Asphodel
προτού
By the time I had realized my mistake, there was nothing left. It was me, and miles of unfamiliarity, forced together but incapable of mingling. My end ticked nearer and nearer, as I stood at the side, too apathetic to challenge it.
Cambria turned into view, two weeks away from anything even remotely memorable. Supposedly the Duke lived rather lavishly, though his Cambrian home was mere rubble; a palace in Martisine had tempted him away. Living abandonment. If I had known any better, I would not have assumed that all of the glamour had faded; I would not have condemned the little villages or the large but decrepit manors. It was an ugly place, maybe because I wanted it to be, but a glimmer of…something remained. I just had no mind to see it.
They had given up on me. I had turned out to be a rather poor investment. Of their time, not their money. Unlike so many other orphans—because there are so many of us in the upper ten thousand—I was rather well endowed; quite literally, I had massive amounts of funds both in savings accounts and accruing revenue through various industries. It was a very uncommon situation for a young woman like myself to be an heiress and proprietor of my own funds. I didn’t inherit the titles or lands, which really wouldn’t have ever been mine even if I were a boy, but my father’s money, every last cent of it, was left to me. Well, it was supposed to be controlled by my grandfather, and it was, until he died, and, regretfully, he hadn’t yet gotten around to marrying me off.
Imagine my disappointment when I learned that I’d have to take over the estate all on my own. The lawyers and bankers were all in a tizzy about it. What would I do? Managing such a large sum of money was such an overwhelming task for a delicate woman in my fragile state. To their credit, they tried ever so hard to convince me to sign away my rights and privileges, but I was just too idiotic to see how beneficial that would be for me. Moreover, most of the money was trusted, and a quarter set aside as a dowry. Even if I had relinquished my authority, it would have been for merely an eighth of the assets, which was intended to sustain me until my twenty-first birthday. Or marriage. The latter seemed highly unlikely.
There was, however, absolutely nothing to be done about a very specific clause in my grandfather’s will. Legally, nothing could be done about the money: there was no remaining family to grant power of attorney, and my future husband would just take it over eventually anyway; so it was mine. Being unmarried and an orphan, I had very few privileges; I couldn’t go out on my own, and I had no one to escort me. This, of course, posed a very serious problem when it came to finding a husband. How would I meet anyone if I couldn’t go anywhere? So, for my own benefit, grandfather declared that, in the event of his death, I was to become the ward of one Dylan Riddlerton. I’d never heard of the man, but I was delivered to his doorstep without much notice like an unwanted, unassuming infant.
I did not immediately realize that the road had narrowed slightly, and that the path was much less traveled. The foliage had closed in around us; massive trees and their leafy tendrils blotted out the sun while my escort and I were jostled to and fro. My escort, Mr. Buslingthorpe was as ugly as his name sounded, and as disagreeable as you might suspect such a man to be. The final stretch of our long and uncomfortable journey somehow managed to be a physical representation of my prolonged internal suffering. I hadn’t yet decided whether to count such an occurrence as a prediction of my time at Mirstone when the small carriage lurched to a halt.
While we waited for a gate to be opened, I tried to glimpse my newest home. The meandering clouds were casting irregular shadows between and amongst the green canopy’s designs, and as the wind shifted and the earth rolled, it was as if the world was shimmering. I had never believed in magic before that moment, and I very quickly realized that the glimmering of Cambria was not an occult phenomenon, but hope. For me, that kind of enchantment had very rarely presented itself, and it was never exclusively benevolent, but the peaceful charm of this neglected region left me reassuringly breathless.
So, I closed my eyes and waited to feel sunshine in my bones, but hope isn’t a guarantee. Thus, persistent threats disrupted my approach to resolution. I’d learned to live with sadness, to accept defeat, but in this I was adamant: I would have happiness, else I would damn that which detained it.
For those of you waiting for an update on Hunters or Lion, I apologize. I've been infinitely busy with school this last semester, and I haven't had a whole lot of inspiration for them. Hopefully once the summer starts, I'll have a little more motivation to work on them.
