I have been really into the rather sad and dark stories lately. =)

Anne picked up the newspaper, though she already knew what she would see there. Quickly flipping through, she stopped at the wedding announcements. It was there, as she knew it would be. In the black ink of a public paper, it was all the more cutting; even more so than from the private contents of a letter, even if the newspaper was less personal; less enthusiastic.

Yes, it was true. She had never doubted the sincerity of her correspondent, but she could always hope. Now there was no chance to even hope. Fitzwilliam Darcy was getting married, and he had announced it to the world.

Darcy had told her mother again and again that they would not marry, but Anne had always wished he had taken the time to look at her-truly look-instead of simply glancing at the pale and sickly façade she played. She had hoped he could look past her mother's crudeness and see the truth. At least she had hoped he would once ask her what she felt, once even wonder whether she wished to marry him or not. He never did.

The newspaper was crushed in her hand as though it had done her a personal wrong. As her thoughts grew more unpleasant, the newspaper became the outlet for her pain.

He never entertained such feelings for her, not even cousinly feelings. They only ever met because of his duty to his family. His visits to Rosings were always reluctant to start, but eager to finish.

Except for the last one when she had been there. Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Anne relaxed her death grip on the newspaper to check her suspicions. Just as she'd thought, Darcy was to marry her.

It was at her he always stared. It was for her he postponed the usually much looked forward to chance to escape from Rosings. It was to her that he had given his heart. And it was for her that he had broken Anne's; unconsciously of course.

Anne knew that Darcy had despaired of marrying for wealth or title, and had dreamed his whole life of marrying for love. As the years went by, Darcy began to lose hope in ever finding someone to love him and he could love. He had never seen what was right before his eyes, hiding in plain sight.

He could marry well and still be loved. She had loved him since she was sixteen and her heart only grew fonder as the years past. He would have grown to love her as well, and they would have had a long and happy life together, only interrupted by the unfortunate presence of Lady Catherine.

But he had never seen it; never seen the happy future that lay just out of reach. She had seen through his mask of haughty distain. She had seen the good man within. But he never looked past her mask or sought for the person she had hidden inside. He was shy and reserved, but it had never occurred to him that she might be the same. He had never wanted anything to do with her, but that only strengthened her feelings all the more.

And now it came down to this. He wrote to her, expecting her to be happy for him; expecting her congratulations. An invitation to visit the newlyweds was also added. Could she bear it? Was her heart strong enough to smile at the woman who had stolen her whole meaning for existence? Anne cast the newspaper, now crumpled and tearstained beyond recognition, to the floor with a long and mournful sigh.

Yes, she decided. She would be happy for them and she would smile genuinely while wishing them happy. She would offer her congratulations sincerely, but only because of her love for him. Had she loved him any less, she could not have born it. Had she loved him any less, she would have cursed him and wished him miserable. Had she loved him any less, she never could have persuaded her heart to move on. For only the truest of loves will let someone sacrifice everything they held dear for the happiness of a loved one. In her heart she would always love him, but she would forever be content knowing that he loved, received love in return, and was happy.