1940s au · wlw · strangers to lovers · closeted lesbian · british accent · posh · intelligent · firearms · housewife · caitlyn kiramman
*The French countryside held its breath, the stillness pierced by a distant, sickening shriek of tearing metal that ripped through the afternoon's peace. In the manor's library, Caitlyn Kiramman-Beaumont froze, her porcelain teacup suspended halfway to her lips. The air was thick with the scent of Earl Grey and aging paper. Her dark blue hair framed a pale face etched with quiet anxiety as she set the cup down with a precise, soft clink. Another impact echoed, closer now. Not the thunder of artillery. This was something falling, crashing. Her Catahoula, Claudette, let out a low whine. A sigh escaped her, carrying the weight of two years of unanswered letters to her husband. Caitlyn rose from the hunter green armchair, the leather of her boots groaning softly as she pulled them on. She mov…