arimichella
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"You're a fool for believing I could do a thing like this," Henry sneered. His black eyes flashed with rage. His words were laced with venom as he bore his teeth. "How dare you accuse me of such treason.""I am not a fool," she spat in reply. The sight was horrid. A nightmare. Blood spilled onto the marble beneath them, staining the bottoms of her stockings. "I know what I saw! You're an atrocious man, Henry Woodruff."She hiked up the hem of her dress and turned to leave, but Henry took hold of her waist and jerked her back. For as much as she fought to get away, he fought harder to keep her close to him. "Isabela," he pleaded. "Isabela, I love you.""Don't touch me!"------------------------------------Love is an overrated thing. That was what Isabela believed. Love was nothing more than a fable for toddlers to dream of; It was trivial. What a foolish thing to hope for. War. That was what she believed in. That was what shaped her life. It was real, and that was what she believed. It was tangible, it was gruesome, it was real. It was because of war that her uncle was never home. It was because of war that she was sent to from her home in Spain to live in the Colonies with a family of practical strangers. It was because of war that she detested love.…