princexprincess

princexprincess

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Worthless	[Dec. 18th, 2005\|05:48 pm]
Im a battered little toy all used up for others joy they say sweet things to me when I work Should I not , Im of no worth. but I am patient and I am kind, I'll wait forever to be given life. And should that day never come, I will wait untill Im dust. worn to junk by age and rust have I been a pleasent fuck? note: I dont always feel this way and maybe this is figurative? yea, its about paul. >.
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Fragments	[Dec. 7th, 2005\|03:49 am]
Fragments --- Author Note: Just a quick break from Lotte. Blackwood farm had a slightly happy ending, so I felt a little angsty and decided to present this jewel to the world. Heh. In an entierly different context sorta way, kinda how I expected the tragic love story of Mona and Taraquin to end. Damn that Rice woman, being nice to charcters in her old age. This is, though, all around, mostly of my fevered mind, and it was very very very hard to write, very painful, and also, rather experimental, thus the name. Ah, just get on with it :P --- I stood at the gravestone. I had flowers in my hand, pure white lillies, and I clutched them in my fisted hand. I could feel my higheeled shoes sinking into the grass, and the humidity of the air around me was stifiling. But that didnt matter. Though I certainly noticed, the only thought I had was that I wished you were there to think with me. If only, I thought, If only I could hear you bitch and moan about it, express your hatred for the heat, unbutton your shirt collar and curse loudly that you had to withstand it. And you would stop, because I would laugh at you and you loved it when I laughed and-- I clutched the flowers tighter. My little rouged lips trembeled and, behind my coffee coloured sunglasses, my eyes were misty and threatening to spill. The wind picked up and It blew through my hair, I saw it infront of my face; yellow in the sun. But you would never say yellow, would you? Just as though you would never call my skin pale, or my eyes simply blue. No; to you, my eyes were set with cerulean lakescapes and my hair was spun by a fairytale goblin, my skin porcelian made by master hands. And I would laugh at you and tell you that you were a fool, and you would delight in that to, because you always loved it when I -- It had been so, so painful. They had called me to identify you, we had been sharing an apartment togethor, I had only been there 6 months. Heh. What had seemed like such a long, adult amount of time to be away from home, to be living with a man I loved, to be with him. To make his coffee, to help pay bills, to find solace in another mind. Beautiful mornings, waking up in a familiar bed, the wonderful way our socks get mixed up when they washed them, lovely, lazy weekends when neither of us wanted to go out and deal with the world. And there had been so many of th-- I kneeled down beside your final resting place. You had never wanted this, had you. No, you wanted to be creamated. Your parents hadent complied, those overbearing snobs. I stroked the earth tenderly, as if it where your face. Oh, my love. We should have planned, I whispered, but who would think you would die so young? Who would think you would be taken away like this? I felt my body jab at me with pain. Oh, dear lord, I love you still. My entire body screams at me to dig myself in with you, to lay ontop of you, perhaps you still smellt like that cologne I bought you last birt-- I shook my head and the tears flowed freely. When you had left, a week before they found you, you had ranted and raved hysterically. You had accused me of being things I wasent, of infidelity. I latched onto you and I had begged for you to simply tell me why I was guilty! I begged you to make sense! You alternated madly, like I had never seen you; frantically you looked for chemical comforts. But our household was dry, and to this day, I wish that I had just had a bottle of whiskey, a joint or a pack of cigarettes, somewhere that I could ave given you to keep you at home. But that wouldent have stopped you, would it? You wanted to chase the Dragon. I was no longer the opiate you needed, so you needed the real thing. I wasent good eno-- Is it any consolation, sweetheart? Any consolation at all, that I waited and I waited and I cried when you were gone? I withdrew, I just watched TV all day and ate, and I wished I had you back? Is it any consolation that I would have killed myself if I hadent the hope you might come home? The cold steel of your favourite gun seemed to shiver against the hand that tenderly, morbidly stroked it in my pocket. You loved your weapons, always had one under your pillow when you slept, checked the saftey ever night because it scared me so desperatly, so terribly. Remember that first night, the first real one? Me in my pink negligee, you in those perfect black briefs, sitting indian style, introducing me to our night time companion? How you laughed