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[Cafe Kitty]

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[Cafe Kitty]

[Cafe Kitty]

[Cafe Kitty]

-Ｊｏｓｈｕａ--Ｊｅｒｅｍｉａｈ--Ｌｏｗｅｓｌｙ-
O N L Y--S O N

xxxxxxxxxxxxxAGExx26
xxxDATE OF BIRTHxxApril 17th
xxxxxxxxxxHEIGHTxx6'3"
xxxxxxxxxxxBUILDxxLean with long muscles; a "swimmer's" body
xxxxORIENTATIONxxHeterosexual
xxxxxxxxPASSIONSxxAlcohol, Snuff, Cigarettes, Fights, Jogging, Archery, Horseback rides, Hunting trips
xxxxxxxxxHATREDSxxThe church, Manual labor, Children, The rich, Small dogs, Girls who won't get their toes wet

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxFAMILIAL HISTORY



I was born unwanted, unowned. Just a lump of blankets on the stairs of a religious orphanage. My parents are a mystery to me and I feel they will always be. I've sought after answers to no avail. I didn't stay many years in the orphanage, but I wasn't adopted - I was thrown out. I caused trouble as a child and that wasn't an amiable trait in adoptable children. If I was crossed by a girl, her braid would be tugged by my hands. I kicked the shins of older boys and caused general chaos. The nuns cursed me under their breath and as the days passed my food rations lessened. I could feel their contempt of me grow. I was a burden and not considered a good, God-fearing child. I couldn't sit still for lessons, I couldn't sit a note of a hymn and I confused every verse of the bible with one another. They were very delicate about my disposal. It was a crisp winter day, the ground was dusted with snow and the priest approached me. He said, "Son, I think there's a better place for you elsewhere" as he pressed the small of my back while we headed to the door. He gave me a bitter smile and opened the looming doors. I was seven years old and alone without a soul in the world to help me. I sat on the church stairs for what felt like hour upon hour; crying. I had no family, no home and I wasn't barely old enough to understand what it meant for me.
Without a chance of survival the only option I was left to was labour. Child labour is a popular means of exploitation, economic shortcuts and a charming form of baby-sitting. I worked for a man named Doyle, he owned a whole pack of children like myself with a long list of duties to perform not only within his property but with the addition of a long list of other customers. I was not only a chimney sweep, chamber maid and a gardener but a shepherd as well. Days were gruelling, there was little time to sip water and no allowance of food during work hours.The day would linger on until dusk when my fingers were brittle and my stomach groaned like a banshee. When all was said and done the pack of children and Doyle would huddle up tight in a carriage and wobble down the rugged streets for the long ride home. The ride stank of sweat and often the rusty stench of blood from our cracked feet and hands. When we arrived at home we were given meagre portions of porridge and bread and sent to the basement where the stone floor provided no comfort to our aching soles. The beds themselves were simply torn potato sacks stuffed with hay. No one would complain, no one fought - we were here on our own terms. Some run-aways from homes of abuse and many like myself with no where else to turn. We had no way out, our wages consisted only of the food and bed we were provided and that was that. My life consisted of the same monotonous torture for sixteen years of my life. I look back and never regret going into that cycle; it kept me alive and taught me the importance of labour, gave me the hands to withstand the test of strength I'd need later in my life. It was summer when I left, the air was dense and the sun was high in he sky.
I had no possessions, nothing to bring. I simply left without a word to the old man. I chose the summer of the year I became a man because I knew it was time to carry on and try to begin a real life rather than die a slave. The first day posed the greatest struggle, I had no food, no blanket and no place to go. I didn't feel fear, only determination. This was a chance to became a real person, part of the waking world. Initially, I attempted to sweet talk some shoppe keepers. I was a gangly mess of knotted hair and rags with a poor excuse for charisma. It didn't work. When the honest path failed, I turned to crooked behaviour. I grew up without a teacher and my concept of right and wrong was weak… but truthfully, I would have done the same had I had a Mother to say otherwise. I walked through a market of food vendors, it was simple; a vegetable here, loaf of bread there. I stuffed my finds in the pockets of my pants, sleeves of my shirt and ate some along the way. But night came swiftly and I hadn't a sweater nor a blanket or a haven to lay my head. There were corners that provided no cover, barns occupied with livestock and finally - a bridge. It wasn't perfect, but it provided cover. I stuffed my face with bread and curled my knees up to my chest, giving up on the idea of thinking for the time being. Before I knew it, my eyes grew heavy and my first night of homelessness ensued.
