Deluxe floor: 12:10 am
She had just put Milo down. It was late, but she and Milo didn't really follow any specific sleep schedule. Day was as good as night, and night was as good as day if you never went outside.
The apartment was cold and quiet and lonely. Finn hated this time of night. Before she'd moved to Bellum, she'd thought she would like it. No Arthur, no hiding from the sounds in the estate, no wondering who was dead, who was being tortured. But now, now she was lonely.
She had just made herself a cup of coffee, had just turned from the kitchen counter, when it happened.
The mug went crashing to the floor, coffee sloshing everywhere, but she didn't even notice.
She forgot Milo completely. She didn't have a baby. Perish the thought. She had a husband, yes, Arthur, yes. But it wasn't him that she wanted. He was too old, couldn't satisfy her (what?) like she needed. It was an arranged marriage, see, not a love match.
And Guinevere wanted love. Guin, yes, and she had seen a knight with black curls and a sure swagger in the great hall. He had looked at her. Maybe she could find him again?
As she left D5, her sweats and t-shirt had changed into a flowing, white gown. Pure as the snow, pure as the purest white. Pure as the aura that glowed ethereally around her. Inside, Guin knew, however, that she was anything but pure. She closed her eyes, and it came to her in a woosh. There were people asleep. Men asleep. She smiled, slow, slow.
And she knew.
She left the door open, and she slipped quietly down the hall, pale blonde hair billowing behind her.