Welcome to Gaia! ::

*name to be decided*
14 August

My eyes aren’t gentle blue, like all the other women I see around me; my hair isn’t princess gold. It doesn’t twist itself into graceful ringlets. A mane of dark tangles and half-formed curls chases its way down my back. Neither is my skin fair, it’s as dark as though I’ve spent my whole life outdoors. But they still say I fetched a hefty price, for a gypsy. My mother told me I was beautiful, I spit on her. I was sold as we moved camp through these lands, this cursed place. The wind is forever howling, and everything is so gray, always! Nothing holds beauty here, even the girls with their sparkling smiles and slender figures. They seem gray, too. Have I finally been sent to hell, as they say? Are all of my kind doomed to this prison, or have they something worse? Oh, that I could run away! My master is a tall man with strange orange hair. I find it as easy to gape at as he does me. I am not poor now, no. But nothing I own is mine. Jewels and fine clothes are placed in my hands after every time he comes to see me. He calls me “Wild Rose” even though that’s not my name. He forbids me to say my real one. He shudders when I do. He has a wife, a fat golden thing. She’s not far past her youth. I have never spoken to her. I am not sure she knows of my existence, but Master is careful to keep us far apart. I wonder, sometimes, that if I were plump and old, that if he’d cease to desire me, too, and he’d let me go. There’s no chance of that, though. My meals are brought to me in my chamber. I am not permitted to eat with the “civilised” folk. It is barely enough to live on, calculated, I suppose, to keep me slender. Sometimes I can’t eat. The food here tastes dull as everything else. Master insists it’s the finest the great kitchen can come out with. That softens my heart to it none, it’s still awful. I am confined to my chambers, though sometimes they let me outside to walk the length of the park. Someone, some maid or servant always escorts me. They hold a parasol over my head, I suppose to keep my skin from getting darker. Sometimes, I wish lightning from the sky would strike me dead as I walk. I fear I am going mad.

MARITA, under-housemaid.
18 August

I ne’er seen anything like her afore. The girl, the gipsy. I went in to straighten the room once, and there she was, staring at me, all hungry-like. She’s huge eyes, and they’re very dark, like moonless nights on the moors. I’ve heard you could see hell through a gypsy’s eyes, and after this one, I should believe it. She didn’t move or speak. Master told me to address her as “Miss.” I don’t see any reason for it. A gypsy like her is beneath even the scullery maid. At least the scullery maid acts something like a human being.
I heard her singing once yesterday.
It was awful.

O.o

Voxxxie, wtf mate?

This is de-PRESS-ing.

Never seen this before, whatever happened to the Vox book?

I'd say the poor child needs some love *sigh*

Buuuut...I'm watching too much Eureka Seven, which by the way gets REALLY good! And Eureka thinks machines are like children, it's rubbing off.

Why does everything end darkly with you? Can't you have a happy ending like...once?

*looks who's talking*

ohhhh....maybe this isn't my area to criticize, since I AM the writer of Lacausta, the darkest faerie tale unknown to mankind...

rofl

Yup. I can't multitask, so all I could think of was... rofl

Aaaaaand...I just awkwarditized this whole conversation didn't I?

Muffins.

So there.

I want one. crying

I still have those muffins!

....

.......

O.O

Better eat em, huh? sweatdrop