The next week proceeding I stole goods which would aid me in my future. Clothing, shoes and a razor. By the end of the week I took the time to cut my hair and shaved the shadow of facial hair that had newly manifested on my chin. With a change of clothing and a pair of shoes I thought myself a true man and made it my goal to find paying work. The first day gave me little to no hope; every attempt of asking for even a day's work was answer in a laugh here or a no there. I didn't give up and continued on the same goal the next day with again negativity. It was a week before I found an elderly man with a pen of three cows. He wobbled when he walked and his hands shook as he milked his stock. I asked him if he needed a hand and a charming smile sprawled across his wrinkled cheeks. It began as a favour for the old man and eventually he paid me a pittence or two. It was merge and I still remained under the bridge with my stolen food, but it was something and gave me a sense of pride to work for an earning.
This time was cut short, however. The gentleman I worked for was old and sickly, I knew it from day one as I saw him struggle to walk. He passed away in the night, alone without a soul to pass his minuscule plot of land and few cows. I was back to square one and again attempted to sweet talk my way into a small job. It lasted a week before my life took a try for the better. I was walking down an alley at night when a man in a cloak asked me what I was looking for. He smiled rather grimly in response and suggested I come inside of his house. I was reluctant but desperate, so here I went following a mysterious figure into a dimly lit corridor to God-knows where. It smelt of mould and blood, the lanterns barely illuminated the hallway, it was long but straight with no décor on the walls, just the lights and scraped wallpaper. Finally we reached a large room with a roped stage, the ground was covered in blood and scuff marks from shoes. I should have felt afraid, should have turned around - but something piqued my interest.
"This is my arena." But what for? I thought to myself.
"Men like yourself come here and fight. Some for pride... some for money, or even bloodlust." He licked his lips and cleared his throat, "I want you to give it a go. I give you $100 coins if you win. There's more if you continue to prevail." With a pause, he looked deep into my eyes, "What do you say?".
It wasn't exactly a hard choice, I wasn't afraid of pain and the lure of money was a tantalizing idea. I couldn't live a life under a bridge and die before I reached twenty-six... so I nodded in agreement.
We discussed my living situation and the man explained that I'd have a barrack if I continued to entertain guests. It seemed like an acceptable exchange, and so I had a place to rest my head for the night.
The following day I prepared to fight, I punched a leather bag until my knuckles bled and stretched my aching muscles to loosen the built up tension that had been a result of sleeping on the frigid ground. When night fell, the arena filled up. The audience consisted of youths under the age of thirty. They stared longingly at the soiled stage, waiting... hungering to watch two tangle under they too soiled the floor with their blood. I watched as three fights were held before my own. There were no rules and hardly a regulation. I could see that it wasn't ideal to have a contestant die, but I'm certain that it had happened in the past. When I was up, my throat got tight and a chill ran down my spine. This was life or death for me, I needed to win.
I started slow, circling my opponent like a cat with mouse, he tried hitting my swiftly and exerted much of his energy. He was young like myself, frail and thin like any other street rat and I could see the hunger in his eyes... but it wasn't time for sympathy. I punched him square on the jaw and he knocked back to the ring, only to shake off and run like a wild bull. He caught my off guard and kicked me in the ribs, I shuddered and returned with a punch to his gut. I let my guard down and he socked me three times on my ear, my jaw and my nose. I began to bleed and felt faint. This only encouraged me, I kicked him in behind his knee and he felt infront of me where I punched his cheek with all that I could muster. As he fell, he grabbed me and shoved me down first. When I was down he elbowed my sternum and again punched my face viciously. I was falling out of consciousness and I felt it was the end of my "career" before it had begun. I thought quick and grabbed his hand before he could deliver a final blow, I shoved him back and kneed him in the ribs, punched right on his eye and shoved his face back. He fell over, and I went wild, I sat atop him and continued to slam my fist into his face.
Everything went black. I woke up the next morning with the cloaked man standing by me.
"You oughtn't try and kill em', kid." I quirked an eyebrow, but he didn't explain - only handed me a bag of coins and left. I won, that was all that mattered.
I continued to win more often than not, and when I lost I provided a good show. I was promised a barrack as long as I did so and therefore I was safe as I collected coin. I may be free one day, but until than I would fight for everything I had in me. The years passed by and I learned to love the fight, the smell of blood - the aching feeling that your whole body would throb with after a fight. Nursing your battle wounds, the sound of crowds crying for you. It was exhilarating, it made me feel important and most of all... it kept me alive.
That's my life, and how it continues to be as I know it. I only yearn for the day I can know what it means to be free.