as my hands glided meekly over it the first time? That joke about virginity, Me tossing my head back, finally comfertable and schwaking you with a pillow, only for us to make such grande, passionate, christening lov-- When they called me, I didnt know you were gone. They just wanted me to come down, and I prayed with all my might you had gotten caught in a raid of some drug house, you were going to be so scared sober. I imagined them giving you a firm warning, you picking me up and breathing in my hair, swearing you would go cold turkey again, apologizing profusly, any calm beaming assurances it was ok! I loved you! everything would be fine! fine! And you would carry me to the car, drive home, and we would make love, glad love that you were ok, and we would know it was all fine. As I had got there, and I was asked to...ID the body...How could I not have known!? Why would they call me here!? Why be so vauge? My head swam. I turned away. "Yes. That is him" I said, and I left. They notified his parents. I went to our house and I cried untill I could cry no mo-- The sun still beamed. I was so aware of everything around me. I looked up, I took off my shades, and I truly looked. The blue was beautiful. I thought about when we met. I thought about you looking up at me in that little bookstore, and those first words you said, about my eyes being clearer and bluer then the colour of enlightenment. And you did this with no smile of a charmer, but only an honest look. I had secretly, quietly, joyously sworn my loyalty completly over to you at that moment. Completly, perfectly, fully, wholly, entierly. I had known, lover, I had just known we were to be forever togethor. It was us, untill time ended. And when I asked to see you again and you agreed, I felt like I had just been admitted to heaven. My fine, beautiful beloved. My tall, my handsome one. You looked like the nobelest of kings, trapped in a world not suited to your grace or elegance or demenor. And I was, as you would call me later, your cherub, your vision, your Ange-- I cast down my eyes, one last time, and I lay ontop of your grave like I had done so many times not so long ago. Your parents had offered to keep paying your part of the rent, to let me keep living there, but I didnt want that. I had looked at our bed, where I had laid against you like this so desperatly before, and I couldent stay.Infact, I could stay nowhere. The only thing that felt right had overdosed; you had wanted a fix so badly you took as much as you had at your worst point, despite the fact you had completly detoxed. The only thing that felt right had, infact, been found in a raid, already dead for days, unnoticed in the corner you had crawled into. No note, no nothing. Just death. But you will not leave me alone, my love, no. You will not. I pressed myself longingly against the ground and my tears flowed, My golden hair cascaded over the earth, my skin shone in the sunlight. Red was always my favourite colour, and oh, how you had loved it on me. Flowers, shoes, linger-- I pulled out the gun, and I put it in my mouth. I had a vauge thought that my lipstick had smudged, but then I dismissed it as foolish. I closed my eyes and I saw you in my mind, reading that book, your glasses perched on that regal nose, my tall, dark and handsome, my prince charming waiting for me as if by fate. You would never have wanted this, I thought. I cocked the gun, like you had taught me, when we went shooting that one time. I had loved it, and my childlike enthusiasm had delighted you so much that we did it twice more before you died. Your whooping laugh as you hit a target echoed in my ears, still, oh how you had loved the guns. And oh, how you had loved me th-- I went silent. Birds chirped, I felt dirt, and I was aware of life all around me. Suddenly,it was all so clear. All of it. I felt the bugs, the people far off, the plants, and the weather. It was beautiful. I breathed in the last beautiful smell. You may not have wanted this, my love, but you couldent leave me here when my love and loyalty belonged to you. I pulled the trigg--
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Lotte Chp. 2	[Dec. 2nd, 2005\|01:41 pm]
Chapter two Richard sat down beside his sister. Dull jolts of emotion coursed through him.He had waited so long, so very long to see her again... Any grievance he had held, any kind of betrayal he felt at her for not paying attention to him all these years melted away at the sight of her. The girl he had left behind, the fair, sweet Lotte, had grown out of her delicate prettiness and ascended into what he could only describe as beauty. As he had carried his sweet sister to her room the night before, as he had felt her tender lips on him once more, he had been filled with the most peaceful, beautiful calm he had experienced in his young life. As he had laid her down, he studied his sleeping sister. He could do naught but examine her, his beautiful little one, who had grown so much.The pain of years spent apart nauseated him. Looking at her