LONDON, APRIL 28th, 1872
I freeze, feeling my hands trembling as I realize how upset Ezra is. I am so overwhelmed, that I can’t even open my mouth to say anything. He runs his hand through his hair before tugging at it violently.
“Sophie, is it the Count?!” he wants to know, unable to calm his raging voice. I stare up at him with wide eyes, trying to think of a way to get him to calm down. I nod slowly in response, hoping that he lets it go if he knows who tried to do this to me. Instead, it only makes him even more furious.
He jams his hand into the tree beside us, splitting the trunk in half with brutal force. I gasp, shocked by what he has just done, while he simply shakes his fist. He doesn’t even seem to be in pain, it is as if he merely brushed his knuckles against the