Signed by Sugary Parfait

[Cafe Kitty]

[Cafe Kitty]

[Cafe Kitty]

-Ｇａｒｒｉｋ--Ａｌｄｕｎ--Ｓｍｙｔｈ-
O N L Y--S O N

xxxxxxxxxxxxxAGExx27
xxxDATE OF BIRTHxxJanuary 26th
xxxxxxxxxxHEIGHTxx5’1’’
xxxxxxxxxxxBUILDxxFit and well-muscular; a “soccer player’s” body
xxxxORIENTATIONxxHeterosexual
xxxxxxxxPASSIONSxxThe Sea, Competitions, Writing, The Outdoors, and Power
xxxxxxxxxHATREDSxxLosing, Getting Made Fun Of, My Father, Rowdiness, and Weakness

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxFAMILIAL HISTORY


Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass, it is about learning how to dance in the rain. This was a phrase my mother often said to me as a child after a scolding from my father. I was born into a family of prominence and thus is inevitably a person of wealth. But I was not more with the proverbial silver spoon in my mouth. Quite the opposite actually. My father started off with nothing and through blood, sweat and tears made his fortune trading munitions and rations in the navy. My father was a good man but he was not a caring man; he was not a compassionate man. I remember conversations at the dinner table were always about stories of the man’s conquest, selfish and always focuses on reaching out for things just out of reach, never satisfied with what he had. He was critical on himself but even more so on me, his only son.

The way I saw it, my father only cared for money. As long as my family maintained its affluence and as long as I was living under my father’s roof, I often lost my own identity. In my home town I was only seen and referred to the old Smyth’s son. My mother was the only one on my side but she would never speak out against her husband even to help me. So I raised myself, always trying to distinguish myself from my father. To get attention I was always a trouble maker and rambunctious. Growing up in the shadow of his father was hard so had to make a name for myself. In my younger teenage years I had the reputation as the prankster of the town. Known for my penchant to annoy others for fun, I once set fire to a hay wagon and let it crash into the even market stalls. The whole town was in an uproar and it greatly angered my father. It was definitely one of the best moment of my childhood seeing the townspeople scampering away in fear and in complete chaos. But all good things come to an end and I had to learn that the hard way.

