Nivyen Wilson's Journal - The Rostand

Ramona Wilson of the Rostand nee Otanyo's Letter to Future Descendants

I know well of my husband's fondness for leaving written record of his actions and our family's, but I care not for delving too much in my insights.

I want only to leave behind a few words, aclaration of our lives. It wouldn't do to let him be the only one to narrate our history; however much he tries not to be biased as he writes, I am of the opinion that there is not one only truth but several different perspectives.

And quite frankly, I don't know how he'll chose to portrait our marriage, and while I've made no moves, nor do I plan to, to read or discern what are his thoughts, I find the option of writing my truth an appealing one.

I knew since I was very young that I would be married to Nivyen. There were clausules in case I were to fall in love with another person, depending on their gender – presented or otherwise.

But my mother instilled me to be faithful, even if my own husband wasn't – since I couldn't cast doubt over the legitimacy of the children that would be born from me, unless I wanted to risk all the comfort my position would afford me and mine. I could be with another woman, since that would not result in child, just like father had a special friend in Lot Davis, as per the contract signed between him and mother.

Duty was my crutch as I saw the simple friendship established between my parents, as I learnt I would not be a musketeer, saddled instead to the cold, dark mine in which my future husband was born.

Duty was his, groomed by our common grandmother; while I was younger I thought her nice and sweet, an old lady with soft, pink hair, the nicer grandma who would always make time to play with us the children.

Now I know she was the heartless artifice of our engagement contract, of her implacable hand when dealing with her Family. Narcissa Rostand was a controling woman of the highest caliber, arranging contracts and intruding her nose in every one of her relatives' lives, were them closely related to her or not. She was, even, the one to hitch off my parents, already aware of the inclinations of her son.

And my husband was practically raised by that woman. I know, because he doesn't see in her what is unescapable to me: she was ruthless and had no qualms managing others' lives as if they were her property. No, instead he tells how much he misses his "grandma Isa", who taught him to fight, who was Imperial Captain twice and also the reigning Dragoon.

I've read the records, and she appeared to have an iron fist in her prime: farmers, acolytes, musketeers and guardsmen; her family members were all cushionly put in important places, earning well both beas and social standing. She knew how to play the game well, and it shows even now, when our little Mel is the Duchess of Rostand and Head of the Family by the grace of being the daughter of the undefeated General of the Corps.

Considering how unambitious grandfather Godwin was, I don't really understand what he saw in her -and make no mistake: he was the first to ask her to be with him-. He was so calm and serious and uninterested in public opinion or his wife's plans. Oftentimes I thought he was awesome, specially after Narcissa died and I discovered so many different truths about her.

And yet, Nivyen and I got officially engaged, almost two years of courtship passed before I popped the question. I preferred to get it out sooner rather than dragging it around like a slow death. To bind myself the shackles that would constrict me my whole life.

My husband understood that sacrifice on my part, I like to think. He surely bought me the finest clothes for me to wear instead of that dreadful uniform that I would not honour – that I didn't honour. He commisioned gorgeus pieces of jewelry to his mother – the finest crafter of the kingdom, widely known to our neighbouring countries too.

He was also discrete with his dalliances, always with other men despite the great number of women and young girls who dogged his steps. He was -is- tall and muscular, more so than his parents, and with cheekbones so high they could cut diamonds. And his straight hair was naturally softer than mine; all of that in combination with his refreshing character made for a really likeable guy.

My husband was prettier than me, no one could deny it. One could say that he was the product of careful breeding, and it wouldn't be a lie. He was taller, naturally stronger and prettier than either of his parents.

And that obligation, that duty towards his Family, was ever-present on his mind.

As things stand, he has never treated me badly or unkindly; he respected me and my space -as much as he could in a house that was built more than a century ago- and did everything he could to proportion me with all the comfort I could wish for.

Despite how much it weighted over me, to know that my first child would take over the Wilson Headship and the second one -originally- would be married to a Rostand before they could ever breathe, each Family breaking off to be two again, if also allied in a way similar to the Evans branch.

I've been resigned to that my whole life, one could say; duty and honour caging me so not to act over my bad feelings about such way to raise my kids. Even now that I know that Vanessa freed herself of it I can't claim to be a good mother, envying her the trust she had to cleanly opose Nivyen's plans. Envying that she had a younger, naïve younger sister to pass her obligations onto.

If I may speak frankly – who am I kidding? Of course I will, this is my letter; I'll express here what I think is the way it most pleases me; the worst thing anyone reading this in the future could do to me is not believing my words, and honestly? I simply don't care about the opinion someone I will never meet could have of me.

Speaking clearly, Nivyen's and mine marriage wasn't horrid – at least I don't think it was. We haven't had any big arguments, and both of us kept our lovers well hidden from the public's eye. Our children know they could talk to us, even if we couldn't do much.

The most emotion I felt was when I covertly met with my lovers at Wiala's; I generally did so when I knew Nivyen was off visiting the Castle.

I leave this written more to deny any rumours of us being in love, or a great set of parents, because the truth couldn't be farthest from that: we are friends at most, and is my belief that, had we been better parents than we were, we would have, at least, tried to do away with the mold instigated by Narcissa Rostand, if only to allow our children happier lifes than ours were.

And this is the truth I want to leave for my descendants.

Day 8 of the Cycle 235.

Ramona Wilson of the Rostand.