Damon arrived after haphazardly shrugging into a coat and ran to the woods with Roxie. When he reached the cabin, Geneva stood beside Freda, eyes filling with tears. She walked into his arms and whimpered almost immediately, shoulders shaking.

He sent the two girls a look of gratitude before they quietly left.

Long after her tears subsided, Geneva gripped his hand tightly that it almost lost its color. "I'm not crazy."

"No, of course, not," he said, planting a kiss on her cheek. The tears had dried, but he still tasted their salty trace.

"She wanted me to go beyond the hills," she said, gaze lost in the line of trees up ahead. "Aunt Deborah. Before she left for Birth, she told me to go beyond the hills."

He squeezed her hand. "And even if she didn't, you would have still done so."

She nodded slowly before turning her head to look at him. Her eyes wandered his face. "I'm afraid they'll send me where they sent my great-grandfather."

"Then I guess I'll have to rescue you," he said with a faint smile. "Although I don't think they will succeed."

"You don't?"

He planted a soft kiss on her lips. "Because you wouldn't let them."

Fresh tears fell from her eyes, and he wiped them away with his free hand. "I'm glad I have you."

"Me, too," he murmured in her hair. He couldn't imagine what it would be like for her if she were alone. How frightened she would be. There were things he wanted to tell her about her aunts, but he knew they would only hurt her.

"This shall pass," she said, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I'm sure it will."

When the sun was finally up, she told him she didn't want to go home. They hiked the path over the hills and down to the Vernons. There, while he waited outside the cottage with her brothers, sharing a pot of fresh tea, Geneva and her parents talked inside.

"You think they'll send her away?" Stephen asked, a line forming between his eyebrows.

"Why would they think she's insane?" Jasper incredulously wondered aloud. "It is them who are sick in the head, to be honest."

"Geneva won't let them," Matthew said, his confidence in his sister clear in his voice, although he warily looked around for any sign of agreement. "But it's best we plan should they take her away."

"What do you have in mind?" Stephen asked, the corner of his mouth curling as he humored his brother.

"We block the road and force her out of the carriage. And we'll take her far from Abberton. They're too old to look for her themselves, so they'll hire people to look for her. Hopefully, their money will run out before they find her."

Jasper slowly nodded. "That sounds like a plan."

"And how do you plan to keep her? Do you have the means to house her somewhere?" Stephen asked.

"The Stratfords will take care of that." Matthew turned to Damon. "You can elope with her. Get married. I'll be a witness. Maybe you don't have to hide her after that. You can just go back to Abberton as a married couple."

"That sounds lovely," said Damon, "but I doubt your sister will approve of any plans that will distraught your aunts."

Matthew scoffed. "They are no aunts of ours."

"They are still blood, Matthew," Stephen said, voice etched with authority.

"Then what do you suggest we do? Wait until they die-which I don't pray for, if you're wondering-so Geneva finally gets her freedom?"

While everyone thought of a better answer, the door to the cottage opened. Mrs Vernon walked out holding Geneva's hand. Behind them was Mr Vernon, expression seemingly helpless, shoulders burdened.

"There are simpler ways to deal with this, sons," said Mrs Vernon, turning to face her daughter. Geneva's eyes were red from tears, but something in the way she wrapped her arms around her mother and murmured a thank you told Damon she had found a way to deal with her aunts. "Remember what I told you, darling," Mrs Vernon whispered before she released her daughter. "You're all they have now. Be gentle."

Damon stood and waited. They said their goodbyes and took the journey back up the hill. However, Geneva asked if they could stay in Windsong for a little while. In the garden, under the willow tree, they sat in silence.

"You must be tired of my troubles," she wryly said. And before he could say a word, she chuckled and wrapped an arm around his. "I know you'll say you're not, which might be true, and that I'm just again making assumptions."

"Which is true," he said.

She chuckled. "I'll try my best not to in the future."

"Well, I'm glad there's a future."

She leaned back into the trunk. "I feel like a shattered vase who just had her pieces put back together. I feel whole yet fragile at the same time because I don't know how much water I can take before I burst and break again."

He watched her face as she closed her eyes, his own thoughts wandering nowhere in particular. "We'll see how much you can bear one drop at a time."

***

Geneva walked back to the Withers House alone, her wrap hanging on one arm. The sun was bright that morning, a contrast to the house she walked into. The windows were shut, the light muted by the dark curtains.

She found her aunts in the breakfast room, finishing their meal. Prudence and Barbara looked at her, but before either of them could reprimand her for disobeying their orders, Geneva squared her shoulders and said, "I went for a walk this morning. Not because I wanted to go against your wishes, but because I needed to visit my parents."

Their lips pursed and their faces tightened.

"Barbara and I have been discussing," said Prudence, setting her fork down before she veered a stony look at Geneva. "We think it best if you spend some time in an institution that can further assess your current state. Summerfield is a good place-"

"No," Geneva interjected. She was shaking. "No. I will go nowhere."

In the past, she would have crumpled to the floor with just the thought of saying no to them. She would have repeated prayers to ask for forgiveness for ever doing so. But this was her life at stake now. And as much as she loved them, she also loved herself.

"I'm not insane."

"That's exactly what our father said," Prudence retorted. "But it's not what you believe that matters. It's what you show us. In recent weeks, even before we left you here, and you started doing things you would have otherwise not done, you were already showing signs of the same condition our father had. The same one our dear sister suffered."