This story is an idea I've had for a very long time, and in order to de-stress I started working on it again. That's all I've got for you.
Cambria turned into view, two weeks away from anything even remotely memorable. Supposedly the Duke lived rather lavishly, though his Cambrian home was mere rubble; a palace in Martisine had tempted him away. Living abandonment. If I had known any better, I would not have assumed that all of the glamour had faded; I would not have condemned the little villages or the large but decrepit manors. It was an ugly place, maybe because I wanted it to be, but a glimmer of…something remained. I just had no mind to see it.
They had given up on me. I had turned out to be a rather poor investment. Of their time, not their money. Unlike so many other orphans—because there are so many of us in the upper ten thousand—I was rather well endowed; quite literally, I had massive amounts of funds both in savings accounts and accruing revenue through various industries. It was a very uncommon situation for a young woman like myself to be an heiress and proprietor of my own funds. I didn’t inherit the titles or lands, which really wouldn’t have ever been mine even if I were a boy, but my father’s money, every last cent of it, was left to me. Well, it was supposed to be controlled by my grandfather, and it was, until he died, and, regretfully, he hadn’t yet gotten around to marrying me off.
Imagine my disappointment when I learned that I’d have to take over the estate all on my own. The lawyers and bankers were all in a tizzy about it. What would I do? Managing such a large sum of money was such an overwhelming task for a delicate woman in my fragile state. To their credit, they tried ever so hard to convince me to sign away my rights and privileges, but I was just too idiotic to see how beneficial that would be for me. Moreover, most of the money was trusted, and a quarter set aside as a dowry. Even if I had relinquished my authority, it would have been for merely an eighth of the assets, which was intended to sustain me until my twenty-first birthday. Or marriage. The latter seemed highly unlikely.
There was, however, absolutely nothing to be done about a very specific clause in my grandfather’s will. Legally, nothing could be done about the money: there was no remaining family to grant power of attorney, and my future husband would just take it over eventually anyway; so it was mine. Being unmarried and an orphan, I had very few privileges; I couldn’t go out on my own, and I had no one to escort me. This, of course, posed a very serious problem when it came to finding a husband. How would I meet anyone if I couldn’t go anywhere? So, for my own benefit, grandfather declared that, in the event of his death, I was to become the ward of one Dylan Riddlerton. I’d never heard of the man, but I was delivered to his doorstep without much notice like an unwanted, unassuming infant.
I did not immediately realize that the road had narrowed slightly, and that the path was much less traveled. The foliage had closed in around us; massive trees and their leafy tendrils blotted out the sun while my escort and I were jostled to and fro. My escort, Mr. Buslingthorpe was as ugly as his name sounded, and as disagreeable as you might suspect such a man to be. The final stretch of our long and uncomfortable journey somehow managed to be a physical representation of my prolonged internal suffering. I hadn’t yet decided whether to count such an occurrence as a prediction of my time at Mirstone when the small carriage lurched to a halt.
While we waited for a gate to be opened, I tried to glimpse my newest home. The meandering clouds were casting irregular shadows between and amongst the green canopy’s designs, and as the wind shifted and the earth rolled, it was as if the world was shimmering. I had never believed in magic before that moment, and I very quickly realized that the glimmering of Cambria was not an occult phenomenon, but hope. For me, that kind of enchantment had very rarely presented itself, and it was never exclusively benevolent, but the peaceful charm of this neglected region left me reassuringly breathless.
So, I closed my eyes and waited to feel sunshine in my bones, but hope isn’t a guarantee. Thus, persistent threats disrupted my approach to resolution. I’d learned to live with sadness, to accept defeat, but in this I was adamant: I would have happiness, else I would damn that which detained it.
For those of you waiting for an update on Hunters or Lion, I apologize. I've been infinitely busy with school this last semester, and I haven't had a whole lot of inspiration for them. Hopefully once the summer starts, I'll have a little more motivation to work on them.
This story is an idea I've had for a very long time, and in order to de-stress I started working on it again. That's all I've got for you.