(Y/N POV)

All of my hyperventilating caused me to eventually throw up. I'd taken myself into the dining room, regardless of the rule that we were not allowed to be in there unless it was time to eat. I'd paced around the table, slammed my hands against it, hit myself to stop the wailing cries from seeping through, and before long, the thought that our lives would be taken from us caused me to open up the window to the garden and vomit.

I coughed and I spluttered but I stayed put as though I were already dead, a lifeless figure hanging from a window ledge. Maybe somebody would see me from their home, but who was I to care? What if Alexander had called this on to get rid of us once and for all with the hopes that he'd have his family back?

What was I going to tell Emily?

Then, a small bird landed next to my hand. In my normal state, I would have flinched, but I could barely take even a simple glance at it. Its body was, for the majority, darkened in a black tone, but through its back came a spectrum of colour down to its tail: crimson, amber and then the finest yellow, stopping at its once more blackened tip. A peculiar little creature, I thought it to be, and it chirped as if it had no worry that I might suddenly pounce for it.

'Do you know what this feels like?' I questioned. 'To know that the life of the closest friend you have will be gone?'

The bird, of course, did not respond; despite this, it rubbed its head swiftly against my arm.

'I want to tell her, but - I don't know how,' I started. 'I don't want to leave it until we're there because she'll freak out in the middle of the courtroom... but if I tell her before it happens, she'll make every excuse not to go and I'm worried.'

In response, the bird perched itself on my arm, making me reluctant to move. I smirked, gently using two fingers to stroke across its head. It wasn't at all startled.

'Maybe you do know what it feels like. How am I to know? You can't understand me.'

The bird stood on its thin legs and hopped its way over to my shoulder. It gave a sudden peck at my cheek, and without warning, a barely audible voice whispered through my head. It was... somewhat recognisable, but at the same time, it was the voice of a complete stranger.

'I'll be there.'

And in an instant, the bird had fluttered away.

°~2 Hours Later~°

I sat at the window-cill with Junior who twirled the curtain around his stubby fingers. Gertrude had brought the bowl into the playroom for Frances and Angelica to blow their bubbles and they encouraged Philip to join them, despite that he was more interested in a poem that he was halfway through writing. Unable to blow them for himself, James chased after the bubbles and giggled playfully to himself. He'd tripped over about five times at this rate.

Eliza had left with the man, telling me that there was something important that she had to do. I hadn't told her about the vomiting incident and prayed that it would pass and nobody would notice. Nevertheless, I could make a good assumption that she was going out to try and put a stop to all of this. I could only hope that it was going to work.

'You act way too old for your age sometimes,' I told Junior. 'In that respect, I guess that's one thing you and Philip have in common. Don't you want to go play with them?'

He ignored my question, moving to what was on his mind. 'Is Pa ever coming back?'

'Of course he will. He loves you and your brothers and sisters.'

'Then why did he leave?'

I sighed. 'He had no choice. He did a bad thing.'

'Is it because he doesn't love you and Emily anymore?'

'Who told you that?'

'Nobody,' he confessed, 'I don't get it, but I know that what's happening to Pa has got to do with you. Does he still love you?'

I looked away. 'I really don't know.'

Abruptly, there came a horrific smash from outside. Junior and I peeked through a small slit in the curtain and observed as shards were scattered across the steps into the house, a bouquet of flowers violently thrown about.

'Did that come from upstairs?' questioned Junior.

'I... don't know.'

Gertrude, too, brought herself to the curtain to look. 'Strange...' she muttered. Philip, Frances and Angelica hurdled themselves over in curiosity.

Rapid thuds came from the staircase: Emily. She didn't come downstairs much and liked to be alone in the bedroom most of the time. I didn't know what she was up to; the phone had died a couple of days into our isolation so she didn't have that to entertain herself with. She didn't enjoy books, nor wanted to play piano, so what she did to occupy herself was a mystery.

With the thought that she would come into the playroom, I didn't budge. But when I saw her leaving through the front door to retrieve the flowers, I bolted past everyone to reach out to her. 'Y/N!' Gertrude called, but I halted myself at the doorway.

'Emily!' I spat. 'Get in here, now!'

She darted her head upwards. 'I-I was just getting the flowers! Eliza will kill me!'

The use of the phrase in itself now alarmed me. 'Just - come here, it's not safe!'

'Well, look what we have here!' a man at the opposite side of the road jeered. I was so concentrated on getting her to safety that I hadn't realised he was there. 'A L/N! No, look in the doorway: two L/Ns! Was hoping to see you two witches out of hiding at some point!'

'Shame they haven't had their heads yet,' another mocked. 'Ought to have you both killed! Bringers of the Devil, you are!'

'You have no place at this residence!' Gertrude emerged, walking outside to guide a petrified Emily back in. 'Move along!'

'Please do spare us, please!' He flung his hand dramatically on to his head.

Gertrude grunted and led Emily through the entrance.

'See you at the executions, lovelies!' the first man to speak finalised, wandering away with his companions.

Emily turned, but the door had already closed. 'E-Exe-'

I wrapped my arms around her. 'Thank God, Em, you gave me a heart attack. What if we hadn't seen you?'

'What- what were they -'

'Never mind them,' - I held my tears back - 'you scared me so much. Don't do that again, okay?'

She nodded, face emotionless with the stun of what had happened.

I didn't know when my final time holding her was going to be, and so, I treated this one as the last.

For all I knew, it could have been.