Page 89 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
“Come in,” he calls.
Dorian is standing by his desk, sorting through what remains of his papers. The room still smells faintly of smoke, though much of the mess has been cleared. His eyes flick to her as she steps inside.
“Have you lost much?” she asks.
“Not too much,” he says. “I never keep all my important documents in one place.”
That makes sense. He’s always been careful. Always planning ahead.
She doesn’t know what she expected from this conversation, but standing here, she feels… adrift.
At last, she exhales. “I don’t think you’re like the Duke.”
Dorian stills, then inclines his head slightly. He does not meet her gaze. “Thank you for saying that.”
“But,” she continues, “I’m also not sure at the moment who I do think you’re like.”
Something flickers in his expression—an emotion she can’t name. “Selene—” he starts.
Selene takes a step back. Dorian recoils as if she’s slapped him. The hurt in his eyes is palpable.
She wonders if hers is too. “I’m sorry,” she mutters. “I can’t… I want to… I want to forgive you, I do, but…” She remembers their promise not to lie to one another, but for the first time, she isn’t sure she can hug him if she can’t be honest. All she can give him is the truth. “You aren’t who I thought you were,” she says. “Please don’t come to my room for a while.”
Dorian nods once. “Understood.”
She leaves before she can second-guess herself.
Silence settles between them, thick as fog. All frost where sunlight once lay.
Selene busies herself in town. She finalises the school’s opening, ensuring everything is in place before the doors are thrown open to eager young faces. She reads to the children like she hears Evelyn Wildrose Nightbloom used to do before her. Their wide eyes drink in her every word. Some sit close, watching her mouth as if they can taste the story on her breath. Others wriggle in their seats, whispering, laughing, unable to sit still. When the weather is good, she takes them outside and teaches them croquet using a set she found at home.
She notices something about children when they’re learning. They often think they are brilliant at everything—until someone tells them they aren’t. A boy proudly shows her his careful lettering, only for his older sister to snort and call it clumsy. A girl attempts to climb onto a chair to reach a highshelf, only for a well-meaning adult to tell her she’s too small, that she might fall.
Neither try again. Their expressions fall and falter.
How old was Selene when people started telling her that?
Too loud. Too delicate. Too naive. Too simple.
She wonders if they meant well.
She wonders if it matters.
Selene also notices Alfred and Lu’s children. Unlike the others, they don’t jostle for her attention. They don’t rush to sit at the front. They linger on the edges, quiet and watchful. Their laughter is a rare, uncertain thing, as if they are waiting for permission.
She watches them, just as they watch the world, and wonders what they have learned about silence.
She tries not to think of Lu and how she might fit into this, and wonders why she cares. She tries to work out why it hurts so much. Dorian hasn’t betrayed her. He’s broken no promises. Sheknowshe meant well. But he just doesn’t quite fit into the suit she’s made for him, and the idea that he’scunningas well as clever and thoughtful just doesn’t make sense to her. He isn’t like the Duke, but that part…
Why did you think he married you?
She misses him, misses their games and their ease. Misses the way she could make him laugh and dispel his tiredness with a simple joke.
She misses the way he made her feel, too—like nothing in the world could hurt her.
But he has. However unfair it might be to feel that way, he has hurt her. She does not know where to find the balm.
At the end of the month, they journey back to the Fairmont’s estate for Ophelia’s wedding. Dorian opts for an inn this time, and they leave long before the revelry is over and retire to the separate chambers that he’s booked. For once, Selene isn’t disappointed to be leaving a party early. She hasseen this wedding before, and it’s hard summoning up the delight again. Her performance is exhausting.
