Francis continued searching, desperately optimistic that he would find her. The library, observatory, main lobby, everywhere. Nothing. He turned to his room, feeling... despair. Sadness. Panic. He slammed the door shut, breathing heavily as he returned to the letter and the ring. Why? Why?
Poppy shuddered as the taxi pulled up to the airport, her hands to her face. It was the right thing to do, she told herself. The right thing to do. The right thing to do.
Francis sat in darkness, his trembling breaths were quiet in the silent room, but to him all he could hear was the deafening pounding of his heartbeat. This wasn't real. It wasn't real.
The scanner beeped as it read her retinas, and Poppy blinked. She took a deep breath as she was ushered onto the plane. Good bye, my love. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
Francis ran his fingers through his hair as tears silently ran down his cheeks. Was she not coming back? Was this it?
The plane took off, and she closed her eyes, hoping desperately for sleep that she knew wouldn't come. (6 Months Later) "Poppy, this way!" Amy, dressed in a bright yellow dress, pulled her along, her smile wide. Bless that girl, Poppy thought idly. The blonde, brown eyed 25 year old had befriended her immediately when Poppy had started at her lab, miserable and alone. Poppy picked at the dress, a deep blue one that exposed her collarbones. "He's apparently really handsome," Amy said, pulling her along. "And single!" Poppy smiled slightly, knowing that she would never be able to share her friend's enthusiasm as they approached the door.
The door was open, and the room they entered was lively, and warm with chatter. People were in groups, most had a drink hand as they went about mingling, and the atmosphere seemed bright.
Poppy followed Amy, a slight smile on her face. She had changed in the last few months. Her limbs had grown stronger, and her gaze had become colder, able to ward off people with an icy gaze. She didn't smile often, but when she did, it was always a relief. Amy chattered left and right while Poppy follow close behind, her arms crossed.
In the distance as they walked along, there would be figure sitting in a chair, their legs crossed with a glass in hand as they chatted idly to the person next to them. The person would be familiar to Poppy, with black hair and brown eyes that now seemed distant, and their clothes impeccably clean, as always.
"His name is something like Francis Shaw or something," Poppy heard Amy say before she saw him. She froze in the room, her collarbones shifting under her skin as she inhaled deeply. Oh God. Oh god.
Francis turned his head, his eyes gazing mindlessly over the room. He didn't notice her at first, as he wasn't looking for her, and just continued listening to his conversation.
She quickly grabbed Amy's arm. "Amy, I have to go," she said urgently. "What? But the party..." Poppy didn't stay to listen, turning sharply to exit the room. Her curls caught the light as she turned, bouncing as she fled.
Francis noticed, and he stood up quickly, ignoring his conversion. He immediately followed, grabbing her arm lightly as he reached her.
She stopped short when he grabbed her, and tried to pull away, her heart hammering in her chest. She was stronger than he remembered, and she didn't turn to look at him, fearing that it would break her resolve.
"Poppy, please..." was all he said. His voice was quiet, but oddly a bit different from before. Raspy.
She shook her head, and tried to pull away again, panicking. "Francis, you need to let go." Her words was harsh, but her voice cracked, indicating her true feelings.
She turned to look at him, her eyes studying him and how he'd changed in the last six months. "I..." She shook her head, stifling a sob. "I don't have a choice."
His appearance didn't change much. He seemed more stern, though. His eyes unforgiving and cold, and he carried himself differently. "Tell me, Poppy. You can't just do that to someone."
