Nobility. Wealth. That's all my parents seemed to care about anymore. It was always "Do this, (Y/N)." Or "Don't do that, (Y/N)." Or "You must carry on our legacy by marrying a man you have never even met before, (Y/N)."

I was sick of it. Sick of day after day, doing what I was told, and never living for myself. I was supposed to be the perfect girl. Do as I was told. Be seen, but not heard. Have no substance, but be shallow.

You see, I was the eldest daughter of an extremely wealthy dignitary. I was born and raised in Venice, Italy, but am able to speak perfect English because we - my sisters and I - were required to learn it.

Anyway, back to my story.

After a year of letting my parents know that this life was not the life I wanted to live for myself, they finally—albeit reluctantly—relented and let me move to the United States of America to further pursue my studies in both technology and psychology. I decided to attend the school of Juilliard, which was located in New York.

Now, I could sit here and bore you with descriptions of my classes and learning and such, but I'm not going to do that. Instead, I'm going to focus on the juicy bits.

It was the year 1810, and I was doing wonderfully in my classes. That's when I met him.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me backtrack a bit, and give you more context.

My good friend Melody, whom I had met through attending Juilliard, was grabbing her purse, planning on going to the theater.

"I'm heading to the theater. Do you want to come?" she asked me, her blonde ringlets bouncing around her pale frame as she looked to me.

I shook my head, thanking her. "I appreciate the invite, but I have a great deal weighing on my mind. My parents say I must return to Italy and marry a man I have never met, and I have much to think about before I can write a reasonable, somewhat respectful response to their letter. I believe I will go for an evening stroll."

Melody's pretty brow furrowed in pity for my situation, which I absolutely hated, but I said nothing. "Well, that is simply awful, and I do hope that you are able to rectify the whole matter." She spontaneously pulled me into a tight embrace, quite to my surprise. "I have grown to care about you so, and I don't know whatever I shall do with myself, should you have to return home to Italy indefinitely," she moaned dramatically.

I smiled a small smile and patted my friend's back consolingly. "There, Melody, I'm sure it will all be alright. After all, I do have a way with words. I did convince them to let me come to America in the first place, did I not?" I asked her playfully.

She pulled away from the embrace, tears in the corners of her blue eyes, but smiling nonetheless.

"That is very true. Well, I best be off. I do hope you find your way with words to be as useful to you now as it was when you first came to America."

I bid her farewell and grabbed my own purse and coat, as the sun had already set and it was growing increasingly colder by the moment.

I strolled along the roadways of New York, breathing in the crisp, cool, evening air. As a gust of wind whipped at me, my hands flew up to my long, dark brown curls, making sure they were still in place in a bun atop my head. Relieved to find that they were, in fact, unfazed by the quick burst of wind, I continued on my way, the bright street lamps giving off a comforting glow.

As I was wrapped up in my thoughts, I didn't notice a man quickly approaching me, lost in thoughts of his own. As we passed one another, I accidentally collided with his shoulder, which sent my purse skidding onto the ground.

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry! I didn't see you there! Here, let me help."

The man bent down and retrieved my purse for me.

He had thick brown locks and the most striking green eyes I had ever encountered in my lifetime. His beard was short, simply stubble, and he wore a deep maroon jacket. I knew I had seen him around somewhere before, I just couldn't exactly remember where or when. His voice was deep and gravelly, but kind at the same time.

"Thank you, I believe I am also to blame," I told him, chuckling a bit and taking my purse from his outstretched hand. "I suppose I was too enveloped in my own thoughts that I didn't notice someone approaching."

"Ah, that is a most dangerous thing."

"Pardon?"

"I simply mean, to be enveloped by worry and doubt."

I was taken aback by how he was reading through my nonchalant small talk. "I never said worry and doubt were ever present in my mind."

"No, you did not. You didn't have to. You seemed troubled. And only when someone is deeply troubled by what could've been or what may come, can they truly be so deeply in thought that they forget the here and now."

I stared at him in shock. "By god, you seem to know much about the human emotion! Surely you are a philosopher?"

He shook his head ruefully, a tired, sad smile on his face. "No, I'm not a philosopher, simply a man wracked with guilt from the past and tortured by worries from the future."

I hesitantly reached out and laid a hand on his sleeve comfortingly. "Why don't we sit down? Maybe I can give you some comforting words, as you have so expertly done for me."

His brilliant emerald eyes snapped up to mine.

"I should like that, yes."

I led him to a nearby bench and sat down next to this curious man, who seemed to have lost all hope, yet still managed to give it to others around him.

"Ah, I just remembered, I never properly introduced myself. I am (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N)," I said, smiling a small smile at him.

He returned my smile with one of his own, which for some reason made my heart flutter. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss (Y/L/N). My name is Lawrence Shoggoth."