Of all the people standing outside the classroom, why did it have to be Violet? I just can’t right now. All the emotions he dredged up, they’re still fresh in my mind. My heart aching out of sympathy for what he did to her and how horrible he spoke about her. The seven years of friendship and then the loneliness.

“If you would excuse me,” I say softly, afraid my voice will break, and I grab her by the hand and tug her a step forward and then push her into the room before running away.

Sorry Violet, but you’re Gerald’s problem now.

I take the long way around to the girls’ dormitories to avoid seeing the ladies as they go for supper, my pace slowing once I’m outside. There’s no way I can eat, so I carry on back to my room, closing the door behind me.

Really, I can’t believe I did that. Nothing can go to plan, huh. Nothing can go right. I rub my face, the tears slipping free now there’s no reason to hold them back. I shouted at the future King of Anglia, manhandled a lady, probably only made things worse. Why did I push her in? Isn’t he just going to take his anger out on her?

I’m the worst.

See, this is why I didn’t involve myself in the first place. I don’t have people skills, I don’t know how to calm people down, don’t know how to solve these kinds of problems. The road to hell is paved with good intentions and I’ve got a warehouse full of bricks ready to lay.

I should have trusted in her. We’re nearly at the break, so everyone would have simply forgotten by the new year. I could have sent her a Yule card and a present, but no, I had to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong. I said it to him, didn’t I? The past is in the past. I’m the only one clinging to that time because those memories are so very precious to me; she has, no doubt, long forgotten them.

But if that’s true, why did she keep the note? Why does she still braid her hair like I did for her all those years ago?

I lean into my hands, eyes shut tight and yet still the tears leak, my face scrunched up in the most ugly way. Sob after sob escape me, these pent-up emotions too much to keep inside any longer. Curling up on my bed, I bury my face into the gutted pillow to at least muffle the pathetic sounds I’m making.

This is… the worst I’ve ever felt. When the stuff at Queen Anne’s started, when I went home for that first winter break, it hurt so much, but… this time I know it’s my fault. I know I made mistakes and that I’ve probably hurt Violet because of them.

And it’s too much. I just want this pain to end.

Slowly, so very slowly, the pain turns to an ache, to a hollowness as I run out of tears to shed, emotions to feel. Lethargic, my mind is filled with a thick fog. No more thinking. No more. Just, please, no more.

I’m not sure if I fall asleep or if my body simply gives up, but I flinch when a knock on the door rings out. Pulling back together the scattered parts of my psyche, I push myself up to a sitting position. With a handkerchief from my pocket, I dry my cheeks, wipe my nose and then sniffle back the rest of the snot (struggling to swallow it, almost heaving).

Yes, that was quite the ugly cry.

A cough to clear my throat barely helps before I try to say, “Who is it?” only for my words to come out slurred, more like, “Hoossid.”

“Me.”

I freeze, and then a rush of something pumps through me, clearing my head, priming my muscles. Clumsy, I nearly fall over when I rush to my feet, stagger the few steps to the door, and I twist the knob, pull the door open, eyes glittering with fresh tears.

There’s nothing I could possibly say, barely able to breathe.

Her soft, timid voice says, “Nora.”

She’s standing here, clutching the teddy bear.

“Violet.”

I don’t even know if I said her name or just thought it, but the dam breaks and I grab her, hugging her as tight as I can. We’re sitting on the edge of my bed when I let go, the door closed.

“Violet,” I say again, forcing it in case I didn’t before. “I’m so sorry.”

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She looks as wonderful as ever, everything a noblewoman could ask to be: elegant and refined, clever and poignant, beautiful and strong. I’m so proud of her. So very proud. Her eyes are clear, back straight and hands neatly holding the teddy bear on her lap. Nothing can upset the composure she has so thoroughly taught herself to maintain at all times.

Or so I thought.

“Nora,” she whispers, and it’s strained, and her eyes start to glisten. “I am… more sorry than you could possibly imagine.”

“No, no, you don’t have to apologise,” I say, placing my hands over hers.

Her breath catches and comes out in a splutter, a splotchy patch starting to show on her pale face. “I do, for everything,” she says.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not!” she says, then pauses a moment. “It’s not….”

Oh I just want to hug her and rub her back and tell her everything will be fine. The Violet with a smug expression is best, not this one. “It’s okay, I forgive you.”

