She had always kept an eye on him of sorts, even with all the distance she had placed between them. Just because it was her nature, she would say if asked, to know everything about everyone, in case even the smallest scrap of information proved useful to her. In truth, a truth she would never admit to even herself it was because she cared. Even if it was buried deep Murdoc still had some claim to a part of her heart, and wouldn't that have delighted the prick to know.
But Gavrill was always someone she could easily get information out of and so she's heard all the stories. Of Murdoc's little wife (perfectly suited to his station apparently, but never her she would think with a sneer.) And two little boys, similar in age to her own little girls. A little family, just like all of hers.
No, not like hers, not anymore. His wife still lived after all, and his children wouldn't be painful reminders of her non existent passing like hers now was.
In truth she's not at all surprised that he tries to shut the door on her. After all, it's been years. Years in which she moved herself far enough away to prevent this from happening. Not like he ever would have, his stubbornness enough to put even her own to shame at times. So not it's not a surprise, this response, but yet it still stings, tight around her heart as Charlotte quickly lurches forward, leaning her weight against the door as she tries to wedge a foot between it and the frame to stop him.
"Murdoc," her voice is soft for once, soft and not a shred of her usual sultriness. No it just sounds weary, her shoulders almost seeming to shake as she breathes in, and her head bows slightly as she tries to hide the wetness in her voice. "Murdoc... don't. Please."
The word, so close to a beg from her, is just another strangeness to this night she supposes and Charlotte swallows again, stiffening her shoulders as she looks up at her old friend but still she cannot appear as certain as she once did. "I... let me in?"
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But Gavrill was always someone she could easily get information out of and so she's heard all the stories. Of Murdoc's little wife (perfectly suited to his station apparently, but never her she would think with a sneer.) And two little boys, similar in age to her own little girls. A little family, just like all of hers.
No, not like hers, not anymore. His wife still lived after all, and his children wouldn't be painful reminders of her non existent passing like hers now was.
In truth she's not at all surprised that he tries to shut the door on her. After all, it's been years. Years in which she moved herself far enough away to prevent this from happening. Not like he ever would have, his stubbornness enough to put even her own to shame at times. So not it's not a surprise, this response, but yet it still stings, tight around her heart as Charlotte quickly lurches forward, leaning her weight against the door as she tries to wedge a foot between it and the frame to stop him.
"Murdoc," her voice is soft for once, soft and not a shred of her usual sultriness. No it just sounds weary, her shoulders almost seeming to shake as she breathes in, and her head bows slightly as she tries to hide the wetness in her voice. "Murdoc... don't. Please."
The word, so close to a beg from her, is just another strangeness to this night she supposes and Charlotte swallows again, stiffening her shoulders as she looks up at her old friend but still she cannot appear as certain as she once did. "I... let me in?"