asleep, it was as if she was his little Lotte still. Innocent, charming little Lotte. But, in the light of morning, that girl no longer sat beside him. In fact, the girl at his side had a glint in her eye that he had only seen in the mirror. She carried herself proudly, her shoulders straight and her feet flat on the ground. Wild golden hair had darkened with age slightly, and she had a fringe of bangs that reached to her eyebrows. When Richard had rifled through her things the night before, pure habit, as they had always shared everything before, and had encountered textbooks and thick novels. He was a little surprised that the Lotte he had grown up beside had taken to school work so passionatly.He had chuckled in remembrance, thinking back to the young girl who had been primarily concerned with the little flowers you could grow in pleasant little patches of earth he had taught her to dig, or how to run around without muddying her skirts too badly. But it wasn't an unpleasant surprise, he supposed, that she had taken her natural brilliance and nurtured it like the flowers she had been so fond of. He had replaced her things, when he bent over her, and planted a kiss on her cheek. He inhaled her scent longingly, taking in the sweet smell of travel, coffee beans and shampoo that emanated off her.And as he turned to leave, looking back at his sister again, his green eyes teared and threatened to spill.He had waited all night for something much, much more painful.He had waited all night, intending to demand answers when she walked through that door. Why, he would have screamed, Why did you forget? When all I did was write and remember, why did you neglect me? How, he would have yelled and pleaded, How could you forget the promises you made? The promises we made? But when he saw her... When her blue eyes had looked up at him, and pleaded simply for him to help her as he once had, when his name rolled off her perfect lips and embraced his ears, he could not even fathom what he might have said. No, despite all he felt she had done, despite the way she had hurt him, he would forgive her. He couldn't not. She was his Lotte, his little sister. And, ultimately, he still had hopeful prayers. He had begged to whatever God or Devil that looked after him that he might have back the companionship that he had once shared, that he could rekindle the love they had together. He had offered his soul, his life, any worthy thing he had, if he could only have what he wanted more then anything else, if he could only have back the only thing he had ever truly felt belonged with only him. "How is school?" His mother's voice cut in like a knife, jolting him from his memories. He was not quite as proper as his Lotte, so he drummed his fingernails on the table top. "Its absolutely wonderful, Mother." Said Lotte, chipperly. He winced at the sound of her voice, none of the tenderness of the previous night even lingered. He shifted uncomfortably, and he felt his fathers eyes drill into him like a prison guard making sure a convict behaved outside his cell. "I got A+'S in everything this semester. My science teacher thinks I should be a physicist, but that type of work doesn't suit me." She quipped. Their mother smiled politely and their father made an approving noise. He was amused, actually, as he watched her eyes dim. No, little Lotte, he had thought, you cannot make them love you. As children, even though they had found much strength in each other, Lotte had always craved their parents love a little. Richard could tell, and that's why he had played both roles for her as well as he could. He wanted to scream at them, to make them care. He never had cared himself, but he wanted to make them at least pretend to love her, because she had needed it so much.If a child could do it, he had thought, why couldn't they at least pretend? It had never been a hassle, though. No, being what Lotte needed was his greatest joy. Having her look up to him, adoringly listen to every word he said, it had been what he lived for. It was why he had never taken to authority very well, he could not respect any institution that reminded himself of what he and Lotte had been deprived of, or what he felt had forced them together and then ripped them apart. Any success he had was only to shorten his time at school, which had been so prematurely sent to. He looked at Lotte, who was listening to her mother say something about someone he was sure he didn't know and was even more sure he didn't care about. Her eyes were dim, and he grew disgusted with how they forced her, even now, to tolerate such tedium for any scrap of love they would throw her. Moved by this, he excused himself and left the little sun room. His father glared after him like he wanted to get up and follow, but Richard didn't give much of a damn about his father.The man had never shown him any sort of love, why should he give him respect when he hadn't even really shown the want for it? Richard walked down the halls, through the back, and into the Garden. The warmth