She seems to break at those words, her head falling forwards and hands squeezing the teddy bear tightly; I worry for the seams, not exactly the sturdiest thread. “No, I, I… threw away the doll. I couldn’t bear to leave it at home and so I brought it, and when my roommate teased me for it, I threw it away like it meant nothing, and then I pretended I didn’t know you and even said such horrible things to you.”

The words tumble out her mouth one after another, her breath thin by the end, and she follows with a sob as the tears finally spill.

“How can you possibly forgive me?” she asks—asking herself, not me.

“I do forgive you,” I say softly, squeezing her hands.

“You can’t,” she says firmly, only for her tone to soften. “Or is it that… you don’t think me to be a good person?”

So she did hear at least some of what I said to Gerald. Smiling, I carefully pry one of her hands from the teddy bear and move it to the middle of her chest. “You didn’t throw away the feelings, though, did you?” I ask.

“But….”

I let go of her so I can hug her again. “It’s because you’re a good person that I know this has been so hard for you,” I whisper. “I know it wasn’t an easy choice, that you’ve been suffering. However, a mistake is only made when you give up on righting it and you’ve never given up, have you?”

“No, I, I always…. But I couldn’t….”

“There, there,” I mumble, rubbing circles on her back like my mother always did when comforting me.

She splutters and coughs, and then her breathing slowly starts to settle. At first she barely embraced me back, but now she clings to me, her nails almost painful as they press into my sides.

“Whenever I opened my mouth, the wrong words always came out and the tone was always awful,” she says.

I don’t say anything back, just hum a note.

“I wasn’t making fun of you for eating by yourself. I, I wanted to sit with you, but Jemima misunderstood and…. Everyone thought I hated you because I told them to stop when they gossiped about you. Oh God, it became such a mess, I, I thought you hated me, but then you always looked so composed that… I thought I was the only one who cared, that I meant nothing to you.”

Her whole body shudders.

“And somehow that thought hurt far more than thinking you hated me.”

My heart aches. “I love you so much,” I say. “You’re my precious friend. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy.”

Those words calm her yet still her warm tears wet my neck, her shaky breaths cold. “He was right: I really am so utterly horrible,” she whispers.

“No, no, he’s an idiot, don’t listen to him.”

She giggles, and it’s a wonderful sound. How many years has it been since I’ve heard her laugh? “You really shouted at him.”

“Of course I did. No one does that to my friend.” After a moment of silence, I ask, “How much did you hear?”

She fidgets, our hug loosening until we come apart. Her gaze down at her own lap, she says, “I spent the afternoon in the library and had left for supper when, along the way, I heard him talking. That is, he said something like… ‘Such a demeaning note,’ and then my name shortly after.”

“Pretty much from the start,” I say, nodding.

She goes to dry her eyes, but I stop her and hand over a handkerchief, which she accepts with a smile. “He… did apologise to me, and he handed me the things you left behind. It’s shameful of me, I know, but I was truly happy to read the letter, to know that even after all these years you still remember those words I have always kept with me, that I have always treasured.”

“It means so much to me to hear you say that,” I reply, tearing up. Happy tears.

I must be so dehydrated right now.

“And, you know, I’m sorry to ask, but this… teddy bear?” she asks.

Oh, right, bears…. Well, bears are a thing here, but they’re smaller and don’t eat meat (not even fish) nor honey (other insects than bees are okay, I guess). Teddy bears, when were they invented in Ellie’s world? They seem like they should be super old, but I’ve not heard of them here so they’re probably surprisingly modern.

“It’s, um, I couldn’t get a doll and sewing a person, well, it would look really weird, so I went for something… cuddly.”

Made from spare fabric, it’s not the biggest teddy bear. She brings it up to her chest and hugs it with crossed arms. “Cuddly, is it?” she mumbles. “You… made it yourself?”

“Yes,” I say brightly.

Her smile only grows at that and she holds out the teddy bear to inspect it. “Really, it is too precious.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice sewing, so I’m just glad it came out well,” I say.

And her mood darkens, once more swayed by my words. I’m not sure why until she speaks. “Say, I… really am sorry for abandoning you.”

“No, it’s fine, I already said I forgive you.”

She tenses, her expression complicated. “It must have been hard for you. No, I must have hurt you. Rather than tell me you forgive me, pray tell me what it is you are forgiving me for. I don’t wish to be someone who runs away from her mistakes.”

I hesitate. “You’re sure?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says, her face set and tone level.

I meet her gaze for a long moment, then the words I’ve been keeping back for three years finally come out.

“I’ve been so lonely, I missed you so much.”