CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.
the compromise.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

WINIFRED WATCHES OVER HER SISTER'S BEDSIDE LIKE A HAWK. Madeline had been so weak after the prolonged birth, that when Natasha had been born and the doctor had brought her to hold, she'd weakly cried out "No!" in the fear she might drop the newborn. In the days that have followed, the four-time mother has mostly slept, completely weak. Winifred finds herself often sitting by her side and simply watching her sleep.

She is not the only one, of course. Silas is seldom found very far from his wife's side, murmuring sweet nothings and inside jokes only she understands. Madeline finds great comfort in having her mother around to lean on for support. Abigail and Jemima have taken to reading at her bedside, although their choices of literature vary quite greatly. Then there are the children, crawling into bed and cuddling their mother whenever she feels fit to do so.

In those moments, Winifred instead turns her attention to her goddaughter.

Natasha Osborne is quite possibly the most peaceful child she has ever encountered. She has only cried once, and even then it was short-lived. She sleeps like the world could not stir her and when she is awake, she gazes around with the most beautiful twinkling eyes she got from Madeline. Winifred has often found her relationship with young children contentious; more bittersweet than anything, feeling that ache of the child she never got to have with her late husband. But something about knowing Natasha is her goddaughter, an extra responsibility, makes her all the more sacred... and she adores her.

     If Silas or her grandmothers are not the ones cradling the newborn, it is most often Winifred. She sits with her in the nursery, the rocking chair creaking softly as she watches the infant's tiny fingers wriggle in her sleep. It feels like the perfect reward for what a painful childbirth it had been for the mother.

     Winifred is thankful for the Bridgertons, too. They have sent flowers to congratulate the family on the new child, but they all know that was hardly the kindest thing they did. It had been unbearable to watch the young children's reacting to Madeline screaming — knowing they were under the care of the Bridgertons until further news had been a blessing.

     Not to mention Benedict's comfort, to her, had meant everything. It had been like a soft beacon through the haze of everything that had transpired.

One morning, about a week later, she pokes her head in the door of Madeline's bedroom to see her sister wide awake. She is sat up in bed and back to reading again. Her complexion is still slightly pale as it has been, but there is a spark that has been re-gained in her eyes. "Come in," she beckons to Winifred, patting the space on the mattress beside her. So she obeys, sitting down next to the resting mother as she sets aside her book.

"I thought I'd do my own reading for once," says Madeline. "Abigail and Jemima have been very committed in reading to me."

"Yes, I have glimpsed them in here a few times."

"Although I must say, the clash of their Jane Austen and Clara Reeve readings respectively has been rather confusing."

The both of them chuckle. "How are you feeling?" Winifred asks her.

Madeline heaves a huge sigh, sinking further into her pillow. "Better. I wish I could have held Natasha when she was born. I feel awful that... I have not immediately connected with her."

"You will," Winifred reassures her, "just give it time. It has only been a week."

"A week is a long time for a child. The rest of it just seems to fly by so fast."

She suddenly seems overcome with emotion, swallowing thickly so that the large gulp seems to fill the room's silence. Winifred reaches out and squeezes Madeline's hand; whenever it comes to the birth, it seems the whole experience has shaken her to the core. Who could blame her? It was traumatic enough as a bystander, let alone the mother who had to endure the entire thing. She inhales a shaky breath and sniffs.

     "Will you just come up here and sit with me?" Madeline asks innocently.

     After a beat, Winifred replies, "Of course..." She shuffles up closer to her sister, who careens to the side to allow Winifred to sit against the headboard with her. She expects to be the one doing the comforting, but instead it is Madeline wrapping her arms around her in a hug and letting her head rest on her shoulder. Blinking in surprise, Winifred pats her sister's arm. It is a rare moment where she thinks she feels like the little sister for once... and it feels strange.

     "We do not do this very often," Winifred thinks aloud.

     "That is because you never let me," Madeline chuckles, "not since we were children. Sometimes I think you would rather die before you let someone fuss over you."

     "Mad, you're squashing me—"

     "I rest my case!"

     Winifred wriggles free of the embrace, instead sitting side-by-side with her sister. She smooths down her dress and keenly averts the subject. "Speaking of sisters... what do you suppose will happen with ours, now that you are weaker? Navigating the London season with them was going to be difficult enough with a newborn on your hands."

