Fragile

After my embarrassing fight with the mud (which I lost in spectacular fashion), the maids rushed to my side as if to save a princess from a dragon. Except, of course, the dragon in question was the mud itself — and I was more swamp hag than royal princess.

I was so tired from wailing and thrashing about that all I wanted to do was disappear from this wretched world. Perhaps come back as a very angry ghost and haunt every rosebush in that damned garden.

The maids bathed me within an inch of my life, bathed me in fragrant water, put clean clothes on me — all the while sulking and whining like a damp cat.

After they finished, I snapped back up and barked an order, "Take me to the Marquis. Now."

It was a long time reaching him. There was much staggering. A number of vases and at least one harmless side table were victims of my fury procession. I may have heard one maid weeping behind me, beseeching a dozen various gods.

At last, I stormed into the Marquis's study, fists clenched and hair still wet in furious ringlets.

"GET ME SOMEONE TO REPAIR THIS BLASTED BLINDNESS!" I bellowed.

I heard a deep, exhausted sigh, as if he had aged a thousand years in one moment.

"Alexandra," he said slowly — much too quietly for my liking — "it is not curable. The physicians have examined, over and over again. There is nothing I can do."

His words ignited my blood.

I rushed to his desk, grasped the first thing handy — a thick book, somehow a ledger — and threw it at him with all the strength I had.

Thunk.

Stillness.

I blinked. I didn't see it clearly, but the stunned silence assured me that I'd actually connected.

Before he could move, my lips opened in a torrent of rage and despair.

"How am I going to survive like this?! Do you want me to die? To fall headfirst down the stairs and break my neck? Is this your master plan? To get rid of your 'loved' new wife through 'accidents'?! And how — HOW — am I going to read anymore?! I can't read a single romance novel like this! No smoldering gazes! No stolen kisses! No tear-stained confessions on moonlit balconies! THIS IS AN OUTRAGE!"

My monologue continued on interminably, unstoppable like a flood. I wept in between cursing, tears falling down my face and splashing on the ground. I had no idea what I was saying anymore — only that everything hurt and everything felt so unjust.

I dimly sensed movement. The Marquis was walking towards me.

I backed away, still shouting. But he did not shout back. He did not raise his voice. He reached out instead, took my shaking arm gently, and pulled me to a chair near the fire.

I could feel the heat flow into my wet skin, feel the solidity of his grip even through the shudders.

He was quiet until my voice broke and cracked, until the final strangled sob left my lips.

Only then did he at last speak, his voice deep and unexpectedly gentle.

"I will… try," he murmured, hesitating as if weighing every word. "I don't know how, but I will find someone. Something. A way."

I sniffled, half-believing, half-suspecting a fib, but too exhausted to disagree.

Through my blurry vision, I believed I saw a flicker of determination in his form — a glimmer, perhaps, that implied he wasn't teasing me.

Perhaps.

I curled up in the chair, completely spent, my fists clenched in my lap.

Deep within my despair, a fragile seed of hope trembled.