I once again hold the unopened letter in my hand. For one week precisely it has plagued my mind, resting on my chiffonier next to my hair brush. I am reminded of the incident most keenly, both morning and eve, but I have not had the inclination to open it.

Not yet.

I have written myself to Belle for her opinion of the matter. I know she shall be frustrated that I have not yet torn through the blood red seal and absorbed the ink on the page through my eyes, but I need a second opinion. As much as I revel in my own company here in Bohemia, those I speak to have only broken English to converse with and my responses in their language cause impolite convulsions as I am far from fluent. So I need Belle to give me her most unapologetic counsel.

In fact, as I sit with this letter addressed to "The most splendid, illustrious, serene and eminent lady of pleasure" I am waiting for my own post master to return from his weekly rendez vous in the town centre. Belle is always concise with her hasty replies and I hope she has not disappointed.

Later

Belle always delivers, a most reliable friend. I ripped open her letter without so much as a second thought, relishing in the familiar penmanship of one so dear. And she never disappoints. She admonished me for wasting an entire week before opening the letter from the utterly impertinent messenger and implores me to copy it word for word so she may be included in its untimely exposition.

It was all the gentle shoving I needed to gain the courage to tear past the blood red seal and feast upon its contents. The previously anonymous letter as follows:

How can one say no to a Ball in their own honour? Surely though, there is a lack of etiquette in not signing a name? I have many questions, but first I shall peruse my calendar for a suitable day for this Ball.

D. S.

I know I ranted previously about the incapabilities of men ~ the greatest flaw of that gender being their inability to comprehend that they may not be wanted. I claimed there was nothing in particular that spiralled me down to the level of loathing I had for the opposite sex, however that isn't strictly true.

There isn't one specific turn of events, just a compilation of experiences that I hope never again to encounter. Indeed, though I have no complaints whatsoever about how I live my life, and I am eternally grateful for all the generosities my parents have bestowed and what my social status accomplishes, it is rather like being considered a prize mare, waiting around for the highest bidder.

Of course I won't say I was running away from my responsibilities as a daughter, but Mother was none to please when I broke off my faux betrothal to the blonde Esquire, and I know she was less than indifferent to the Prussian Knight. I don't know what my parents expect of me. Am I supposed to somehow marry a Prince? And what of my feelings? Hark should they get taken into account.

But all of this was grumbled to myself in a carriage on a short journey between towns before an even greater liberty was taken, by none other than a chauvinistic male, a lowly messenger. 

The roads in Bohemia are as safe as any other roads on the Continent (I shall not compare them to the windy paths of the Shire that I would know blindfolded) but as it so happened, on a journey I was partaking, we were stopped. I was mid thought, mid curse, mid vent for I have been suffering from anxiety and frustration ever since I left the Convent and I barely noticed the carriage stall. 

Eventually I called out to my driver, Jeeves, to explain the meaning of the wait but was answered with an ambiguous yelp. It did not occur to me that outside may be dangerous, so I soon clambered out the carriage, bustling skirts in tow, to be faced with Jeeves waving his sword in the face of another man who was brandishing his own weapon most scurrilously. I was frozen in time for I could not believe what was before my eyes, and it was the two men who noticed me first (I blame the million petticoats that rustle as I move).

The stranger stopped as he saw me, lending an opportune moment to Jeeves who sliced through the man's navy lapels. Jeeves look positively horrified at the thought of making contact with an actual body that he dropped his sword. Most terrible was what occurred next; I laughed. It was awfully rude of me, but I couldn't help myself. Thankfully the atmosphere seemed to dissipate, but I was not foolish enough to trust a man with no name who yields at the sight of a lady.

As said stranger stepped closer, he stooped to pick up the sword from the dry ground and handed it, hilt first, back to Jeeves. I was perplexed, but had thankfully taken control of my laughter. Also I knew I had a small pistol mercifully sewn into the pockets of my underskirt. I was not afraid.

Two steps closer the stranger came, before he uttered a coherent sound. He addressed me by name and handed me a sealed letter. I had my fingertips resting on the trigger of the pistol in my pocket the entire time, but I think we both knew I would never pull it. He left with a bow, whistling to gorgeous black steed, and made no apology for his actions.

I am still furious with this individual for incapacitating Jeeves and for his rudeness. Nor have I yet opened the letter... All I can see is that it is addressed to "The most splendid, illustrious, serene and eminent lady of pleasure"... If that is not thinly veiled misogyny (or indeed an honest compliment) then I must question all I have ever learnt. 

I hold the letter in my hand. It has been two days. 

Shall I open it?



