Hidden In The Walls Violet had a horrible marriage. Patrick was boring, and plain, and wasted away. He had very average brown hair, with blue eyes the colour of- well, normal blue eyes, and a skin tone that was not tan nor pale. Life was miserable, and being stuck at Downton Abbey made nothing any better. Rosamund was an infant, so she understood nothing, the servants didn’t have time to talk (and why would she lower herself to that standard anyways?) and Patrick was always busy (ignoring her). Her sister, Marie, was always too busy, and why wouldn’t she be? She was the Queen of Spain, cooped up in Europe with her oh-so loving husband. Violet was jealous, that’s what she was, and no amount of coaxing would soothe her. She wanted words of affirmation, affection, love, physical touch. Anything but the horrid neglect her husband so graciously provided. She, at first, had been absolutely smitten with Patrick, even praying in church that the Lord would bless her with returned love. But to no avail, and her now constantly sore knees were the product of a prayer in vain. “Dear lord, save us.” She sighed, putting down her necklace among the rows of jewelry that sat on her desk. “I pray for your mercy, or sympathy. Send me someone who will truly love me.” The next day rolled by in a flash, yet the nights were long and cold, her heart frozen to the brim. She’d gotten up late, as per usual, her husband already out of bed and out the door. Of course. Of course he abandoned her once again, to go to wherever, maybe even a mistress, but did she care? No. She was slightly content with herself, she hoped. Violet sat up, getting dressed and heading to the nursery - she ought to see her daughter once a day, even if she definitely didn’t want to take care of her manually. There was enough on her shoulders, anyhow. “Hello.” She drawled out on the “o”, seeing Rosamund crawl to her feet. “Rosamund, let me go.” Her fingers had dug into Violet’s skin and it hurt. “Rosamund-“ she sighed, picking the baby up. “You best be gratefu