My carefree childhood ended abruptly when I was forced to attend school, my whole heart rose in rebellion against the arrangement where there was no tinge of color, no play of life, where lessons had no context with their surroundings, and where I was banished from my paradise, my freedom. The prestigious school refused to admit that children were children. Students were punished because they failed to behave like grown-up people and had the impertinence to be nosily children. There was no room for surprises in the boarding school, only perfect symmetry. Every morning, exactly on the stroke of the clock, the pupil must attend school, must come to a particular class to hear the same subject taught by the same teacher. Everything was mechanically accurate and perfect. School became the battle-ground for the fight between the schoolmaster and her students. A battle that I lost.

I was not longer the rowdy boy that played pranks on the townspeople. Upon graduation I changed completely. Poised, proper, and disciplined. Essentially I became the son that my father had always strived for. And following in his footsteps, I enlisted in the navy. There is no question that life in the navy was a unique experience. Once you have been to sea, or flown on naval air missions, or taken part in the many different things that sailors the world over are doing every hour of every day, you will know firsthand experience how different a job in the navy can be from what other regular people were doing. There is another side of life in the navy, however, that is often challenging, sometimes difficult to bear, and yet a great source of pride. Even in times of peace, the life of a sailor can be arduous. My world was where we performed daily duties o the crest of a storm-driven wave, in dark and foreboding depths of the ocean or in the turbulence of cloud-covered skies. But nevertheless this life was mine and I loved living on the sea. But I wasn’t satisfied with just the navy. Yes, I climbed the ranks much quicker than anyone else but I always felt like something was missing. I wasn’t happy with what I had and wanted to be the best at everything. I guess you could say I am my father, I want what I can have. It a competition and I always strive to win.




Signed by Chowfaun

[Cafe Kitty]

-Ｌｉｌｌｉａｎａ--Ａｕｔｕｍｎ--Ｈａｗｋｅ-
O N L Y--D A U G H T E R

xxxxxxxxxxxxxAGExxTwenty Four
xxxDATE OF BIRTHxxJuly 31st
xxxxxxxxxxHEIGHTxx5' 8"
xxxxxxxxxxxBUILDxxThin but fit; well-toned for a woman
xxxxORIENTATIONxxBisexual with a preference for men
xxxxxxxxPASSIONSxxThe sea, alcohol, a good duel, gambling, swimming, singing, and playing the violin
xxxxxxxxxHATREDSxxIgnorance, liars, being looked down on for being a woman, pompous people, and being tied down or denied her space

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxFAMILIAL HISTORY

I was born with the wind in my hair and the ocean at my back. From the moment I opened up my eyes, I was a free spirit; a bird ready to soar. Mother gave birth to me on her ship and I was delivered by Huxley, the doctor on board. I didn't know my father and I didn't need to know him. Mother left him at the docks when she was pregnant with me and said that if she "ever saw his sorry drunk a** again, she'd kill him" so I figured I didn't need him either. Who needed a father when you had a mother and a whole crew to call family? There was mother and Huxley who I looked up to like a father, cook who I bothered whenever I was bored, and loads of sailor brothers and sisters to play cards and sing with. Mother was strong and strict and even if she wasn't a queen by royalty, she was the queen of the sea and we were all her loyal subjects. Needless to say, I adored her and aspired to be just like her. I was wild however and I had no discipline; no regard for my life or the danger I sometimes put myself in.

My first memory that I can remember is running barefoot topside on my mother's ship in a little dress, Huxley hot on my heels. I'd stolen his glasses and was prancing through the ropes, bouncing off the sides of the ship. I was either three or four and just one misstep and I could have fallen right into the water. Mother was furious when she heard and she raced topside, stepping into my path, grabbing me up. She yelled at me until I was in tears and gently shook me to that I'd understand before hugging me something fierce. It wasn't until she set me back down that I realized that she'd been crying too. I was young but the shock of that moment was all I needed to whip myself into shape. If I wanted to be a successful pirate, if I wanted to be like my mother I had to buckle down and learn.