D. S.

What can I say when once again I have forsaken the Shire in the hope of learning more about another culture hundreds of miles away? I do not claim to comprehend all there is to know about my own Shire, my home town, nor even all the rooms of the South Wing ~ but I have that as my foundation, it is my rock and I have all the world to see before I surround myself with familiar walls and listen to the memories of amicable yet unchanging winds.

The Continent has beckoned and I have followed without a second glance of what could have been and what I have left behind. Time waits for no man, and nor do I. The world is my companion, the stars my guiding light, the adventure of the unknown that I crave has overtaken any physical desires. Maybe the Convent did spark an epiphany, it certainly changed my perspective on a few things, but travelling and writing are all that I want at this moment in time.

If one were to ask where I have travelled, my response may cause quite a stir ~ Bohemia and Central Europe. I have never seen countryside quite like it, nor do I know enough of the history to comment on its current politically tumultuous occurrences, al I know is I have a new home, and a new life to start. 

Of course new beginnings bring fond memories of the Antipodes and the young Captain whom I think of often, and even my longer acquaintance with the blonde Esquire... Here I am looking for no man, only peace and tranquillity that comes with a lack of the presence of testosterone and berating, pawing men.

Why are they never happy until they have consumed you and claimed you for their own? As flattering as it is to be wanted by a man, I shall choose and make my own decisions about whom I want. And if he does not want me, then that is a challenge I shall accept, as would be the rejection, should it follow.

Most men I have met do not seem to understand, or even comprehend the idea that they may not be wanted. It is the greatest flaw of the supposed greater sex. Their egos blind them and they view women as nothing more than a trophy.

I do not want saving. I do not want to be cherished. I want to be allowed to travel the world, I want someone who will dare me to climb the tallest tree and laugh at my failures. I do not want to be coddled and put on display like some dumb animal. I have a voice and I have never been afraid to use it, but men... How often they have tried to silence my thoughts and stake a claim that was never theirs to begin with.

No doubt it is easy to tell that I am somewhat infuriated and there is nothing particularly specific to render any blame. My writing as of late has been scarce and I am putting blame on my ability to get distracted by men. Here I am without men, without anyone, and I am writing more than I have for months.

Maybe I am my greatest downfall, I know how easily I give in to temptation, but I feel at peace knowing I am free of all men. I am my own person.

Sometimes, all I'd like, is to meet someone who wants me to be my own person.

D. S.

At long last I have a glimmer of time to myself to contemplate on the weeks prior to this exact moment before the future swallows me whole.

Iberia was a blissful reverie of uncomplicated musings on golden beaches with the Prussian Knight. We shared sunsets and sunrises, never letting a moment pass unaccordingly.

However, there was one slight confusion while on the Continent ~ I could not write while I relaxed in Iberia. Normally I am at my most peaceful when I put pen to paper but it seems I had too much to think about and my thoughts were unable to leave my mouth nor hand coherently.

Nevertheless I have managed to once again find the niche I am most comfortable in but it shall be ever so fleeting. I leave the Shire tomorrow, with less than two days in my home town, for more Eastern climes. The Continent still calls my name and who am I to ignore what feels almost determined? 




D. S. 

Even in the shrouded cloisters of the Convent do the Governess, Belle and I manage to divulge in drunken debauchery. An entire weekend of dancing and dallying with the supposed 'undesirables' of the world has piqued my interest to those who have a purely more hedonistic idealism that I so wish to mirror.

Brighthelmstone was host to one of the most magnificently fabulous events of the year. Lords, ladies and every possible character in between feasted at the festival that promotes the belief in one love, which is all we need. I fully support everything that Brighthemstone had to offer; there was music from around the world and morning dips in the sea, an array of lovers giving their utmost devotion to their cause. It was beautiful ~ and that's not just the overflow of damson wine that we had to drink. Even days later I remember the peaceful calm that clasped through the entire festivities.

I cannot believe that the Convent is coming to an end. Only a week do we three have left in the iron grip of the Convent. To say it has purged me of my sins would be far too optimistic, though I do believe it has helped to give me some direction. I have only three days of the Shire before departing to warmer climes in Iberia. Even fewer days do I have on my return before my travels to the Eastern continent.

It is oh so joyous to have an idea of where my life is heading, but I have barely left breathing time, not to mention a complete lack of time for error. I have no worries, only a slight apprehension. And it has intrigued me to hear from my Mother that the Peacock gentleman has enquired after me back in the Shire...

I don't know if I even a moment to spare to share a conversation with the flirt, but as an ego boost I may as well have the last word before I leave? I see no harm in a casual flirtation. And I shall have the Prussian Knight for entertainment in Iberia... Which I suppose will be less sordid!

I cannot wait for the future to come beckoning, but at the same time I am blissfully content with all I have right now, in this exact moment.



D. S.