate in scooping up his girls to twirl them around the room due to his excitement.




Once he got a better look at her, he realized she looked just like him. Well, before he started bleaching his hair of course. As if Goldilocks had read his mind, she revealed that their daughter used to be a Pratt. A descendant of Mrs. Anne Pratt's brother, and an empath to top it all off. He was already so proud of her, and they hadn't even held her ceremony yet. He just about went arse over tit onto the flooring when she came away with a pen carved into her hands. Proclaiming that her purpose was to save the misunderstood good souls of bullied individuals, to save all the Williams in the world. He did cry then, sod all else, and if he looked like a Nancy boy then so be it. His Buffy held him and expressed the same sentiment. They were beyond excited by the time 2020 came to be. Spike was in California the night he met her, their second daughter, Dawn. A cheeky chit with mousy brown hair and light blue eyes. Who thought he'd gone completely carrot top and threatened to set him on fire if he didn't back off. He had to whip out the glowing hand tats for his words to hold any ground. "Then came decision time. So, what's it gonna be, Bit?", he asked her. She placed her hands on her hips, and with an eye roll she quipped, "I bet people only agree to this so they never have to hear that majorly long winded story ever again.". He let out a roaring laugh before dubbing her 'Bitty Buffy'. Her symbol was a single spiral, and her calling to guide the mentally insane. His branch of the family tree was complete, and William 'Spike' Grim was beyond bloody thankful to whomever was calling the shots out there. To whomever decided he deserved to have a happy ending. To deserve having someone as amazing as Buffy and their daughters, all love him as much as he loves them. That, was better than anything Heaven itself had to offer.