From then on, I was the pride and joy of my mother's ship. I accepted more and more responsibility as I grew older and more capable. I was taught to wield a sword, taught to grift, taught to sail, taught to maintain the ship, and most importantly taught to lead. Mother started letting me go off without a crew member to shadow me by time I was thirteen, I was steering the ship by time I was sixteen, and I was captaining when my mother could not by twenty. I stole and raided, danced and sang, loved and lusted, and drank the nights away only to return to our beloved ship to feel the wind whip in my hair once again. The freedom was empowering and uplifting; the ship was my escape. As long as I took care of it and its crew, the ship would always be there for me.

I wasn't invincible though, despite feeling like I could take on the world. I wasn't immune to the pull of love or at least the idea of it. I knew I was attractive and I knew that some men favored a woman with a dangerous edge and I exposed myself to it anyway because I thought I was strong enough to pull back. Whenever I felt like I was falling in love or getting into something too deep on land, I'd flee to the ship and bask in the freedom that came when it pulled away from the dock. It hurt to run away from love but I feared nothing more than being denied my freedom. The sea was my safe haven and I couldn't be hurt if I always returned.

The letter from Newport however shattered it all. When Mother pulled me into her cabin to discuss the letter she'd received, all but the color had drained from my face. I pleaded that we take the ship and sail to far off distant lands but Mother wouldn't turn her back on the king again. I was filled with dread as the ship set course for Newport. I was ready to scream, run, cry, and fling myself from the ship just to get away but Huxley calmed me down like a father would. I was a bird, soaring freely through the heaven's but soon I'd be caged; just a pretty little thing to look at...


Signed by Toyhe-n-Cosplayer

[Cafe Kitty]

-Ａｕｒｅｌｉａ--Ｊｕｎｉｐｅｒ--Ｗｙｎｄｈａｍ-
Y O U N G E S T--T W I N--D A U G H T E R

xxxxxxxxxxxxxAGExxNineteen
xxxDATE OF BIRTHxxMay 9th
xxxxxxxxxxHEIGHTxx5' 3".
xxxxxxxxxxxBUILDxxThin, curvy.
xxxxORIENTATIONxxHeterosexual
xxxxxxxxPASSIONSxxHer family, exploring, traveling, archery, her necklace; dancing.
xxxxxxxxxHATREDSxxBeing lied to; causing problems; being a disappointment; getting into altercations; losing her brothers and father.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxFAMILIAL HISTORY

I was born in the summer, thus I believe that it would only be befitting that I would be like the summer itself. Bright hair the color of poppies and eyes the color of the sky. Perhaps that was what would lend a hand to how I behaved. Or perhaps not, but I would like to think so. I remember mother chiding me on many occasions, often blaming my curiosity and want for adventure as being things that I inherited from my father. How one moment I could be agreeable and the next be upset, just as the changing times in summer. Despite inheriting a bit of my father’s nature, there was one thing – besides my eyes – that I had received from my mother. The love and care for my brothers. As they cared and kept me out of trouble.

I was not the only Wyndham babe born in summer. No, my twin brother was. Unlike my brothers, I gave our mother a difficult time. Those assembled were frightened – either I or mother would die. There were many who assumed that I was the one who had died. After giving mother such a grueling time I finally came into this world. Mother would be weak for a few days, but other than being confined to bed rest, she was healthy. While out mother rested, it was our father and elder brother who would look after my brother and I. Our elder brother took to us without any fuss which pleased our parents. I often wonder how we would be if we did not get along. Nevertheless, we did. There were quarrels, as I suspect were almost expected from those related to one another.

While there were quarrels we were very caring of one another. There have been occasions that my brothers have had to physically restrain me from getting into an altercation – the kind that does not involve words. I believe their words were, “It would be unladylike, what would mother think?” They both knew that I would not want to disappoint our parents and that was more than enough to placate me. My brothers were aware of my capabilities, more than our parents certainly. I could take care of myself that much was true. I would like to think, that even now, as my brothers and I grew up, this was one of reasons they refused to leave me alone. Either in fear of finding myself – or another – harmed. Or that I had wandered off. These were what worried them most.