"The things I've been displaying are nothing but emotions," she said, trying to keep her voice even. "If you have them, you will know. If you know its many facets, experienced its depths, you will realize that displaying anger or fury or grief are just part of being mere mortals. It's not a sin to shed tears for losing someone. And it most definitely is not a sin against God to want something for yourself. To want happiness. To find the missing pieces of yourself."

"Do not bring God into this, Geneva. You do not use His name-"

"Then what does God want for us? For me? Is it fear? That's what you've all surrounded yourself for so long, and perhaps you're safe to stay there. But not me. I'd rather conquer it." Prudence made a move to stand, perhaps to drag her to another room to put her in her place, but Geneva stepped forward and spoke again. "I refuse to go anywhere. If you think you'll lose me, fret not because I'll stay here with you. I'm not going away until you force me to. I'll continue to be here for both of you. Just not the same as before. We'll still be together, but I'll also live the life I want. With your guidance, yes, but not with the dominance or manipulation you impose upon me in every waking minute." She took a breath, letting the silence echo in the space between them. "However, if you insist that I go to this institution you speak of, you'll never see me again. And it shall break my heart." Her voice quivered. "Because I love you both. I loved Aunt Deborah. I still do, and I miss her terribly. I grieve her in my own way-with endless tears at night and all the strong emotions I'm capable of. And that's my point. I'm different. But that doesn't mean I'm insane. God created me to feel and express. To not suppress the bad nor deprive myself of the good. I hope can at least understand that we each live differently. And if I would have to choose, I'm afraid I'll choose me this time."

She stepped back; the silence stretching as her aunts stared at her as if they were facing the devil's spawn.

***

Damon stared blankly at the night sky through the round opening of the well above them.

"What bothers you?" Harry asked beside him. "Is it Miss Withers?"

"No, not really," he said, taking a deep breath. "Believe it or not, I fret for her aunts."

Surprised, Harry rolled his head toward him with a frown. "Why?"

"They're old."

"And?"

"Old people are frail."

"And?"

"And I don't know how they'll take Geneva's plans after losing their sister."

Harry sighed and let the silence linger for a moment. Damon could almost hear his brain working in the stillness of the chamber. "I see. I can't imagine breaking the old man's heart either."

"She's all they have. When their sister left them, they felt betrayed. It's likely they shall feel the same once they learn of her plans."

Harry let out another long sigh. "Well, Miss Withers is not getting younger either."

Damon frowned. "Whatever do you mean?"

His cousin shrugged. "Now that she started to discover the life she wants, she can't take a pause. She'll stumble if she does." He made no comment because Harry was right. "Have you asked her to marry you?"

He rolled his eyes. "Why do you always ask that question?"

"Because we're all just waiting for when you'll do."

This time, the sigh came from him. "I guess we'll all have to wait a little longer."

Harry shook his head with a light chuckle. "You're different with her. Have I told you?"

"No."

"You're patient and you're not patient."

"I'm patient with people who need it."

"And we don't?"

"All Stratfords will be the least deserving of my patience."

Harry laughed. "The devils also commented that you're especially nice to her."

"I am nice."

"When foxed, yes."

Damon scoffed, shaking his head. With another long sigh, he leaned his head back and stared at the opening above. Geneva had come a long way. Sometimes he doubted himself for encouraging her to do what he thought was good for her. What if they weren't? What if he influenced her into doing something she would later regret?

"Don't fret too much," said Harry. "Remember that my own mother had to go against all odds for what she wanted."

He rolled his eyes. "Your father practically stole her with our grandmother's help."

His cousin chuckled. "It was the old man's idea."

The story of Raymond Stratford and his wife was known to all Stratfords. And perhaps even the entire Abberton because of what the earl did when his son eloped with the woman he loved. It was their story that changed everyone's perceptions of the Stratfords. Or, perhaps, it was what Bethany Manning was before she married into the family. Many were impressed that Raymond Stratford and his family cared very little about Bethany being a servant, or that she married the heir to an earldom. But there were some who viewed the marriage as a terrible idea simply because Bethany was not a part of the high society. But the Stratfords were always different, and they proved it with Raymond and Bethany's union.

"They won in the end," he said, blankly staring at the sky.

"They did," Harry said, voice filled with pride.

***

Geneva woke up to the sun streaming through her window. A faint, sad smile broke on her face. Her feet touched the cold floor as she rose. As she stepped onto where sunlight touched the wooden floor, it was warm. A promise of another good day outside, she thought.

Then she remembered she made plans with Damon. They would ask seeds from their gardener so she could spread them in the back garden of the Withers House. Stretching, she yawned and turned around, curious why Gwen had not shown up yet.

Her heart stopped when the handle did not give way as she turned it. She tried again.

Knocking, she called for help. Her panic surged to her throat when she heard heavy footsteps outside and saw shadows through the gap on the floor. At the tinkling sound of keys, she stepped back.

The door swung open, revealing Doctor Mills. He smiled gently, but Geneva knew it was all a farce. The smile was only meant to make her feel at ease. Yet, there was nothing to be calm about when there were two large men standing behind him.

"Good morning, Geneva," Doctor Mills said. "I was sent here to help you."

"Help me how?" she asked, stepping a few steps back as she hugged herself.

"It's not too late for treatment." He stepped into the room. "A year in my hospital will be enough. Like your aunts, I'm hopeful that you'll soon regain your old self in Summerfield."

"N-No," she said, shaking her head. "Nothing's wrong with me."

The smile on his face gave her chills. "They all say that."

And then the two large men moved.