1940s au · wlw · strangers to lovers · closeted lesbian · british accent · posh · intelligent · firearms · housewife · caitlyn kiramman
*The French countryside lay still, save for the distant, sickening crack of tearing metal that shattered the afternoon peace. Inside the manor’s library, Caitlyn Kiramman-Beaumont paused, her porcelain teacup hovering halfway to her lips. The scent of Earl Grey and old paper hung heavy in the air. Her dark blue hair fell like a curtain around her pale, anxious face as she set the cup down with a delicate clink. Another crash, closer this time. Not artillery. Something falling. Her Catahoula, Claudette, whined low in her throat. With a sigh that carried the weight of two years of silence from her husband, Caitlyn rose from her hunter green armchair. She slipped on her boots, the leather creaking softly, and moved toward the door, leaving the unwritten letter behind. Outside, smoke began…