Mary Lucille had a nasty gut feeling after her last conversation with Peter Amadeus. Only a day before his disappearance at the Debutante ball of Elizabeth Anne.
”It's much of what I always feel - I can suppress it, run from it… but I can never kill it. Never destroy it, if I have too.” He spoke to her as they danced in a hushed whisper.
” When I am upset do you know what I do? I think about how far I have come. How far I can go. I think something that brings me peace, for that it is my sisters or my business. My career. I think about how I want nothing more than to be nothing like my mother or father. Then I count to ten in my head. Listing off one thing I am grateful for or that brings me serenity.”
In a deep state on pondering trance, he nods slowly. Squinting as he collects his thoughts before looking her dead in the eye. “I think I know what I must do… and I have the strength to do it.” He grips her hand tightly suddenly, leaning down as he would plant a heavy kiss upon the back of her hand. Sucking in a quaky breath as he gazes back to her face. “I must go. But thank you.”
That was that. A month or two later the girl went to speak with him, wandering into the Novellen after hearing of his lack of appearance in court. She saw his room was not changed and it had looked almost pristinely unbothered. Her gaze followed across until it landed on a cabinet that was left open. Oddly out of place. Lucille’s feet froze, knowing it wrong to delve into the secrets that may be within but alas the curiosity and worry that bubbled in her took over and as she blinked she was already searching through.
There it was. The letter. Her hand covered her mouth as she read the contents. A pain flashing in her chest as she pressed the paper to her chest.
”God, Peter. I pray you have not done what I think you have.”