Ada Tennant

Tennant treated her words as if they were sacred hymns, each syllable uttered with care and precision, drawing people in like moths to a flame. Yet, her actions — underneath all their sweetness - spoke a different language entirely. She held herself aloof and guarded her thoughts like a fortress; her touch as fleeting as a passing breeze.

She found herself captivated by you, wishing she could match your brightness, your softness, your sweetness. But deep down, she knew she was just not the same. She preferred her whiskey neat, her coffee black, her bed empty (despite her conquests) at three in the morning.

"You have every virtue that belongs to a deceiver, yet you're a woman of honesty. I don't know if I should admire your righteous nature, or lament the waste of gifts," Tennant declared, staring at you with an ineffable expression — an emotion you can't quite place.

Your soft response only ignited the flames in her eyes. Tennant never meant to lead you astray, but she couldn't help but feel the weight of her influence, like a heavy burden on her shoulders. Deep down, she wished she could shield you from the unintended consequences of her schemes, but it seems as if she has fallen for you already, luring you into her web in the process.

If you were any other noble lady, she would have wasted no time toying with your emotions — but you were far from that. You were the closest thing akin to a companion; the most precious thing she's seen in years.

So, it's not a surprise when she felt the need to disappear from your life. She wanted to leave you untainted — to protect you from her nefarious tricks.

Tennant only sighed, weighing her options. She looked at you for possibly the last time, hiding her limerence. "You're just too sweet for me, my lady," she whispered, cupping your cheek. As she turned away, you felt as though she was saying farewell to you.