     "I know," Madeline grimaces guiltily, "which is why I do not think I can commit to it this year. Not in full, anyway. Silas and I were thinking... we might go back to Denham Hall for a while. He wishes to put his duties on hold, to manage the estate and spend more time with the family."

     "That sounds perfect."

     "But what about our sisters?"

     "Our sisters can find plenty of suitors in the country," says Winifred, "they will be fine."

     To this, Madeline raises a sceptical eyebrow, a smirk playing on her features. "Are you certain? Do you not recall some of the men our parents tried to introduce us to when we were younger?" She giggles, adding in a mischievous whisper: "Remember the one who kept stepping on my feet during the dances and thought my name was Margaret?"

     "Oh God, do not remind me!" Winifred groans, hands over her face as she laughs painfully. She remembers plenty of misadventures with being nudged into awkward conversations with potential suitors. Then she had met Joseph, and they all paled in comparison. And then... well, then he wasn't there anymore. When she removes her hands from her face, Madeline's grin has faded, replaced with something more quiet and sincere.

     "What?" she asks her.

     Madeline tilts her head. "What of you, dear sister? Will you be alright?"

     "I will be fine. What do you think I do all day at Highbourne? Sit there and twiddle my thumbs?"

     Winifred says it dryly, dripping with sarcasm which makes her sister roll her eyes. But inside, she has to try so hard to hide the pang of truth in her chest. She isn't wrong...

     "I will stay for as long as you need," she concludes, patting Madeline's hand.

"The christening shall be in a couple of weeks," Madeline reminds her, "and you are her godmother, so... it would be an honour to have you there."

"Of course I will be."

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

AS godmother, Winifred holds the greatest honour of holding Natasha during her christening. It is the first time she has been given such a duty and she glows with pride at the chance. Especially with Madeline still a little too weak to stand during the whole service, she feels a responsibility to represent her. Winifred handles her goddaughter with the greatest care as the vicar baptises the child, anointing her head with water from the font.

     She is not alone. Anthony and Kate have returned from their honeymoon just in time, attending the baptism together as the viscount steps up to be Natasha's godfather. The married couple's unbreakable joy rubs off on everyone else present — Winifred cannot help but smile through the whole thing. It is such a welcome and stark contrast from how they appeared in the previous season.

     After the service, there is a small gathering held in the Osborne drawing room, filled with immediate family and close friends. Amongst them, the Bridgertons have been invited as a thank you. The viscount and viscountess, of course, are present along with Violet and Benedict. Madeline made it downstairs and sits comfortably in an armchair, Silas sat beside her with their hands threaded together.

     For a while, Winifred stays in a quieter corner with Natasha in her arms. Most people enjoy cooing over the baby — and, by association, the godmother holding her gets an alarming amount of attention — so she had been keen to seek some solace. Little Natasha seems scarcely aware of the bustling drawing room around her, eyelids fluttering closed sleepily.

     "Mrs. Erstwhile," a voice from above her says.

     Winifred looks up and smiles. "Lord Bridgerton."

     Anthony carefully takes a seat next to her, staring in quietened awe at his new goddaughter. Winifred cannot help but be endeared by the viscount's open fondness; it is such a contrast from the tense, duty-worn man she first met a year ago. She is glad to see him so much happier these days. "You certainly have a way with the child," he says in admiration. "She has not cried once in your arms."

     "She just doesn't cry at all. After all that turmoil, she is the most peaceful infant I have ever met... Lord and Lady Osborne are certainly blessed."

"I heard about the... difficulties, during the birth," Anthony says delicately. A solemn shadow is cast over his face for a moment, a muscle flaring in his jaw. The memory of Hyacinth's birth seems to sear him especially out of his siblings. "I was pleased to hear that my family were able to help, even if only in a small capacity."

"It was not small," she insists, "your family were vital. The comfort was... sorely needed."

     For a fleeting moment, she remembers the warmth of Benedict's hand hovering next to hers. She shakes her head and it drifts away.

     Winifred looks up from Natasha for a moment, glancing at Kate from across the room. It is a joy to have her back. She has received plenty of letters from Kate during the honeymoon, but infrequently enough to know that she was well-occupied with Anthony. The new viscountess seems to be blossoming in her role as she speaks to other guests as though she has known them for years. Then again, that is one of the things she loves about Kate Bridgerton — when she commits to something, she puts her whole soul into it.

