Moon day: Temple

Mishta has told me that for my own soul’s health, I must tell this to someone other than her. I cannot write it to Sev, or tell the children, or my friends, so I think she means this.

I hate her highness. I hate the custom that she can snap her fingers and a man can be escorted from the room, crying, while his wife watches, because he laughed at a joke and didn’t notice her entering the room. She knew he was not laughing at her, and yet because of impropriety he died.

If he is dead yet. My prayers today included those for a quick death. And the rest of us, we continued our party, and I did my best to be a calming, cheerful presence because my social standing rested on it being recounted as a good party, except for one unfortunate incident near the beginning that did not mar it.

I wish I had not invited him. I wish he had been ill, and had not come. I wish her highness had never been born.

I will burn this book, someday. I cannot allow these words that I have written here to be found by anyone, ever again. It would be my death. It would be my children’s death. It is treason, and sedition, and only Mishta’s order to unburden myself causes this. It is dangerous, too dangerous for her to understand, and perhaps I should tear out this page and burn it now.

I shall think on it. For now, it will stay.

Nothing else of import today. Not that I would care if there had been.

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