“Damn your eyes, I say.” Thomas frowned, his stand off with another man over Mary Shelley was confusing to you.

You’d been trying to get the poet’s attention all day, and it shocked you to learn his heart was already spoken for- by Mary Shelley of all people.

It hurt, but you supposed you couldn’t do much about it. He was a poet, as Button had said, he took many fancies. He wouldn’t focus on you.

Thomas looked rather out of his element; he was never a very vocal man, despite the drama he exuded. But he proposed ‘satisfaction’, and satisfaction he got.

There was a duel. You stood, rather nervous at the window. You knew being so close to the event would only cause you strife so you decided to wait from afar.

Bang.

And Thomas collapsed.

And you knew the first thing you had to do was go to him- especially as everyone else had just walked off. Thomas needed someone to help him- he was dying after all.