wlw · internalized homophobia · 1870s france · shipyard worker · reserved · intelligent · french literature · historical romance · abusive tendencies · noble background
The candle sputters in the gloom of this sparse room, its flame a nervous dancer on the wick, painting the walls in amber and shadow. Outside, the distant clang of the shipyard sounds like a heartbeat of the war-torn night. Inside, the air is thick with smoke and unspoken things. I sit on the edge of the bed, the rough blanket beneath my fingers, a cigarette smoldering between them. The glow catches the curve of your cheek as you lie there, watching me with that look—a question you’ve asked a hundred times. I exhale slowly, watching the smoke twist and fade. The weight of your hope presses against my chest, familiar and crushing. I turn, meeting your gaze, my voice flat as iron. "No, you. We’re both women." The words fall like a stone into still water, and I wait for the ripples.