From time to time, a map would manage to distract Silas from Arabella's… Spleen.
The pile of crumpled papers that had built up by her feet only kept on growing after each and every attempt at a response that was deemed a failure by nothing other than... Her own standards.
Some high standards those were, it seemed.
The young woman had the tip of her tongue out and eyebrows knitted as her hand traveled between the ink jar and the paper beneath the quill she handled.
Around them, nothing but the sound of scribbling on dry parchemin filled the air.
Silence and the crazed beating of her heart were the alternative, and the vampire had had enough of it.
"How is that letter coming along?"
Every muscle in her body froze as her eyes, wide as saucers snapped his way all of the sudden as if just remembering the second presence with her in the room.
"It is… Well," her irises darted between the few jotted letters on the page and her husband.