     "How are you settling back into London?" Winifred asks Anthony, "We have not had the chance to properly catch up since you returned."

     "Very well, actually... although it shall take some adjustment," he responds. "I must say, Benedict held the fort remarkably well in my absence."

     Feeling a glow of pride on Benedict's behalf, she says, "I know. He was quite anticipating the responsibility."

     Instinctively, Winifred begins looking for him in the crowd. She eventually picks out Benedict lower down from everyone else, for he is crouched and speaking to Lucian, listening as the chatting toddler plays with his toys on the carpet. He is particularly tapped into his playful side as he engaged with Lucian and the wooden building blocks sat on the carpet. Winifred can tell the child is absolutely loving it, and she chuckles fondly.

     "That may be, but my brother is adept at a great many things. Sticking to them is another matter entirely."

     Winifred shoots a sideways glance at Anthony before she can stop herself. He did have something once. Detecting what she is trying to say, he sighs. The donation. It hangs over like a grey cloud.

     "I know. I do realise I played a part in that..." Anthony sighs; he checks if his brother is listening, before adding in a whisper, "I truly did think it would help him. Benedict seems to struggle in sticking with something. Always has done. I simply hoped that if his place were secured with the Royal Academy, he might apply himself more."

     "I understand," Winifred sighs. And she really does. Admittedly, she still feels sadness over how quickly Benedict shunned his art.

     Anthony adds, "Anyway, he seems to have applied himself by filling in for my duties while I was absent."

     The brotherly concern on the viscount's face is palpable. Now that the rigidity of the Anthony Bridgerton she met in 1814 has faded, she can truly see how much care he has put into trying to aid his siblings and to guide their futures.

     "He will find his way," she reassures him in the end. "But I do not think it would hurt to tell your brother what you told me... how impressed you were by how he carried on your duties."

     Anthony nods knowingly, a tight smile worn across his face. Just then, Natasha lets out a soft squeak in Winifred's arms, wriggling as though she is waking up more again. Her dark eyes blink up at her like the midnight sky and shine just as brightly as the stars in them.

     "Would you like to hold your goddaughter?"

     He almost seems startled by the suggestion, eyebrows flying upwards. "It will not disturb her?" asks Anthony worriedly.

     "No..." Winifred whispers, already beginning to hand Natasha over to Anthony. The viscount carefully takes the baby from her arms, as though she were a china tea set about to shatter. But after a few seconds, once they are both comfortable, he seems to relax. Natasha stares up at her godfather with a blank expression, yet somehow the love pouring from his is mirrored in her face. Winifred is certain in that moment that Anthony will make a wonderful father one day.

     And clearly she is not the only one. She looks up again, and this time Kate is looking over at them; her entire demeanour softens once she spots her husband holding the baby with such care.

     "See? She has already taken to you," says Winifred. "You are quite the natural."

     Anthony shrugs, still fixated on Natasha. "I suppose I had practice. Seven siblings does that for you. Though apparently, I did not much care for infants when my parents first let me hold Benedict..."

     They laugh, before quickly hushing themselves with wide eyes in the fear that it might stir Natasha too much. As the comfortable silence washes over them again, Kate comes to join the trio. "I thought I would come and join the peaceful corner," she says. Kate and Winifred share a hug and a kiss on the cheek before she sits down next to Anthony, also taking the moment to admire the innocent infant.

"Thank you again for the spices, Kate," Winifred mentions; it had been the gift that the viscountess brought back from her honeymoon. Pouches of ginger and cardamom to flavour her tea, just as she had taught her when they were staying at Aubrey Hall last year.

"If it means you shall be drinking the superior tea, then I was simply doing you a favour," Kate replies with a glint in her eye.

A beat passes, where the viscountess smiles down at the baby, her gaze swirling with mixed emotions. Winifred is vaguely aware that the couple are trying to make an heir — a fair presumption for the newlyweds — but she also senses some hesitance on Kate's part. She had even written it in her letters, how everything felt so perfect with Anthony right now, and disrupting that delicate balance was a quiet apprehension brewing inside.

Instead of discussing this, however, Kate looks up and says: "I was just speaking to Lord and Lady Osborne. They told me about how they were returning to Essex in a few week's time."

"That is correct, yes."

"And that means your sisters...?"

