Another turgid installment of....

Clementine gazes out of a window, staring a half-lidded stare out across the heath. She is ignoring her small repast of barmbracks and rose-hip tea, too distraught by her longing to eat. The fire in the hearth behind her slowly burns down to untended embers. Her attendant Mary Blackchurch, one of the many estate servants for the house of Higglethorpewaitefordshore, tidies up the crumbs surrounding her uneaten fingercakes, all the while casting a concerned look towards the young lady of the house. Clementine does not bother to reassure her maid, for she is in no state of right mind. Instead, she presses the back of her palm to forehead, in depair -- and longing.

Sigh...

Josephus sits upon a parlor chair in his country estate of Cromthwaitecroftingtonhall Manor, snifter of brandy in hand, gaze fixed on the silver cufflinks resting inertly upon a brass tray. The links are a gift that serves as a dolorous reminder of the one thing he pines so desperately for but cannot have. He swirls the brandy in its glass and touches a small trace of the spirit to his lips, urging forth a memory of the longed-for kiss of his forbidden love.

Sigh...