there is another 'me', somewhere out there. she is different, but not in ways that would hurt to see. i hope she's less bruised. I hope she doesn't understand when I talk about the others that aren't 'me', or when I make a reference to something awful that happened. it would make me happy to know she's that way. it would be nice to see her get mad at someone who's done wrong, but still feed them and carry their burdens. I hope she's sensitive. I hope that when I tell her how it's been for me, she doesn't even know how to comfort me. I hope she wants to, though.
I think not of the ruins, that place that once was, but as I enter the next room, I cast my mind to the halcyon era when this place was of great import. what tales of brotherhood have the stones above and below me witnessed, what moments of revelry and triumph were shared among the custodians of this once great place. It is fallen now, to rot and decay, as all things eventually do. It is fallen again, as a man unable to provide for himself any other way clears the ruin of what once was in search of coin and baubles that can be traded for such. I grip the iron in my hand, which warms my palm with a subtle arcane vigor, and think of the mage who thought this blade that banishes darkness needed creating. What troubled her so, that she needed this light that could not falter, so much that her own blood rest in the sword. What would she think, knowing the weapon made to end a war is used against those unlucky enough to be the enemy not of some great kingdom, not of a proud hero, but of a vulture such as I, feasting off the bones of the great once.
I've had an idea knocking around in my head of a high-ranking maid possibly having to escape her castle/manor for having monumental political insights (but no ambition for that kind of life; she prefers the simplicity and level of responsibility of her current job). Don't let your maids stay caged! 🤝🤝
The other maids whisper when I pass by. The other lords and ladies all speak of sedition. Never once have I even considered betraying My Lady, but even she turns her gaze from me when I enter. I had spoken to the Lady about wedding our neighbor's eldest son... All I had said was that I didn't trust his eyes. Gloria, one of the younger of our number, absolute chatterbox that she is, spread rumor of these things throughout the Castle Foret. And now everyone who is anyone knows that I speak of politics with the Lady. Goodness. And, of course, as conjecture compounds and warps the truth, it has become "The head maid is a spy."
Me—Me! Of all people. Ridiculous. I, who has known the Lady since I was a babe, who has known nothing but serving her noble house. I'm the spy they're so afraid of. Disgusting. They mock me, My Lady, and her Lord Father with their deceit. They want an enemy in their midst? Then allow me to eliminate her.
I know where this goes. They plan to take me to the oubliette. Each and all of them, tracking every move I make to find 'proof' that I am what they say I am, and worse. Even the Lady is in on it. After everything I have given her... She may as well be killing me herself. But I hold pride in this house, and of our people. Her Lord Father would never stand for this. He would have killed this at the root, and I intend to follow his example.
As I finish the preparations for the morning, I set out the linens, the dress I have picked out tomorrow for Milady, and I look out to the window. Good. The stablehand has left out a horse, just as instructed. I stare down at the horse, spinning cogs in my mind. There is nothing for me here anymore. Love cannot nourish a salted garden. Better to take my care elsewhere.
The last thing I do for Milady is I set out a tea set near her bedside. Her favorite porcelain pot, a container of her breakfast tea, and a set of instructions.
I signed it with a note.
Make it yourself.
My love now and forever,
Wisteria
