Princess Rosella of Daventry (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
primrosella) wrote2011-05-26 05:15 pm
primrosella) wrote2011-05-26 05:15 pm
Entry tags:
- a modern sort of princess,
- affected,
- awkward to the max,
- bad memories,
- curse: bodice ripper,
- everyone's dead and it's all my fault,
- everything is ruined forever,
- h is for hypocrite,
- he doesn't look a thing like jesus,
- hex and the city,
- i'm sorry i can't be perfect,
- la femme rosella,
- little princess in a terrible mess,
- mawwiage: that bwessed awwangement,
- not that kind of girl kthx,
- put the pen down already,
- really need a hug kthx,
- score one for the good guys,
- so farfetched it's gotta be true,
- something wicked this way comes,
- the perils of being rosella,
- trauma time is go,
- what is this i don't even
Quest 274
[Personal Journal | Accidentally Left Out on a Writing Desk | Ideal for Dramatic Reveals]
MAY 1, XXXX
I am in London now. Mother and Father thought it would be best, after the ordeal, if I went away from the country and immersed myself in the Season instead. Perhaps that seems a bit backwards, as I would have more peace and rest by retiring to the country instead, but they fear I will seclude myself if I am left without diversions to draw me out, and so I am here.
My chaperone is a kindly older woman, well-respected in society, but with no children of her own. As such, she indulges her maternal instincts by taking girls under her wing and helping them make their debut each Season. She is a lovely woman, very well-placed, and she has assured me that I will have no trouble making a fine catch, if I should so desire it. Improper though it may be, I find myself oddly at ease with her sharp wit and spicy conversation; she tells me her finest conquest was a girl who married a Scottish earl, but she expects that will change following my own Season. I think she aspires to have me married off to a marquess or a duke, rare a chance though that may be.
It is nice to think of things assafe commonplace as dresses and manners and posies. The posies are my favorite, even moreso than the dress; I like to lay them all out on my dressing table and read the cards, hold the arrangements against my gown, recall the names and decide to which of them I wish to extend my favor. There are always roses and daisies and peonies of the loveliest colors. I once even won myself an arrangement of pink rosebuds, from when I did indeed catch the eye of a duke; my chaperone bade me save those and dry them, as a fond memory of a marvelous catch.
One sent me violets and ivy. It looked so out of place, nestled there amidst the other posies, but I kept finding myself drawn back to it. The others sent roses for my name, but one earl sent me violets for my eyes.
I wore the pink rosebuds that night, but I saved the violets.
--
MAY 4, XXXX
He asked that I save him three dances tonight. Three! It's nothing short of impertinence; he knew full well I could only give him two. My lady is still holding out for the duke, who is proper and courteous but a bit stiff around the edges. And twice my age. But more and more I find myself drawn back to thoughts of that earl. I caught a glimpse of him watching from across the room as I danced, and there was something thrilling in it; I think his eyes never left me the whole time. And when it came time to claim his waltz, he swept me off so thorougly that I was quite giddy when it was over, and had to sit down to catch my breath and will strength back to my knees.
Three dances!
I'm glad I wore the violets.
--
MAY 10, XXXX
That cloak--that hooked nose--
What is he doing here?
How could they have found me here?
--
MAY 12, XXXX
He caught me tonight, in the garden. It's frightening how he always seems to know where I am, but somehow thrilling, too, and tonight was no exception. It was beneath the magnolia tree, and he caught up my hands and told me he loved me, and kissed me, and I let him--encouraged him, even, I didn't say no or push him away. I couldn't. He was so handsome in the moonlight, his eyes so green. I couldn't think. I couldn't do anything but say yes. How could I deny him when he looks at me like that?
He wants to run away. I want to go, if only to flee from this place and the man in the cloak. If he hasn't found me yet, there may still be time. I can still be free of it if I hurry. But must I keep running forever? How long will it be before it finally comes to an end? Must I run until I die?
I know what he wants. I don't want to take it with me, but I can't leave it where he might find. And I could never put my lady in such danger, after the kindness she's shown me.
It will be a scandal, but better a scandal than--
I don't care. I just want to run away from all of it, whether it means Gretna Green or somewhere else entirely. I'll tell my lady I love him, and that I can't help but heed the call of my heart. Mother and Father will understand. They'll think it good for me. My lady will be discreet about this lord's reputation, and I'll have a title before my name. It will be enough to make them happy.
I hope he never asks if I love him. I can marry him, I can lose myself in his company and his chivalry and his smile, but I don't know what to say if he asks that of me. He'll want me to say I do, and I can never say no to him.
The journey, at least, will give me time to think.
I must put down my pen, now, and pack.
--
MAY 26, XXXX
We've arrived at last.
He left early this morning, saying he planned to listen to local rumor and see if there were any sign that we'd been found out. He thinks we're running from the reach of his father, and from the few things I've heard of the man, I'm content to have distance between myself and him, just the same. Perhaps that's what I should tell him if he notices--that the thoughts of his father have upset me and made me nervous. It would be easier that way.
