after love, no one is what they were before.
He, Klaus Davis, is always a man worthy of respect he garnered from the adoring public. Stiff mannerism aside, there is always an enigma surrounding the tall man, an air of secrecy and charisma that is alluring despite the fact that the man is a happily married man. Oft times, she worries if she is breaking her own moral conviction, or grows far too jaded so as to be attracted to a man in a sacred bond to another.
Part of her believes the admiration has nothing to do with the matters of the heart, as he proves to be highly capable and very well-experienced. Surely she could respect a man with such wealth of knowledge at his disposal.
So she thought.
As time passed, countless missions taken across the continent, the pull is nigh irresistible, the tide of emotions she adamantly refused to give name lest they become real began to take root, shards of immoral thoughts breaching defence, colouring her interaction with the man.
Sleep is becoming nearly impossible; her dreams beyond her reach. Her thoughts disgusted herself, bringing shame upon the honour she fiercely shrouded herself with, the veil nearly sheer by the time she has to come to a decision.
This has to stop.
Distance is then sought after, several entanglements with others displaying a hint of interest are pursued with hope that they could be a distraction, severing hopes and wishes best not entertained. Life would be much easier if she were to follow after Amos and her parents’ desires to see them wed, joining their family as one.
But, life has never been that easy and Amos is her greatest friend, a bond succoured since childhood that grows over time. She trusts him with her life, convinced that it is the same for him, but heart is a fickle thing.
She adores the hell out of him, but not that way.
Not the way she has in mind when Klaus Davis lingers over her innermost thoughts.
She wonders if he knows of her … interests. Wonders if she has embarrassed herself, disparaging her own reputation over impulse she could not control.
She has to stop.
The devastating aftermath of the war is a perfect excuse, the destruction of her family nearly absolute, the totality of loss sinking down upon her like an avalanche. Work is a perfect excuse, travelling now a second nature. It begins with sporadic assignments overseas, infrequent but she is gone for quite some times. Missives were often forgotten, sometimes her responses are always delayed and rather abrupt. But, when she heard of his wife’s death, her self-hatred grows.
Stay far, far away, Nadia.
And she does.
She has to stop.
[But, she grows weary of running…]