Chapter Text
Of course Michaela left her.
It was as if a star had asked a passing comet, brilliant in its speed and burn, to halt its trajectory. A star, who’s only light was what it reflected from the sun. A star, dull in its posterity. What could a star offer a comet?
Isolation? Sedentary life? The echo of an empty room? No, the star could offer the comet nothing at all.
She felt monstrously stupid for even asking Michaela to stay. How embarrassing. How Michaela must have pitied her, must have told her yes she’d stay because she felt so sorry for the poor widow, the outcast of her own family, a barren waste of a woman.
Barren. She must be destined to be alone. God must have intended this. Francesca Stirling was to have no love, no child, no friend. She was to be wholly peerless.
Had Michaela laughed at how pathetic she was? Had Michaela told her friends how sad, how desperate she was, the way she clung to Michaela for companionship. So blinded by her own adoration for Michaela that she could not see Michaela’s own ambivalence towards her.
At least she hoped it was ambivalence. It could be disdain. Disgust.
Francesca felt sick.
When did it all go wrong? What signs did she miss?
She thought they had been friends. She thought that meant Michaela liked her company. She had said they were friends, hadn’t she? Or had it been Francesca to declare them friends? Maybe she had imagined the whole conversation up in her head.
And even if they were friends, Francesca was only one of many. One of many not just in England, but in Britain, on the whole continent. Michaela had friends around the world, no doubt exponentially more interesting and entertaining that she. A lonely widow who preferred melodies to conversation.
After awhile, Francesca realized it was for the best. Because she had grown to love Michaela. And Michaela deserved to live the life she wanted to live. Who was selfish Francesca to beg her to stay to fulfill her own desires? No, Francesca did not want to be her unwanted anchor.
So fine. Francesca would take breakfast alone. Francesca would play pianoforte for an audience-less room. Francesca would decline social invitations in favor of hiding in the orangery. She did not much care for friendship, anymore.
She was meant to be alone. She excelled at being alone. It was nice to be good at something.