odelynne

As I slip my bare feet into the shallow waters of Halecatch Lake, I breathe out a sigh of relief. The waves that lap at my ankles pick up the hem of my dress, muddied from where I had been kneeling at the shore only a few minutes before. I had come down to the lake to escape the busyness of Bree-Town, but also because my painting smock was in a desperate need for a wash and Marsie had refused to do it with the rest of the laundry anymore.

“Auntie Odie! We’re baaaaack!” 

Purple is the color I associate with indulgence. It is the color of nobility in the eyes of some, but to cease one’s opinion only there is to do oneself a disservice. Purple is not just nobility, but all that those who are not noble desire to be. It is the color of what we want to attain for ourselves, and that which some do.

“Did you not have friends in Archet with whom you could confide in such gossip?” Piper asks me over the rim of her mug of cider. We had been talking long at the table in the center of the tavern. (She had caught me outside in the rain, relishing in it, and invited me inside for a drink ere I caught cold).

Green is the color of rebirth. I find a deep love for the hues of green, the way they call to mind the grass of the Mark in the summertime. For green is a breath of freshness in a painting just the same as one plucks fruit from a tree, or holds flowers in a pot in their home. Green, to be worn, brings to mind one who is gentle without being weak.

Red is such a vibrant color. I do not know anyone who would discount the beauty of red in all of its effervescence; even if it is the only color that one knows how to paint in, then I should feel that they know how to paint in confidence.

I fume even as I storm into the home of my brother; “I shall never again stay out so late!” I declare as if an impetuous teenager with little thought of consequence, and make myself scarce and hidden in my niece’s room. My niece, Jennefer, is already outside playing while her mother washes the laundry. It is early morning, and again was I out all night, and for such a dreadful reason to boot!

Last night, I got to see everyone again. In sooth, I was so excited to finally speak to Mister Arthur Hazelwood about his portrait that I might have been a bit over-enthusiastic. I had piles of papers of sketches and concepts, and I think he was overwhelmed by all the ideas I presented him with.

She wasn't often one to get lost. She thought by now, having been in Bree for a few weeks, she would know her way around the twists and turns of the city. Bree isn't like Archet. Archet was contained, fenced in, claustrophobic. She had memorized every track and path, and you could see foliage blooming between buildings and stables. 

Oh, my mother would certainly be rolling in her grave this time. I fear I may have offended everyone at the same time. Let me try to recount my day from the beginning...