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Apr 19, 2023 21:21:49 GMT
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Post by Violet Bridgerton on Nov 7, 2022 20:36:46 GMT
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Oct 31, 2024 22:45:41 GMT
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Post by Deleted on Nov 8, 2022 10:04:12 GMT
colin & violet. Our muses sitting at their child’s sickbed.
"Is she well?"It was inevitable, he supposed, that with eight children one of them would get sick eventually. He didn't know how bad it was, but he was worried, there was no denying that. Hyacinth was the baby of the family, and while all would insist she got on their last nerve at some point or another, it was rather terrifying to see her looking so frail. The doctor had been called for, had visited several times, but that didn't change the fact she hardly looked well.At this point, he could only hope and pray she would pull through. It had been some years since Edmund Bridgerton had passed, but Colin knew how broken his mother had been then. He was only twelve at the time, but he'd been old enough to understand, to bear witness to it all. How destroyed would she be if she lost one of her children, especially one so young? But she was sick, she was only sick, and she'd pull through. She had to. The third-born son moved to sit beside his mother, offering a hand, trying to hide the worry that had been gracing his features moments before. "Has the doctor been this morning?" [attr="class","mizocredit"] [newclass=.mizocredit a]font:bold 6pt calibri;letter-spacing:1px;color:#b5d1f1;[/newclass]
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Apr 19, 2023 21:21:49 GMT
Tag me @violet
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Post by Violet Bridgerton on Nov 10, 2022 16:48:19 GMT
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if any | When Hyacinth had first complained of sore throat, Violet had not shown much concern. She had raised eight children and throughout the years each had had their fair share of ailments. Children grew ill, they stayed in bed for a while and whined as if the world might be ending, and then they recovered.
It was only after Hyacinth developed a fever that Violet began to grow concerned for her daughter. She seemed to grow so weak in such a short span of time, the colour drained from her cheeks so that she was almost as pale as the sheets she lay upon and she barely had the strength to open her eyes.
The doctor had been, prescribing medicines that she did not believe to be working. She saw little improvement, apart from where her daughters breathing seemed to ease and become less of a struggle. She still whined each time someone touched her, as though the contact caused her pain, and she would not wake from her sleep, which seemed so restless.
Colin's voice dragged her attention from where she sat watching the rise and fall of Hyacinth's chest. Watching her breathing as she often had when she was just a baby. Violet forced a smile upon her face when her son sat beside her, slipping her hand into his and giving it a squeeze.
"The doctor says to give it time, for her to respond to the treatment" the idea of sitting at her child's bedside with nothing more to do than wait, was agony. "She has always been so spirited, it is strange to see her like this" she had to believe that Hyacinth would be alright, because the alternative was too awful to comprehend.
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Oct 31, 2024 22:45:41 GMT
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Post by Deleted on Nov 11, 2022 13:01:02 GMT
colin & violet. This would be horrible to witness were it any of his siblings, but how much worse for it to be the youngest of the bunch. Hyacinth had never even met their father, and while it meant she didn’t have to suffer such a loss, it left her with no memories of the man. They’d all watched her grow up, we’re watching the young lady she was becoming…how could they now lose her, knowing she’d never truly get to find her purpose? His mother was right, she was spirited, and he’d often thought she was the most likely to wind up a little like Eloise — hard to handle, full of vigour…he wanted her to be able to actually reach that point. She was so young, this couldn’t be the end.
It seemed that no matter what happened, she wasn’t getting any better. He could only wish that he could do something more to help, some part of him wishing it was him in that bed. At least he’d had a longer life than she had. There was only so much the doctors could do, but there had to be something more that could be done. ”Perhaps I could call for Sir Crane,” he paused. It still felt awkward, bringing up Miss Thompson’s new life, but this wasn’t about her. Sir Phillip Crane, after all, was into botany. ”He was a keen botanist. Perhaps he knows something that might help her.”
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