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Mother went to the Agorra today. There is nothing so interesting in that, perhaps, but she brought me back so many splendid things. You see, I have just celebrated my thirteenth birthday. That means I must have proper things; no more child's clothes, no more minimalistic jewelry, no more daisies in my hair. I am a woman of marriageable age now, and these gifts prove as much.
Her first gift was this: an exquisite diary with a cover of silver and gilt. I speak my mind far too often, I have been told. Secrets are dangerous. People can tell secrets, they can ruin your reputation by doing so. But diaries will not tell secrets, not if you hide them well, not if you lock them with a precious key and hide that well too. I shan't even write in here where I will keep the key, and each year on my birthday, I will find a new hiding place for the key. It will become my tradition.
What were the other gifts, you ask? Jewels fit a Queen, clothes befitting a lady of rank and circumstance, and best of all, her.
I already have two handmaidens, but they rarely talk to me. Both are distant relatives of vassals of ours. They are honoured to be in my service, but they behave more like common servants than handmaidens. That is not to say that they are not well-bred, for they are, but they seem not to understand that their position earns them certain priveliges. The privilege to actually open their mouths, for example.
This girl is the daughter of a merchant, one of the wealthiest merchants in Taengea. Despite not being of noble blood, she fears me not. She introduced herself to me straight away -- not with presumption or in a manner that was overly zealous, but neither was she too timid for my liking. I adore the fact that she gushed over not the grandeur of our house, but its artistic details, which prompted me to show her some of my art. We have agreed to attempt portraits of each other in order to improve our sketching skills.
Oh! I have not even mentioned her name! Evanthe! Her name is Evanthe, and I just know that we shall become the best of friends. Perhaps that will be the first secret I share with you, diary, for although she will be afforded a great many luxuries as my handmaiden, I doubt the position of 'best friend' is one many will tolerate my granting her openly.
Turn the key, Time to hide; Bury what I feel inside And now, dear book, to you I pray Keep my secrets locked away And grant me freedom that I may Permit in ink my tongue to stray
-Ophelia of Condos
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Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Dear Diary,
Mother went to the Agorra today. There is nothing so interesting in that, perhaps, but she brought me back so many splendid things. You see, I have just celebrated my thirteenth birthday. That means I must have proper things; no more child's clothes, no more minimalistic jewelry, no more daisies in my hair. I am a woman of marriageable age now, and these gifts prove as much.
Her first gift was this: an exquisite diary with a cover of silver and gilt. I speak my mind far too often, I have been told. Secrets are dangerous. People can tell secrets, they can ruin your reputation by doing so. But diaries will not tell secrets, not if you hide them well, not if you lock them with a precious key and hide that well too. I shan't even write in here where I will keep the key, and each year on my birthday, I will find a new hiding place for the key. It will become my tradition.
What were the other gifts, you ask? Jewels fit a Queen, clothes befitting a lady of rank and circumstance, and best of all, her.
I already have two handmaidens, but they rarely talk to me. Both are distant relatives of vassals of ours. They are honoured to be in my service, but they behave more like common servants than handmaidens. That is not to say that they are not well-bred, for they are, but they seem not to understand that their position earns them certain priveliges. The privilege to actually open their mouths, for example.
This girl is the daughter of a merchant, one of the wealthiest merchants in Taengea. Despite not being of noble blood, she fears me not. She introduced herself to me straight away -- not with presumption or in a manner that was overly zealous, but neither was she too timid for my liking. I adore the fact that she gushed over not the grandeur of our house, but its artistic details, which prompted me to show her some of my art. We have agreed to attempt portraits of each other in order to improve our sketching skills.
Oh! I have not even mentioned her name! Evanthe! Her name is Evanthe, and I just know that we shall become the best of friends. Perhaps that will be the first secret I share with you, diary, for although she will be afforded a great many luxuries as my handmaiden, I doubt the position of 'best friend' is one many will tolerate my granting her openly.
Turn the key, Time to hide; Bury what I feel inside And now, dear book, to you I pray Keep my secrets locked away And grant me freedom that I may Permit in ink my tongue to stray
-Ophelia of Condos
Dear Diary,
Mother went to the Agorra today. There is nothing so interesting in that, perhaps, but she brought me back so many splendid things. You see, I have just celebrated my thirteenth birthday. That means I must have proper things; no more child's clothes, no more minimalistic jewelry, no more daisies in my hair. I am a woman of marriageable age now, and these gifts prove as much.
Her first gift was this: an exquisite diary with a cover of silver and gilt. I speak my mind far too often, I have been told. Secrets are dangerous. People can tell secrets, they can ruin your reputation by doing so. But diaries will not tell secrets, not if you hide them well, not if you lock them with a precious key and hide that well too. I shan't even write in here where I will keep the key, and each year on my birthday, I will find a new hiding place for the key. It will become my tradition.
What were the other gifts, you ask? Jewels fit a Queen, clothes befitting a lady of rank and circumstance, and best of all, her.
I already have two handmaidens, but they rarely talk to me. Both are distant relatives of vassals of ours. They are honoured to be in my service, but they behave more like common servants than handmaidens. That is not to say that they are not well-bred, for they are, but they seem not to understand that their position earns them certain priveliges. The privilege to actually open their mouths, for example.
This girl is the daughter of a merchant, one of the wealthiest merchants in Taengea. Despite not being of noble blood, she fears me not. She introduced herself to me straight away -- not with presumption or in a manner that was overly zealous, but neither was she too timid for my liking. I adore the fact that she gushed over not the grandeur of our house, but its artistic details, which prompted me to show her some of my art. We have agreed to attempt portraits of each other in order to improve our sketching skills.
Oh! I have not even mentioned her name! Evanthe! Her name is Evanthe, and I just know that we shall become the best of friends. Perhaps that will be the first secret I share with you, diary, for although she will be afforded a great many luxuries as my handmaiden, I doubt the position of 'best friend' is one many will tolerate my granting her openly.
Turn the key, Time to hide; Bury what I feel inside And now, dear book, to you I pray Keep my secrets locked away And grant me freedom that I may Permit in ink my tongue to stray
