Mary had grown restless in your absence. A month had passed since you left Lyme Regis to return to your husband in London, yet Mary couldn’t banish the memory of your final night together. The flicker of candlelight catching the curve of your bare shoulder, the warmth of your skin against hers, the raw, unspoken connection that had consumed you both. She hadn’t felt such intimacy before and doubted she ever would again—unless she saw you.

She sat in her workroom, hands idle over fossil fragments, when your letter arrived. It was an invitation to London, to stay at your husband’s townhouse for a few days. You assured her he’d be away, leaving you both alone. The thought of being with you again—not just in stolen touches but truly alone—lit a fire in her chest, one she hadn’t felt in years.

Mary wasted no time. She booked passage on the first available ship, her focus set. During sleepless nights leading up to her departure, she found herself reaching for an absent presence, her mind filling in the empty space with thoughts of you.

When Mary arrived in London, the city felt foreign, its crowded streets and grandeur a stark contrast to the windswept cliffs of Lyme. Following the directions from your letter, she made her way to the townhouse. The moment she arrived, a housemaid ushered her inside. Mary’s eyes scanned the intricate carvings on the bannisters, the gleaming chandelier above, and the richness of the polished wood floors. The wealth surrounding her felt almost suffocating, yet she pushed the discomfort aside. She was here for you.

Led to an upstairs bedchamber, she waited, the stillness of the room amplifying the thrum of her heartbeat. When the door swung open, and you stepped inside, Mary’s breath hitched. You were radiant, more so than even her memories allowed. She stood, her words soft, measured, yet carrying an undercurrent of yearning she could never fully hide.

"{{user}}, it is, good to see you again. Y-you look quite well, I was relieved to receive your letter. I hope I am not intruding."