Our father traveled, to help map and document his findings for the King. As babes, my mother would not allow my twin brother and I to travel with father. It mattered not what he said, she would not allow it. Thus, for several springs, my twin brother and I would stay behind with our mother while our father and elder brother traveled. This was a routine I became accustom to. Being indoors with mother for most days and going out to wander with my brother when time permitted it. I adored exploring the estate grounds with my brother; we would sometimes pretend that we were on an adventure with father. Mother often found this amusing, though she would praise us for our findings. Perhaps she did that because we were still children filled with curiosity and knew no better. Regardless we accepted the praise and would venture off to discover more things to bring back to our mother.

Our adventures around the estate were nothing compared to what father and our older brother did. Though we were at last permitted to travel with father. I, unfortunately, would not be able to. As before we were to leave I had fallen ill. My brother would have stayed behind, but my own stubborn nature surpassed his own. I told him that he should go as there would be opportunities for me and I did not want to take away his as I knew how much he wanted to go on an adventure of his own. The only thing that I requested was that he bring back stories to tell me. I believe my brother thought me a little mad then, for surely I would request something else? Why stories? It was not my brother I told, but our mother. “So that I may live through those words.” Mother may have thought me mad as well, even with a contemplative look on her face. She smiled at me after that. My brother came back with more than stories; he came back with a gift, a necklace. I suspected he had to trade for the piece of jewelry. Despite it being simple I adored it and thanked him.

When our father set sail for his next journey, my brothers and I were able to accompany him. Mother would come with us, but preferred to stay on land. There were many a time that my brother would have to keep an eye on me, just as our elder brother would keep an eye out for the two of us. We were mischievous as children and he must have believed that we still were. He often told us not to go off on our own, we had to stay together and as good siblings do, we obeyed. There were many a time my brothers made sure I was safe, despite knowing that I could take care of myself. I believe this may have been to keep our parents from asking questions. After many years of journeying with father, I had stayed behind one year to be with our mother. She had fallen ill and it was I who had made the suggestion that my brothers and I take turns in sitting with her. Our mother would pass a few days after our father returned from another of his journeys. I still believe that this left him heartbroken. After the passing of our mother, we all dealt with it in various ways.

During one of these times my father wanted to speak with me. This was nothing that worried me; father would just want company while he sat in his study most days. I believe that he preferred to be around myself or my brothers to help ease what he was feeling, we were all still coping with mother’s passing in our own ways. The news I would be receiving on this day, however, would leave both my father and I with uneasy feelings. A letter from Newport. My brothers, it would seem, were sent ahead of me. I was unsure how to take this news, nervously fiddling with the necklace my twin brother had gotten for me years ago. If my brothers and I left, then our father would be on his own. This worried me, how would he fare? He did not travel any more, though there were rare occasions that he would aid in overseeing exotic trades. I dreaded preparing to leave, but it would have to be done. My father did his best to not show how he was feeling when I was to finally depart. I was, after all, his only daughter. Regardless, we said our goodbyes as I promised to write. He would still be alone, but he would have letters to accompany him. I believe this gave us both relief.



Signed by mephitical_kitty

[Cafe Kitty]

-Ｃａｍｉｌｌａ--Ｐｒｉｍｒｏｓｅ--Ｓｏｍｅｒｓｅｔ-
Y O U N G E S T--D A U G H T E R

xxxxxxxxxxxxxAGExx15
xxxDATE OF BIRTHxxJuly 10th
xxxxxxxxxxHEIGHTxx5'2"
xxxxxxxxxxxBUILDxxQuite thin
xxxxORIENTATIONxxUncertain
xxxxxxxxPASSIONSxxNature strolls, small creatures, successfully infringing rules, satiating curiosity.
xxxxxxxxxHATREDSxxSecrets untold, ulterior motives, discipline, being treated as the baby.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxFAMILIAL HISTORY