"Will manage just fine," Winifred points out.

"I only wish we could assist more," Anthony admits. "You know that we would gladly have you all stay in Bridgerton House, but then there would be the elephant in the room..."

The trio sigh in unison, all saying it at the same time:

"Colin."

It was not to say that there was any animosity between Colin Bridgerton and Abigail Seymour, that had come out of their ex-courtship. But it would likely be awkward to be sharing living quarters with a former suitor like that, not to mention improper in the eyes of society. Winifred shakes her head at the Bridgerton couple. "That is a very kind offer," she says, "but you needn't worry. Are you alright with the baby, my lord?"

"Certainly," says Anthony.

"Then I might go and fetch myself some more tea. Excuse me..."

Winifred gets up and leaves them, shooting protective glances over her shoulder as she walks to the refreshments table. Tea, biscuits and scones have been set out for the small party of guests to feast on. She is pouring herself another cup of tea when she feels a familiar silhouette enter her periphery. Exhaling softly, she sets the teapot down and turns around with the teacup in her hands.

     "Quite the party, isn't it?" says Benedict. "Much more enjoyable than any old ball."

     "Are you saying that you prefer the company of a boy who is all but... three?"

"He certainly spouts more nonsense than much of the ton."

Winifred chuckles, although surveying their surroundings to make sure no one heard Benedict's teasing and took it to heart. A beat of comfortable silence passes, smiling at each other in the column of midday light that shines through the window.

"Mr. Bridgerton..." she says quietly, staring down at the carpet, "I cannot thank you enough for your support and comfort during Natasha's birth."

Just like that, Benedict switches from playfulness to earnestness. "Of course, it was the least we could do. You would have done the same for us."

She nods silently. He sets his own teacup down with a subdued clink on the table.

"So, is it true? You will be heading back home soon?" he asks.

"Yes," Winifred sighs, stuck between whether she enjoys that decision or not. "But I trust you will all have your hands full during this season, what with Francesca's debut."

"I shall have to find someone else to hide during balls with," Benedict says; half-teasing, half-serious.

She furrows her brows. "Oh, I am certain you will find someone else. You have your family, the other gentlemen of the ton, the young ladies."

"Perhaps... but they have some stiff competition in the department of conversation."

Benedict looks at her pointedly, before picking up his tea again and taking a sip, leaving Winifred with a twist of confusion. There it is once more — a confusing choice between wanting nothing more than to go home, and to stay in Mayfair and see what becomes of things. For a fleeting moment, his words steered her violently to the latter.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

THE day after the christening, the Osbornes receive a caller.

It is perplexing to say the least. Who could be calling on them before the social season has begun? The christening was yesterday, but hardly warrants much follow-up. They cannot think of anyone who would be visiting Abigail or Jemima yet, who shall be leaving London soon anyway... so who could it possibly be?

Winifred is in the middle of packing her bags, ready to go home tomorrow when she hears the commotion downstairs. A maid is helping her fold a chemise neatly when the voices travelling through the floorboards catch her attention — she would know that voice anywhere. And there is another one, a much older one, accompanying it. Winifred's curiosity gets the better of her, but it turns out she does not need to investigate on her own, for the housekeeper soon arrives and comes knocking on her bedroom door.

"You have callers, Mrs. Erstwhile," she says. "For you and Lord Osborne. And Lady Osborne too, should she feel fit to join."

"Oh... well... I shall be right there."

Her mind is boggled with light confusion as she walks downstairs and into the drawing room, to find the faces match exactly who she thought the voices were — Lady Dominique Strachan, and her young companion Lettie sat beside her. The dowager baroness's hands rest on the handle of her cane, wearing thick layers of dress in the persisting chill at winter's end. Winifred makes immediate eye contact with Lettie, telepathically trying to ask, "What are you doing here?" But the Fitzroy girl does not respond, simply pursing her lips into a smile.

"Lady Strachan," says Silas as he enters the room after her, "this is a surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"First and foremost, I came to share my congratulations on the birth of your daughter," says Lady Strachan, reaching for a macaron. "We heard the news upon our return to London just yesterday."

"Thank you. Natasha is another bundle of joy, to be sure of it."

