Days passed; it had already been a week since Josephine's short visit.
Staring out her office window, Bethel watched the people outside go about their day. Children chased one another, shouting "You're IT!" before quickly getting out of reach from their marked friend. An elderly couple moved slowly, leaning on each other, their arms intertwined.
"Margaret!" A young man carrying numerous bouquets held his head high as his voice captured every bystander's attention.
"Oh?" The shout even caught Bethel's attention, and Lydia peered beside her, wondering what was going on.
The woman he had called out to, presumably "Margaret," turned around. Her face, initially clouded with confusion, slowly broke into a wide, delighted smile.
The young man, oblivious to the growing crowd, knelt on one knee in the middle of the street. He held the bouquets up to her, not as a simple gift but as a tribute to be shared with the entire world.
"My dearest Margaret," he proclaimed, his voice echoing off the buildings, "I have made my mind up. Let it be known to all here that I, Daniel of the South Quarter, wish to become your devoted and lawful husband."
A murmur swept through the onlookers. Some chuckled, others awed, and a few, mostly older men, grumbled about such a public display of emotion.
"Since the day we met, you helped me escape from a group of bullies. Even when I was hiding in a trash can surrounded by rotten food under the scorching sun. Back then, I wondered why. Why would this girl, who had never spoken up before, save a wimpy kid who got beaten up daily?"
Coachmen stopped their horses from pulling wagons. They listened to the young man's story as well.
"For fifteen years, you, Margaret, proved that questions such as those were meaningless. What mattered was the choice to step in or not." Daniel lifted the bouquets higher toward her.
"Heroes from legends who slay dragons or save kingdoms can't even come close to compare. The sole hero that gave me another day to look forward to is standing before my eyes. So, Margaret... would you allow me the honor of being yours?"
Margaret's answer was an ecstatic nod as she rushed forward, embracing him in the street. The crowd broke into applause, and the moment, so simple and personal, became a public celebration of love.
Lydia dabbed a tear from the corner of her eye. "How beautiful," she whispered. Bethel, however, was silent.
Scenes of the past and future, with playing children and the elderly couple, tied themselves together with a lovely ribbon when an in-between called the present appeared.
She watched the newly engaged couple being applauded by bystanders congratulating them, being a part of a moment they would remember for years to come.
But why in front of my office? Bethel couldn't help but question this. It was almost laughable in a way, a declaration of love right across from an office specializing in dissolving marriages. Even without gaining a case to make it known, rumors should have fueled enough awareness of what her office represented.
"Have they lost their minds? Who would propose in front of a Divorce Lawyer office?" She spat out, shouldn't proclamations of love be done far away from her unholy business.
"I LOVE YOU, MARGARET!"
Bethel looked at Lydia, who was still dabbing at her eyes, her face beaming. Lydia had a soft spot for romance.
But even for her, this was something else. This was a man shouting his love from the rooftops or, in this case, the cobblestones of a public street. He didn't care who heard. He didn't care that he was in front of an office known for ending what he was just starting. He just cared about Margaret.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Lydia said, her voice gentle.
What so beautiful of this insanity we are watching?
"Love in its purest form. Not by legal documents or bitter arguments."
"Is that so?" Bethel repeated, a sharp edge to her voice. "Is that what I'm watching, Lydia? Love?"
Lydia's smile faltered. "Well, yes, at least a type of love. It's just... this is the beginning for them. What leads to an end. It's a different kind of story."
Turning her back to the window, "They'll be in my office in two years," she muttered, the words a bitter prophecy. She didn't mean them to be cruel. Those words were just... a possibility.
Lydia shrugged, having gotten used to her lady's cynical outlook for the last few days. She was aware of Bethel's concern for Josephine. She had noticed Bethel looking over the capital maps. Josephine may have told Bethel the area she lived in, but sadly, its location was vaguely similar around several places.
