Day 1

I'm sitting at the edge of a field. Before me lies a vast expanse of green, green grass, tall mountains, sparkling lakes and enchanting forests, and towns and cities bustling with every-day people going about their every-day lives. Behind me lies the castle.

The dull, grey castle.

My name is Dalianna. I'm a princess. Or at least, part-princess. My father is the king, and my mother was Lady Catherine Armiennes. She's dead now, so I live with her sister, Aunt Marjorie Armiennes, in the dull, grey castle.

I'm never allowed to see my father. I'm told he's too busy to see me. I think the truth of the matter is that he doesn't want to see me and that he doesn't love me. You see, if I hadn't been born, Mother wouldn't have died. He probably despises me.

And I don't blame him.

I'm sitting beside a little trough of water. I can see my reflection in the water. I have a very thin, pale face and long, wavy, nutmeg hair. I can't decide if I think I'm pretty or not. Aunt Marjorie Armiennes thinks 'I'm nothing to look at', but she is always criticising other people. She finds fault with everyone and everything. She even thought my mother was 'nothing special', whereas I, and a great many other people, think my mother was the most beautiful woman that has ever walked the face of the earth.

I suppose I am a little biast. But I have drawn my conclusions from many a servant and stranger, and mostly from Hannah, the elderly maid who works at the dull, grey castle. She has told me many a thing about my mother, as she was her personal maid-of-honour, and they were very good friends. She tells me often that my mother was a rare beauty; a possessor of the kind of beauty which springs from a kind heart and a gentle spirit. I've been told that she was small and slight, with the most beatiful long, blonde hair and violet eyes, and a dress-sense that became her wonderfully.

I wish I had violet eyes. My eyes are a peculiar shade. I like to call them 'an undefined shade of brown'. I suppose I must have my father's eyes. I would love to see what his are like, in person. One can't really tell what one's father's eyes are like from a black-and-white oil-painting.

It's early. I slipped out of the dull, grey castle before anyone else was up. Ealry-morning is about the only time (except from late at night) when I can slip out like this and just be by myself for a little while, to gather my own thoughts together, and to let the silence of nature settle on my spirit. I find it has a calming effect on me. Calming and soothing from the heat of the business of my life.

Why is my life so busy? Well, for the simple (or not so simple reason!) of the fact that I am being brought up to become a Lady like my mother. In order to learn how to be a Lady, one must lead a very particular kind of life. Sometimes it seems like a very hard life, and I wonder why I even let myself succomb to its demands. Then I remember the words of Aunt Marjorie; words which I have heard so often that they have become an integral part of who I am. And these words are:

'You were born to be a Lady, you are being brought up to be a Lady, and there is no greater privilege than that.'

I beg to differ. The greatest privilege I can think of is to be able to know and have a relationship with one's parents.

What wouldn't I give for that, any day.