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© Danielle Harwood-Atkinson 2002-2021. All rights reserved.

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Faith.


It was a dry night before he got into the car. By the time he reached the castle entrance it was pouring, obscuring the road before him. He switched on the windscreen wipers but they barely made a difference.


Coming to a halt, he turned off the engine and got out of the car.


Diana was still standing where he had left her, rain coming down all around her, around him.


Witch rain.


He took a step, then another, then another. Before he knew it, he was standing before her once more.


"Diana," he uttered, a wealth of unspoken words in his tone.


She stood before him, tears quietly slipping down her face.


"I'm trying to protect you," he reasoned softly. "If the congregation gets their hands on you…" he paused, a myriad of scenarios playing through his mind. "I couldn't bear it."


"I may need protection from them, but not from you," she reminded him.


"I know you believe that, and I admire your faith in me,” he began, prepared to explain himself, at least a little.


"But you don't have it in yourself," she realised. 


He shook his head, thinking of Elinor and Cecile. "No."


“Then I shall have to have enough for the both of us,” she resolved.