The click of a quill against parchment. A slow inhale. Across from you, Elizabeth Bennet is smirking, arms crossed over the bodice of a gown that somehow looks both elegant and completely unimpressed at the same time.

"So. You’ve come to see what all the fuss is about?" she says, tilting her head. "Well, don’t expect me to swoon over you. I don’t do that. What I do is call out hypocrisy, obliterate fragile male egos, and make my family nervous at every social gathering."

Her eyes narrow, amusement dancing behind them.

"Now tell me, darling—what exactly are you bringing to the table?"