"But do not let me keep you any longer. I heard—"

Lady Strachan suddenly holds her tongue, for Persephone has just entered the room. The two woman stare at each other with a familiarity that must suggest decades worth of friendship... if you could call it that. Familiarity would, indeed, be the better and only word. "Good-morning, Lady Strachan," Persephone says coolly. For some reason she seems to shrink in Lady Strachan's presence; subtly, but enough to be noticeable.

"Lady Osborne," she nods mercifully. "I was just speaking to your son. You have raised him well."

Silas scoffs lightly at this. He seems to know full well that he was raised better by his governess than his mother. But Persephone nods slowly. Afterwards, Octavia walks in, brows raising in delight at the visitors. "Oh, Lady Strachan! And Lettie, lovely to see you again," she smiles in recognition at her daughter's friend. "What is the occasion?"

"Lady Strachan was just inquiring about... actually, what were you inquiring about?" Silas asks.

     With Octavia sat beside Winifred, everyone turns their attention back to the baroness and Lettie.

"Right, yes. I also heard upon my return to London, that you and the family shall be returning to Essex very soon. Is that correct?"

"Yes," Silas nods, "we thought it would be pleasant to spend some time in the country."

A glint appears in the older woman's amber eyes, shooting a glance at Persephone. "And am I to believe that you will be joining them too, Lady Osborne?" she asks.

"Indeed, I shall," Persephone hums.

"Willingly going to the countryside? My, Persephone, how you have mellowed," Lady Strachan chuckles.

It is then that Winifred realises she hardly knows Lettie's employer all that well. But there is a quiet glint of mischief about her, balanced fascinatingly with sternness. What she can see is how her best friend works well with the dowager baroness. She sees it right now, in the way Lettie hides a smirk at the remark.

"That is very admirable," the baroness continues. "But then, Lord Osborne, as I understand it you will not be hosting your sisters-in-law for the season?"

"Regrettably, no. We would have liked to sponsor them for another year but the circumstances have proven otherwise."

"I see. And you, Mrs. Erstwhile?" Lady Strachan suddenly turns to Winifred, who has been sat quietly on a chaise lounge during the whole conversation thus far. "I assume you are returning home as well?"

"Oh, y– yes, that was the plan, anyway."

"Hm... I would hold that thought if I were you."

What?

Biting delicately into a macaron and swallowing the bite, Lady Strachan proceeds to clasp her hands in her lap. "Here is my proposal: let me host the Seymour girls for the social season. And Mrs. Erstwhile may join us, too. They can stay with Miss Fitzroy and myself in Berkeley Square."

     It takes a moment for the offer to sink in. In the surprise of it, Winifred is immediately split on the idea. Her immediate reaction is to refuse, for it was enough to take up the kindness of her sister for the season last year, but now from a woman she hardly knows? It is another thing entirely. The opportunity for her sisters also conflicts her — on the one hand, she knows Abigail and Jemima could have access to some of the most eligible bachelors in the country, but her more cynical side wonders if they will still overlook them as untitled country girls in comparison to the sparkling debutantes (Winifred still remembers silently fuming when she heard the Cowpers speaking lowly of the Seymours behind their backs).

And there are... other reasons, perhaps. More selfish ones, both for pros and cons. But Winifred tries to keep a level head in the argument.

"Are you quite sure?" Octavia asks, bewildered but clearly moved.

"M'am," Winifred stammers, "we could not possibly impose on your—"

"Ah, but I am not finished," says the baroness calmly, lifting one finger in the air. "What else is an old widow to do in this city? I have plenty of rooms in my apartments to house you and your sisters. And if my own children will not accept my offers, then my guests could at least do the very same. It is not as though I do not have the funds."

But Winifred cannot bring herself to accept the offer so freely. "Lady Strachan, that is very kind of you, but we really would be overstepping. Abigail and Jemima will find plenty of suitors in our home county."

To this, the baroness quirks an eyebrow, then the corner of her lips. Her knuckles grip her cane as she turns sideways to Lettie and mutters, "You were right, Miss Fitzroy... she is a stubborn one." Only then does it occur to Winifred who might have suggested this idea in the first place. Lettie. She catches her eye again, and her friend is silently pleading with her to be open-minded.

     "Forgive my daughter," Octavia laughs lightly, clutching Winifred's hands, "she is very wary of imposing on others."

     "Mama..." Winifred mutters.

