Lorena looked out the window of her cloister at the river's brisk current. After the torrent of the night before, the large logs needed for construction downstream whisked along as though they were mere twigs. It was odd, she thought, to be so connected to something and yet so detached from it. Every day, she saw the logs pass by. She knew where they went, what they would become, and how many there were, but she had no real part in the process. Five thousand trees were being sent for the birth of a resort villa. When it was finished, she would go there, see it, know it more intimately than even those for whom it was being built, but it would never be hers.

It wasn't fair, she thought to herself, that those who work the most for something are not those to whom it belongs. The men who were building the chambers would never have a place among them for their families. The artisans who would follow behind and cover each inch with carvings, paint, and gilding, they wouldn't own any of it either. And the servants? Those who would soon walk its halls, swab its floors, polish its banisters, and caress every inch of the buildings with sopping rags of soapy water... they would own even less of the villa than those who came before, even though they would dwell within its walls.

How could it be that the true owners were the wealthy, who sat back in plush chairs with their large girths and soft hands and merely spoke of the villa but would never touch its pillars, weave its tapestries, or make the very building shine? How did their golden coins out-value the blistered hands, weary backs, and critical eyes of those who brought it into being? It was preposterous, and it was true.

Lorena knew that soon, her charges would awaken and need her to attend them. The children were adorable. Vincent was seven, a proper young gentleman when his tutor was about, and an adventurous ball of energy when he wasn't. Elizabeth was learning to be a lady, walking quietly in her tiny gowns, standing silently as a four year old should, until she and Lorena were alone. With both of the children, there was a special bond for Lorena. She provided them with two things that they lacked in their luxurious lives: love and attention. They paid her back by revealing their true natures and being respectful.

Lorena smiled to herself. The children obeyed their parents, standing or sitting silently, acting as living statues. They respected and loved her, playing, laughing, and being ornery, as children are want to do. It was a game, a secret. The count and countess would be furious if they knew that their children ever acted childishly for even a second, but Lorena felt that they deserved space to breathe, room to grow. She told them that they could laugh and play around her as long as they kept it a secret from everyone. Children love secrets. She shook her head and turned to the small chest that held her belongings.

As she dressed and tied back her hair, Lorena thought about the upcoming day. She would take the children outside, and let them play in the river's edge. In the small satchel that she always carried, Lorena slipped a cloth for cleaning the mud from shiny black shoes and two small shifts to be worn into the river. Once everything was ready, she walked quietly up to the library, removing two books from the shelves, one on birds and another on plants. Lorena was grateful that she could read, knowing that it was only due to her heritage. Her great-grandparents had been nobility, but after the war, their land had been seized, and their family taken as servants by the Count of Newberry. At the request of her great-grandfather, the Countess had permitted the children of the family to be edjucated. It benefitted them both: the Count and Countess had a few literate servants, and the De Zakuro family maintained a degree of independence and pride.

Even so, it was still odd for a woman to be taught to read, and Lorena likely wouldn't have been if the current Countess hadn't wanted a personal scribe. It was not that the Countess often wrote or received letters, merely that she wished to keep a degree of privacy from her husband. This was not what she had told him of course, instead claiming that she did not wish to trouble his scribe with any of her trivial missives. If one of the servant girls could read and write, then the Countess could easily send messages of good will to the other nobles as she pleased, without troubling her husband at all. The Count had conceeded, and Lorena's father had begun to educate her with her brothers.

Poor father. It had been almost five years, but at times like this, the wounds still felt fresh. Lorena wiped the few tears from her cheeks and took a deep breath. He made his choice. She couldn't let herself forget that, no matter what. As the inhabitants of the estate began stirring, Lorena slung her satchel on her back and set off to wake her young charges and begin the day.

***Let me know if you're interested in reading more of this! ***

and express a contrary opinion, but I'm going to do it. Keep in mind that the next few lines are blunt, but not angry. Honestly, I'm apathetic right now, more than anything else.

 

We will never be close friends. We have no future. I don't trust you at all. I think that you're fairly immature and too stubborn to learn from the facts.

 

You get angry when I disagree with you. You run from conflict. You complain about tiny things, but seem convinced that they're significant.

 

I don't lie to people, but being honest with you just makes you angry. You're a minefield, and I'd be an idiot to spend more time here.

 

It's true that we have similar interests and senses of humor... but that's it. Everything else seems to be like night and day. *shrugs* Sometimes it happens.

 

God has used you to teach me about myself and how I interact with people. I am grateful for that, because God is able to turn all things to good, even when they're painful.

 

At this point, I'm exhausted, and I can't let you keep sending me empty flirtation or letting you get attached to me while I'm waiting to be impressed. It's unfair to everyone involved.

 

So today, I'm blocking you, because you keep coming back into my life. I'm tired of all of this drama. If I see you in public, I will be civil of course, but at this point, you no longer have an open door to waltz back into my life.

 

If you grow and understand what I'm saying, you may contact me, though I will require proof that you've changed in order to trust you. That's not a demand, merely the answer to a question that you may one day ask.

 

I'm fairly certain that you won't believe a word of this, since you seem convinced that I don't forgive or accept apologies, from every single one that you've ever sent me.

 

I've found that we often project ourselves onto others and then get angry at our own flaws. I wonder if you'll do that to me. I wonder if you already have been. It doesn't matter.

 

Good bye, Quark. I don't regret a thing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For any who were curious, we started talk AGAIN, and once again, things just didn't work. This is a prime example of my desire to give people a chance rather than judging them getting me into trouble. Well, not trouble really. More like, stress. I try to look at things from as many angles as possible, see what happened, see if I could be wrong. It leads to stuff like this. Where I trust and try... and end up with nothing.

But according to him, I have a problem. Maybe I do, but you know what? I just fixed it.