The home was dressed for yule. Festooned with the bounty of nature. Evergreen garlands strewn the mantle pieces, wreaths of holly and mistletoe adorned the walls, candles illuminated the gold, silver and copper holders and the scent of rich, intoxicating spice filled the air. Her body was dressed with indulgence, in a dark blue silken dressing gown which skimmed her down to her ankles, silken slippers to match and naught else but a newly acquired emerald ring upon her right hand. The platinum shank matched the metal bead that had caught the end of a thin braid she wore, yet unlike the bead, this could not go unnoticed. It was a gift, a jewel that held greater meaning than others she had received. Contentment, after days of uncertainty, she could finally relax. She sat alone at the end of the long table, a table intended for many. She knew not why she owned such a large piece of furniture, other than it made the room seem more full. She was not in the habit of entertaining large crowds and her family was small, consisting of her mother and brother, neither of whom lived close. Yet, of late she had visitors, never more than just the one at any given meeting, and their company was unusual. Unusual and familiar. Writing her thoughts had always provided her a clarity, irritations could be vented to the parchment, hopes could be hidden from others, disappointments flowing with the ink, and it was now, as she sat with spiced, warm wine close by, that she began to write.
My friend, it has been too long since my words have graced your pages. You are the ear I whisper to, the comfort I will not share with another.
The past has troubled me, it continues to and he has noticed. His visits are calculated and I find that I have been a fool, for I should have realised with every action of his being, there is a deeper reason. It is refreshing. Of course he does not know of everything, not of the atrocities committed in my former home, but he is wise and cunning, unlike others, he noted that I had a need for so many bolts upon the door, for roses beneath the windows. I was wary of his offer, a seat with the family. I did not trust him, yet, in subsequent days the lure of what he offered became more appealing and I reached out to him for the opportunity.
I have always worked alone and for what? To be intimidated by powerful men who would violate my home? I have licked my wounds and learnt from past mistakes. A union, offered to me on a platter became too great a temptation. No woman, and I wager no man, could have faced the trials in my past alone and met them with a more welcoming outcome
Reaching for a spiced biscuit, she dunked it lightly in the wine and took a bite, catching the crumbs with her other hand to drop them upon a plate.
I have met three of them that I am aware of, though I know not their positions in the family other than they are deemed equal. Yet, there is always a head of the family is there not? A mystery that I may never solve given the secretive nature of them all. He petitioned I join them, leaving me with a warning he would not return should his request to the others be unsuccessful, and even though the older man had his doubts and surprise in such eagerness from him, they have accepted me. I admit, when I heard what he would be saying in his application, I was rather flattered, a rare reaction from me.
The ring is beautiful, no, exquisite. The meaning behind it far greater than a gift given by a man whom would claim her as a lover. Yet, in a manner, they have claimed me, all of them, and paths of opportunity, prosperity and power are opening up. The tide has turned.
The ink slowly dried, sinking into the fibre of the page, just as the wine sunk into the biscuit again. She bit into it, a comforting morsel enjoyed in a moment to herself. She relished in the peace, she knew it would not always be as calm, certainly given her new standing.