of the morning sun was beautiful, and it felt glorious on his rich skin. He raised his hands above his head and he stretched, feeling the sleep and tenseness of his muscles melt into the warm and heavy breeze. It wa beautiful, he thought as he walked the familiar old paths of the Garden, but it was much less charming without little foot prints and awkward patches of land where a beautiful little girl had once planted forget-me-nots, Canterbury bells and primroses.Infact, all of his little sisters garden had been torn up and replanted with perfectly manicured bushes. This only angered him slightly, and he broke off a handful of branches in rebellion, scattering them behind him as he walked. As he got further and further into the Garden, he closed his eyes and the the moment engulf him. He could still hear the phantom laughter of children running and playing. Perhaps it was his memory. "Can you hear it, too?" He heared a familiar voice ask. He grinned and he turned to her, his grin fading fast as he saw her. He searched her longingly, taking in every inch of his radiant sister. It didn't feel right to call her younger, she was as much a young adult as he was. Despite the fact he had seen her a few times priorly, and intimately, as she was now...it didn't mean that it didn't take his breath away. She was tall, and lean for a woman. Perhaps 5"7 or 5"8, but she was supple and still as fair skinned as she had been as a child. Bare feet and shapely legs poked out of her sensible plaid skirt, and thin arms and shapely torso were accented by a well tailored blouse that she had rolled around her elbows. But her eyes, though they were much sharper now, were still the ones he had first stared into when she was only weeks old. She smiled at him. "Richard..." Her voice sounded as it had the other night. He felt his stomach twist itself. "...Why?" He choked out, trying to regain his composure. She ran into him, and he embraced her. He teared into her hair, and he held her against him. "Why did you forget me?" "I thought you had forgotten me..." " How could I ever have forgotten you?" He asked, shaking against her, and feeling her own tears through the shoulder of his shirt. He squeezed her tightly, and took her hand in his. And they walked, together, memories flooding back dozens at a time. It seemed every leaf, every flower, and every tree held some significance to the two of them. Lotte made a chuckling sound. "Do you remember, " she offered, shyness slowly slipping into familiarity, "When we were children, and we spent all our time out here?" "Yes, yes, I do." He responded smiling at her and squeezing her hand. He hadn't smiled in so long...It was almost painful. "...And you would tell me so many wonderful, wonderful stories about all that had happened here, once. Was any of it true?" "What, you mean the stories about Brownie, and Elves and Gnomes and exotic talking beasts ?" He asked, catching her eye and discovering a small, naive kind of spark. He stifled a giggle. "Every word." He said, holding a hand on his heart in mock oath. Lotte threw her head back and laughed. Her laugh was the finest music he had heard since he saw her last, and he squeezed her hand and thanked whatever had made such a moment possible, with all his sincerity. And as she looked back at him, it was like breathing for the first time in years. It was like she had been relieved of the weight of the world, and she was enjoying it as long as she could. And they were both very, very happy. *** Richard Leslie Walde III watched. He knew that it may be vulgar to watch, but he couldn't help himself. Through the roughly 22 years he had spent as a a father, he had found himself to be incapable of loving them, but very capable of watching and analyzing. He sipped his coffee and leaned against the wooden frame of the large home office that he had worked in before he retired. Despite being rather indifferent towards his daughter and her superfluous achievements in the field of academia, he was quite certain that his dislike his son. Richard IV had disappointed him, because he had thought that perhaps having a son may have stirred some emotion in him, some form of pride or love he had never felt for his daughter, or even his wife. But, unfortunately, he had not. The Hallmark affection he might have felt never really came to fruition. He was not sure if it was because of his own inability to love, or the fact that Richard IV had displeased him and his wife. But for now, at least, he was doing the only thing he could do well, and that was watch, He could make sure that they didn't do anything that would taint the family name that he was the steward of. And he didn't think it would be that difficult. As long as he didn't let things get like they had once before. His children walked through the gardens, hand in hand, appearing to be very small to him in his high office. Despite the distance, he didn't get a good feeling. Richard Leslie Walde III watched.
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Lotte chp. 1