I don't remember much about my mother. Not her face, not her voice, not her touch. Does that make me a bad child? Perhaps I did not love her enough to remember the things that I should have. I remember the warm and sunny days where I could hear her words drifting on the summer breeze, calling me back home as I wandered too far into the woods. I remember when she would take my sister and I into the fields, reaching to what seemed like the heavens to retrieve sweetest fruits which always grew out of our grasp. I remember watching her intently as she would roll dough or knead bread, and I remember sneaking berries into the pockets of my apron whenever I helped her to bake.
But those are the only memories I possess, and of my sister and father I have so many more. I am sure those two both blame me for her illness in some way. I am absolutely sure of it. When we were children, my sister spared no mercy in telling me that Mother did not suffer so strongly from her weakness until I was born, and it is true. Though my mother has always had weak blood, it was never so overwhelming as to be fatal. But my birth was long, and complicated, and incredibly painful for her. She worked tirelessly to bring me into this world, only for them to realize some years later that I bore the same curse. Shortly afterwards, her health began to decline.
I was a rambunctious child, who loved to dance, sing, and make people laugh. But as my weakness grew, it became difficult for me to exert myself, and I became more withdrawn from the world. At night I could hear my parents fussing between one another, speaking in hushed, hurried voices as they tried to quell their fears. No treatment had worked, and nothing much could be done for me otherwise. One particular memory from this time still stings me — I was playing in the parlor with two servant boys, both of whom were requesting my hand in a make-believe nuptial, when I proclaimed with ambition, "I shall marry neither of you! For I am a viscountess, a lady of honor, and the only man I shall ever be wedded to is the prince himself!" At that moment I glanced towards my father, who had the deepest sadness in his eyes. He knew that it would be unlikely for me to wed any man, no less a prince, in my condition; weak blood that bears ill children, or children who do not live at all. In his eyes I saw the grief for the many stillborn sons he had lost, and the sickly daughter he could not help, who he looked upon now excitedly planning for a life she will never have.
After our Lady Mother left this world, Father was a different man. Torn by grief and by worry, he forbade me from almost every activity in existence. I was no longer allowed to enjoy the outside world, nor was I to continue practicing archery, or horseback riding, or even swimming. I was only permitted to read, to write, to draw, and to bake. From inside my cage, I was jealous of everyone, including my sister. Whilst I wasted away indoors, my sister was free to do as she wished, and I became extremely spiteful towards her.
Despite this, she helped me to break free of Father's chains, even if only for a short while. But those moments I treasured like a rare drop of rain, and they revitalized me through my countless days of ennui. Some nights we would sneak out and ride the horses, or lay beside the lake and do nothing other than talk with each other. Other times we were daring, and would steal our father's wine and dance under the stars. Despite my snobbish ways, and our butting of heads, my sister did care for me after it all. Though sometimes she looks at me with strange eyes that I cannot comprehend, and I wonder if she's thinking of the grave price my very life cost her.
When the letter came requesting our presence in Newport, my spirits were lifted. The marriage I had always sought! My key to freedom, laying before all three of us on this very desk! But my father was enraged, and wrote furiously to the palace and for several days straight refused to see anybody who did not have a letter for him. My heart was broken, and I felt I was doomed to the life of a spinster, living in her father's home until they both died of loneliness. Despite my many days of misery, however, it was revealed that his many attempts to keep me jailed did not succeed. Soon after, I found myself packing my belongings with trepidation. My excitement had given way to fear, and I found my hands shaking as I attempted to write my final letters to my Continental friends and extended family. My sister had already been sent off, and my father refused any who wished to see him, including myself - I was alone in my terror, until the day came for me to leave home. I still remember my father's hunched figure, pacing on the docks and wringing his hands, never glancing up to witness my waving goodbye.


Signed by Pastel Magic

[Cafe Kitty]