I have to bear it, whatever we do. I'm ruined in London now, and if they knew to look for me there, then they must have also found their way to my home. There's no going back, and I have nothing but this lord of mine, who loves me and makes me feel like I'm drowning when he looks at me. Maybe it does make me a wretch to take advantage of it. But what do I have left without him? What if he should learn the truth and cry off our engagement? Even if the scandal mattered, it wouldn't ruin him. But I really would have nothing left.
I wish I could tell him.
I wish I could think, but it always comes back the same. He wants me to love him and marry him and I want...I want...
I want to hide until it all goes away. I want to forget. I want to be the girl he sees when he looks at me, and not the one I know I am inside. I want to stop dreaming of that room.
After we're married. I only have to wait a little longer, until after we're married. Then, perhaps, between his honor and his love, it will be enough to forgive me.
--
UNMARKED | FINAL PAGE
J DPVMEO'U IFMQ JU
J EJEO'U NFBO UP EP JU
JU'T IJEEFO OPX JO UIF DIFTU
[/Journal]
{Correspondence Penned to a Helpful Matron | Unintentionally Viewable to All}
I cannot thank you enough for your discretion in this matter. As I mentioned when we first spoke, I am only newly arrived here, and have not yet had a chance to establish myself properly. Your kind offer, therefore, has come to my rescue at a time when I was otherwise at a loss.
If you could recommend me to a suitable modiste, and perhaps a way of securing some fresh flowers to brighten my rooms, I would be very much in your debt.
[OOC: THE PLOT THICKENS. So Rosella's got a secret; whatever could it be?Hint: it's a cult. The last entry in her journal is a painfully simple substitution cypher that I will gladly decode for anyone who doesn't want to do it themselves. Shenanigans, ho! o/]
MAY 1, XXXX
My chaperone is a kindly older woman, well-respected in society, but with no children of her own. As such, she indulges her maternal instincts by taking girls under her wing and helping them make their debut each Season. She is a lovely woman, very well-placed, and she has assured me that I will have no trouble making a fine catch, if I should so desire it. Improper though it may be, I find myself oddly at ease with her sharp wit and spicy conversation; she tells me her finest conquest was a girl who married a Scottish earl, but she expects that will change following my own Season. I think she aspires to have me married off to a marquess or a duke, rare a chance though that may be.
It is nice to think of things as
One sent me violets and ivy. It looked so out of place, nestled there amidst the other posies, but I kept finding myself drawn back to it. The others sent roses for my name, but one earl sent me violets for my eyes.
I wore the pink rosebuds that night, but I saved the violets.
--
MAY 4, XXXX
Three dances!
I'm glad I wore the violets.
--
MAY 10, XXXX
What is he doing here?
How could they have found me here?
--
MAY 12, XXXX
He wants to run away. I want to go, if only to flee from this place and the man in the cloak. If he hasn't found me yet, there may still be time. I can still be free of it if I hurry. But must I keep running forever? How long will it be before it finally comes to an end? Must I run until I die?
I know what he wants. I don't want to take it with me, but I can't leave it where he might find. And I could never put my lady in such danger, after the kindness she's shown me.
It will be a scandal, but better a scandal than--
I don't care. I just want to run away from all of it, whether it means Gretna Green or somewhere else entirely. I'll tell my lady I love him, and that I can't help but heed the call of my heart. Mother and Father will understand. They'll think it good for me. My lady will be discreet about this lord's reputation, and I'll have a title before my name. It will be enough to make them happy.
I hope he never asks if I love him. I can marry him, I can lose myself in his company and his chivalry and his smile, but I don't know what to say if he asks that of me. He'll want me to say I do, and I can never say no to him.
The journey, at least, will give me time to think.
I must put down my pen, now, and pack.
--
MAY 26, XXXX
He left early this morning, saying he planned to listen to local rumor and see if there were any sign that we'd been found out. He thinks we're running from the reach of his father, and from the few things I've heard of the man, I'm content to have distance between myself and him, just the same. Perhaps that's what I should tell him if he notices--that the thoughts of his father have upset me and made me nervous. It would be easier that way.
I have to bear it, whatever we do. I'm ruined in London now, and if they knew to look for me there, then they must have also found their way to my home. There's no going back, and I have nothing but this lord of mine, who loves me and makes me feel like I'm drowning when he looks at me. Maybe it does make me a wretch to take advantage of it. But what do I have left without him? What if he should learn the truth and cry off our engagement? Even if the scandal mattered, it wouldn't ruin him. But I really would have nothing left.
I wish I could tell him.
I wish I could think, but it always comes back the same. He wants me to love him and marry him and I want...I want...
I want to hide until it all goes away. I want to forget. I want to be the girl he sees when he looks at me, and not the one I know I am inside. I want to stop dreaming of that room.
After we're married. I only have to wait a little longer, until after we're married. Then, perhaps, between his honor and his love, it will be enough to forgive me.
--
UNMARKED | FINAL PAGE
J EJEO'U NFBO UP EP JU
JU'T IJEEFO OPX JO UIF DIFTU
[/Journal]
{Correspondence Penned to a Helpful Matron | Unintentionally Viewable to All}
If you could recommend me to a suitable modiste, and perhaps a way of securing some fresh flowers to brighten my rooms, I would be very much in your debt.
[OOC: THE PLOT THICKENS. So Rosella's got a secret; whatever could it be?
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