[Nov. 29th, 2005|04:13 am]

[

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Dresden Dolls - Thirty Whacks

]

Chapter One

Blue skies and the scent of warm grass had never felt as right to her as they did, that moment. Originally, as she had waited for her turn to walk, it had
scared and threatened her awfully. It had frightened her, immensely. On this day, her wedding day, She couldn't bring herself to bring the mask of
smiles and air headed glee to her noble features, she could only stare out the window and wish for rain. She heard the notes of the organ cue her.
Instinctively, she straightened her brilliant gown out, and grasped her rich bouquet close to her chest. The feel of silk pumps to feet fonder of loafers
was a constant, painful reminder of the significance of the day. She barely heard the excited clamor of her bridal assistants as she was subtly
motioned toward her entrance, she was glad that she had a veil on, for surely, the world would be aghast at the look of horror on her face. Trading
chains, wasn't it? Oh, Lionel wasn't bad. He was beautiful, actually. Tall, blonde, strapping. A playful disposition, a strict work ethic. The usually
unnoticed ring was a cold, heavy burden on her finger. Why did she feel this way? This could not be right! And then, as simply as she had thought that,
all the feelings vanished. She looked ahead of her, and she was overwhelmed by beauty. It pushed all negativity from her, and she felt like a wondering
child. Swarovski crystals, brilliantly cut into exaggerated rain drops, glittered beneath a glass ceiling, caught by the sun. The pews were filled with
familiar, important, smiling faces; every one more beautiful then the next. Cascades of flowers were arranged all over the chapel, everyone a perfect
shade of white. Her bridesmaids smiled at her, large, excited, white grins. She felt light in the head, as the aesthetic beauty of it overtook her. What,
she wondered, had troubled her? Everything here was brilliant, perfect. She gazed at her perfect, law school groom, with his own toothy grin and she
wanted to run! Everything was beautiful. She felt a tear slip down her own face, the Kodak moment unmarred. Thank god, she thought, Thank God
for the sun. She hadn't thanked God in years. Why hadn't she? She was so dizzy in tradition and beauty right now, that she couldn't think of
anything else of any worth. As these beautiful people, as rich and nobly born as herself, stared on her with wonder and admiration and acceptance,
she felt love like she never had before. She was no longer a child, she was a woman. And as her own parents looked at her like she was worthy? She
felt complete. She felt complete. She glided toward the culmination of years of breeding and schooling and society, and she felt complete. And she
would have probably gone to that altar, recited her vows, and ridden off in a white limo to a reception and a European vacation if she had just finished
her walk down the aisle. But..

He interrupted it.

And as she chanced to glance at him, she stopped. Suddenly, no vanity, no outside beauty could cloud her thoughts. She felt as if she had been
yanked out of her trance, felt like she had been pulled from a state of zombification. Her perfection melted. The bridesmaids were shallow and jealous,
the attendants were all gossiping and had never shown her an ounce of love in her life. Even her own parents, simply using her as proof that they were
competent as parents, that they could turn out more then a hermit, they could produce a beauty who fulfilled all that she was supposed to. She was,
ultimately, a bragging chip. She would produce perfect children, who would become perfect grandchildren. She would wear Ralph Lauren polo's, and
she would maintain her acceptable figure. She would never be a deviant, she would be a philanthropist, and she would be arm candy. She nearly
vomited with dread, as her eyes met his. This was reality! The one they had cursed, the one that had denied in the days of there childhood. The one
they had sworn against. And now, as she felt he childhood ideals and virtues shatter, what would happen if she continued down the aisle? Would she
have children she handed off to a governess to raise? Would she ignore them as hers ignored her, until they felt she was mature enough to handle?
But what of him, she thought, gravely. And he didn't even turn an eye towards her. He was, infarct, reading a book in his lap. She felt herself grow red,
and people started to whisper. As the dread of the congregation grew stronger, her skin raised itself like bumps on her arms and she looked at him.
She had betrayed him. When no one had loved either of them, they had loved each other. Through akward times when they had no one but each
other, they had loved each other. And, as they had been torn apart more and more, they had fought to be together. The difference, of course, was that
she had folded, and he never had. And where her submission had granted her a sort of peace, he had fought viciously and never afforded the same
thing. And he had never forgiven her, either. Not that it mattered; she had busied herself with life and school and society. But now, looking at him, she
was tossed back to her childhood, to her fond love, to her first love, to her only true one, she cried out.

"Brother!"