"Of course," Lady Strachan continues, "I cannot force you all to come and stay with me. But let me make it absolutely clear that it would be no burden to host you. It would make my stays in London entertaining, for once... and it would get my opinionated companion off of my back."

     "I am sure we could consider it," Silas interjects smoothly. "We could discuss it with the Madeline and the girls, couldn't we?"

     "Certainly, we could!" Octavia says. "Such a kind offer, Lady Strachan, we are truly grateful."

     "At least someone is."

     Winifred feels her cheeks flush with embarrassment. Luckily, the baroness doesn't seem offended, but clearly takes pleasure in poking and prodding. It would appear that Winifred is outnumbered in her stance — even Persephone seems to be in agreement (if it means she does not have to "herd Madeline's country folk like cattle"). With a resigned sigh, she submits to the possibility.

     "Very well," she says, "we can consider it."

     "I'll go and speak to Madeline right now," Silas announces, sweeping out of the room before anyone can stop him.

     Seizing the opportunity, Winifred nods to the doorway whilst staring pointedly at Lettie. Can we talk alone? She understands immediately, and the pair rise from their seats to meet in the hallway just outside the drawing room. They pause by a pink floral arrangement in their moment by themselves.

     "Did you put the baroness up to this?" Winifred asks in a whisper.

     "I pulled some strings, yes," Lettie shrugs, as if it is nothing. "Why are you so resistant to this offer?"

     "I am not trying to resist, I am just... surprised. How did you learn of our news so swiftly?"

     "Come now, Winifred. You must have learned from last year that news travels fast in Mayfair. Even in the off-season." Folding her arms across her chest, Lettie's brows pinch together as she scrutinises her friend in her doubt. "You seem doubtful. If you are worried about being kept away from Highbourne, no one is forcing you to stay. But equally... I have missed you... perhaps that is my selfish reason for suggesting this offer."

     Winifred's chest heaves with a large sigh. What is it, really? Strangely, she is not met with an immediate desire to go home — the comfort, sure, but Highbourne holds a different appeal these days. It is different when she knows for certain that Joseph will not be there anymore. For all the irritation of scandal and high society events, she had been secretly looking forward to another season where she could be surrounded by those she now considers friends. Kate, Anthony, Lettie... Benedict.

     A cautious voice inside her head warns her that this is temporary. Delaying the return home will only work for so long, and it would be irresponsible to keep escaping it.

     But the other part of her, simply trying to make sense of the future ahead of her, simply asks:

     Why not stay a little longer?

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

A U T H O R ' S
N O T E

—

Dearest readers...

This chapter is shorter and a bit unedited, but I enjoyed writing it! Mainly Natasha being an adorable newborn, but also getting to write Kanthony, including building on a bit of friendship between Anthony and Winifred (I always hoped they'd become great friends, but he had some stuff he needed to get over first in season 2). Anthony is going to be such a protective godfather when Natasha grows up. Sorry there wasn't as much Benedict, I wasn't quite sure where to put him in this chapter.

And then we had an appearance from Lady Dominique Strachan and Lettie. They haven't been featured as much in this book so far, but that's about to change. This was a chance for me to include them more and have a slight change of scenery and dynamic, as well as to explore their characters a bit more. So, for the time being, we'll have to say goodbye to the Osbornes, and hello to Lettie and Dominique. I love their dynamic so much and I hope you do too!

It is becoming clear (hopefully, if I've written it right) that Winifred is starting to really feel the loneliness at Highbourne. It's like she secretly wants to stay in Mayfair for the social season so she has more company. Act One was a lot of her processing the grief and mourning Joseph, and whilst she still grieves him, she is more focused now on what comes next — you'll see more of this in Act Two, and how she tries to decide what to do with her future, as well as the growing feelings for Benedict.

With that, we've FINALLY reached season three! Next chapter kicks off with the beginning of the social season. And now that Part 2 has premiered, I can plan ahead and think of where I want Benedict and Winifred to go during season three's plot, as well as how to fit and tweak Benedict's arc to fit with what I had in mind. There will be some changes, so you'll all be kept on your toes...

(On that note, please DO NOT comment spoilers on this book for part 2 just yet! Not everyone has time to watch the episodes immediately, and for a little while, I'd like to give breathing room for readers who may be in that position.)

Thank you for reading as always, reading the comments on this book makes me smile so much!

Yours truly,
— starryeyedturtle

PUBLISHED: 15/06/2024