"My lady," Lydia asked, her voice soft with concern. "Will you be venturing out again tonight? It's not safe. Madam Elara hasn't found a willing mercenary yet."
I know that... but then should I wait for the morning paper with the headline "A woman found dead with bruising around her wrists in a ditch" she thought, since saying it out loud would feel worse.
I need information. I can't help someone without knowing what's going on. A desire to understand the reasons behind why a trembling woman would visit her office. Only to be consumed by fear, running back to a husband that will continue his ways with Josephine.
Taking a dark color cloak off her coat rack. Intentions to head out rang clear as her answer.
"Stop." Lydia stepped in front of Bethel, knowing well enough she would never shove her aside, not even lightly. "Wait here... please just for a moment." She pleaded gently as she exited the office.
Bethel remained where she stood, listening to the wall clock ticking away.
She tried to not speak, sensing it would only burden her maid. Wiping back her bangs in embarrassment. I have to get it together, no doubt Lydia would worry herself sick with my antics...
She sighed, a heavy, tired sound. Her fingers went to the nape of her neck, massaging the knots of tension there.
Meanwhile, Lydia hurried down the hallway, her boots silent on the carpeted floor. She burst into her own quarters, her hands rummaging through a trunk in the corner of the room.
Please let it be here!
She tossed aside spare change, a hairbrush, and a forgotten book, her movements frantic until her fingers brushed against cool steel. She let out a small sigh of relief.
My dearest, thank the heavens above for your choice in gifts!
She pulled out a small, ornate dagger. Its silver hilt was carved in the likeness of a roaring lion, a single, smooth stone—a deep, calming blue—set within its eye. The blade was slender and razor-sharp. It wasn't a weapon meant for an open brawl, but for quick, precise defense.
This dagger was a gift from her wife, Abigail, on their first wedding anniversary. Abigail, a swordwoman who knew the dangers that could happen, had told Lydia it was a symbol of her heart—fierce and strong.
Within moments, Lydia stepped back inside the office. Bethel gazed outside her window. The engaged couple had long since left, and the crowd had dispersed. Having heard the door open, she didn't turn around.
"My lady, I have something for you." Moving closer, Lydia thought, Honestly... this girl hasn't changed much from childhood! Seeing Bethel's self-loathing sulk brought a smile to Lydia's face.
Bethel finally turned around, her eyes, filled with shame a moment ago, now focused on the object. Her fingers reached out to touch the hilt, tracing the outline of the lion's snarling mouth. She looked at Lydia.
Lydia's smile widened. "It was a gift from my wife, Abigail. She said it was a piece of her heart, fierce and strong." She gently pressed the dagger into Bethel's hand.
"She wanted me to have this in case I was in danger. But we both know she wouldn't mind me lending this to you."
Bethel looked at the dagger, its cool, sharp edge staring back at her.
"...Are you sure?" She asked, not wanting to lose one of the few gifts Lydia had brought with her.
"I can defend myself better with a broomstick than this. Besides, I only use knives for cooking," Lydia quipped, a small, knowing smile on her face.
"Though if things get truly desperate, I suppose one could always use it to stab someone's eye out."
A muscle in Bethel's cheek twitched. Her other hand, moved to the back of her waist. With a soft rustle of her dark cloak, she pulled out a small but visibly heavyweight sledgehammer.
The head was no larger than her palm, but the weight of it was undeniable. The handle was short, just enough for a single, powerful swing.
Lydia's eyes widened, her smile replaced by a look of sheer, albeit impressed, surprise.
"I found it in the basement, probably left behind after repairs," Bethel explained flatly. "I saw it would be better use for... unexpected negotiations."
Lydia stared at the brutal tool, then back at the elegant dagger in Bethel's hand.
"Well," she said, her voice a low murmur, "I suppose if the dagger is for quick, precise defense, you should leave that for smashing in a poor gentleman knee caps."
The brutality of her innocent words, not sparing a shred of care for any unfortunate soul that chooses to step in Bethel's way.