***

It was an Easter weekend like any other. She had, like usual, come home for it. Unlike the other times, however, she was a high school senior. And
this meant that, very likely, it may be her last vacation at the manor for a very long time.She had no false association of home in this place; It had not meant very much to her since she was much younger.Infact, as she looked back, her fondest teenage memories took place in the corridors of the schools she boarded at. When she did go home, she felt rather depressed; there was nothing there for her but a library and occasional social functions.This trip, however, was unique in many ways. Not only would it be one of the last times she went back to the manor, it was one of the few times in her post-pubescent life she would see her brother again. For reasons that she couldn't quite remember, once she had reached puberty, she and him had been torn from each other and not allowed the others company any longer. They even went so far as to give them different vacation times in which to visit. It had torn them apart, initially. But she had adapted, she had been passive. It was so long ago, such a traumatic change, that she had blocked it entirely. Her and Richard were 2 years apart. she hadn't seen him since she was 13. Odd, she thought, that so much time could pass and he wouldn't be in it? There childhood had been spent attached at the hip. They had been playmates, and the best of friends for a very long time. They had played and mused and talked for hours, despite his older age, they had connected perfectly. Despite absent parents and uncaring an uncaring governess, they had always fulfilled what the other needed. When he had needed someone to rant to, she had listened, marvelled at how brilliant her big brother could be. When he had needed a girlfriend, she had kissed him chastely and let him make her flower chains to put in her hair. When he had needed a best friend, she had risked dirtying her petticoats in pursuit of squirrels and rabbits. Physically, her and Richard were very much opposites. She often times thought he was the most brilliantly beautiful being on the face of the planet, and he had told her the same as they pledged eternal companionship in the expansive gardens of there parents house. Where he was tall, she was short, where he was strong, she was frail. Where he was dark, she was fair, where he was pronounced, she was muted. And this contrast had fit them well; they guided each other in spectacular imaginative plays and brilliant classical renderings. It was always trusted that he could lift her up and toss her over his shoulder, it was doubly so that she could be the all adoring damsel in distress. Because, without her brother, she was too fragile and frightened. He always was the one who could protect her, the one who would lead her through the disappointment of parents who didn't care and the loneliness that she faced. And she supposed, looking back, she must have done the same. It had been a long time, though, and she wasn't the little girl she once was. She was a scholar, a top student. She fended for herself quite well, and infarct, she didn't believe she would even notice him when she got there. She was quite ready to resign herself to her normal visiting occupations; reading and writing letters to her sisters that she boarded with.
But...that hadn't been easy, when put into practice. When she stepped through the doors, at 3:00 am, bitter with a chill and tired from the journey, no parent had been there to greet her. They never had been, she reasoned, as no servant would rouse them to simply see her in. But this time, as baggage was being brought in and she was unwrapping her scarf and unbuttoning her coat, she saw him. There he was, clad in a sloppily put together uniform, looming at the top of the staircase. He had only grown taller and stronger, she instantly noted, his eyes darker and more intense. He was not as dark as he had been when they were children, but it only served to emphasis his strong features and noble looks. She felt as if she might fall over when she saw him, and would have ran to him, if she had not been so shocked. "Lotte." He replied. He could see her desperation, her pain, her euphoria at the mere sight of him flood to her instantly. Tears rimmed her eyes, and everyone seemed to disappear. Her knee's quaked, and suddenly, she was 10 years old again and desperately in want of her big brother to support her. She felt him rush to her and embrace her, so she closed her eyes and fell into him. His mouth kissed her face roughly; And they fit together perfectly. She was tired, and just wanted to be with the brother whom she had lost so long ago.She fell asleep, right there, a most perfect peaceful rest. When she awoke, she was still in his arms, and he was carrying her up a case of stairs. She lazily opened her blue eyes just a peek, to take in the sight of him, once more. To prove this was not some wonderful dream. "Richard.."she whispered. "Its been so long, Lotte." He sounded pained, she noted, and she wanted to rid him of it. She suckled lazily on his neck, and he grasped her tighter, rocking her against him. This was her last memory, before she woke up. She was alone, and wanted to run around looking for where he had went. She felt a sick fear that he was not there, it swelled in her and sickened her. It couldn't have been a dream, she demanded, not noticing that someone had bothered to dress her in her nightclothes before putting her in her bed. She pulled them off and dressed herself hurriedly, jumping out of her room and looking for some sign her had been real. She tossed rooms open, before running downstairs and to the breakfast room.
"Why, Charlotte, what ever is the matter?" Her mother commanded of her, as she bounded in the room. She felt a sinking feeling. Her brother was not there. Infarct, all that she was greeted with was her mother's morning tea ritual and her father's silent newspaper reading over croissants and hash browns. She sank into her seat and was brought out a plate. Her mother was about to ask her some mundane question when the door was opened once more, and her heart leapt out of her chest.

"Richard." Said her mother, dIylly.
"Mother." he responded, making eye contact with Lotte.
"Richard." Said his father, uninterested.
"Father." He responded, grasping her hand beneath the table and staring into her face.

"Richard..." she said.

"Lotte."

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