nine.

Give me that little kiss, give me your hand

Autumn sunlight glitters on the surface of the Thames, and Sybil's fingers curl around the cool, iron bannister as she stares along.

The dull ache in her stomach still reminds her of the child – the son – she was not allowed to have. Many times over the last few days she has wondered if this is the punishment for spoken truths and forbidden touches, seemingly decades ago in the glow of last year's autumn.

But, no. She has decided that she has done nothing to be punished for, that the loss of her son was no one's fault, least of all her own, that it was not to be, just like her dead brother never got to see the world he could have been born into.

How much time has passed since that day before the war, when her own mother had suffered the same loss. Had that been her fault? Certainly not.

She has done the right thing, made the wrong choices. However, Sybil tells herself there is no reason for blame. Not any more.

.

.

Summers come and go in a fuzzy blur, and when she looks into the curious eyes of her daughter for the first time, Sybil finally realizes that even her restrained world still has horizons.

That she can fight a war of her own. Subtle, not as fiery as she thought once upon a time. Still, she still feels the anticipation of changing the world, of laying out better paths for her daughter.

Vincent's hand cradles their daughter's head gently, all dark hair and soft, pink skin. He kisses Sybil's forehead just as gently, murmurs I love you against her skin, tears choking his voice, and for the first time, Sybil feels that maybe one day, she will want to say it back.

.

.

The day Mary replaces Edmund as heir, Sybil watches from her old room's window as her father walks around the green grass in front of the house, her daughter clinging to his hand, skipping alongside him.

As morbid as the future has turned out to be, as kind and hopeful does it promise to become.

With a smile on her lips and breathing in the fresh air streaming through the open window, Sybil hopes – hopes, not worries, not any more – that Tom has found equal kindness and promise across the sea.

It is only a small hope, more of a wish even. But Sybil remembers a sunny day when a small brush of hands had caused the world in her eyes to explode into a million opportunities.

One small step at a time.

Note: I want to thank everyone who read this story and took the time to leave a review. The response to the story was so amazing, and a lot more positive than I originally thought. I'm terribly sorry for all the heartbreak, I really am. But I hope this epilogue, as short as it may be, gives some closure.

I'm actually quite sad to finish this story, but I am looking forward to hear what you all think about the ending.