Penelope's already large eyes widened to the size of saucers, and her wings beat triple the time they had been before snapping straight out.
He what?
Blinking furiously, Penelope's gaze slid down to the floor, and though she would have enjoyed allowing her gaze to remain there, fought to raise her eyes back up. She was at a loss for words, at a total loss for composure, as she struggled to come to terms with what Charles had just revealed to her under duress.
If Charlie had been holding on to this ring since April, and almost proposed to her four or five times, how had a witch who prided herself on her ability to observe suspected not one thing?
More than never having suspected, she'd never even thought along this vein herself. Of course, she'd imagined if Charlie and she had a future together, but those were much more like innocent, childish daydreams. Their checkered history aside, Penelope did feel quite safe with Charles, and was positive she loved him.
But marriage? She was hardly 21 years old… Barely a fifth… possibly even a sixth into her life. Penelope had envisioned what that big day might look like, of course she had. She was not sure, however, that she was in anyway ready to make that even slightly more of a reality than the pretty, dreamy picture in her head, even if it was with a man she loved.
The barriers of the spell had come down, with all her secrets safe and sound, but she felt as rooted to her spot as ever. "I didn't…" Penelope trailed off quite helplessly. "I… "
"The door," she found herself uttering. Penelope whirled around and sought out the exit in a bit of a stupor. "Doors are good."
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