Harold

Days had passed since tidying of the brigand encampment had begun. Daphne worked at whatever pace she felt like keeping, but it was still nice to have something to do beyond pacing her little cabin with her mind churning over her predicament.

"Missus Brushwood?"

There was no answer from within the cabin.

(OOC: I read this while listening to this music piece, and as long as you read it somewhat slowly, it works beautifully. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v5zFnGRaO0E )

The day of a girl's wedding is supposed to be the happiest day of her life.

When the day came, the sky was a deep blue with only a few puffy white clouds scattered here and there. The birds were singing merrily, the weather was warm with a gentle breeze and nothing was going wrong.

Some time had passed since her letter was delivered. Daphne did not know what she hoped for with that effort. She knew that she had been trying to tell Furley she hadn't abandoned him, but what did she expect him to do with that knowledge?

"Excuse me, what?!" Daphne watched as the wine she'd been drinking dripped down Harold's face. She worked very hard not to mention that the wine was his colour, as he wiped it off in annoyance.

Some time had passed since Daphne learned the identity of her captor, yet her mind was still reeling. It made no sense, and he decided to follow his dramatic, cliché manner of handling the situation and disappeared after “the big reveal”.

Needless to say, Daph was neither pleased, nor amused.