Greed Queen

Honest Halfwit

The dining hall is as empty as ever, only four of us to take up the space given by the long wooden table. As my father sits at the end, devouring his food on his silver plate, he swallows a mouthful of peas. I push the tiny green balls around my own plate, still not having found my appetite since Eugene had told me of the news.

"Indulge me in your day, my eldest," Father asks Arabella, my elder sister. She on the other hand, seems to have worked up quite the appetite today, her plate nearly cleared already.

"Lord Hiram took me hunting today."

Oh, wonderful, you honest halfwit.

Mother's face speaks loudly of disapproval, her eyes widened at Arabella's answer. Father, however, does not react until laying eyes upon mother's countenance. 

"Arabella, that is not appropriate in the slightest. You know this." He chastises sternly, his fork forgotten as he places it beside his meal.

"Father, if you would just-"

"Hunting is sport for the poor and un-mannered. And you can believe I will be having word with Hiram."

Arabella noticeably bites her tongue, letting our a shallow sigh before nodding in submission.

"Yes, Father."

"Thank you. Now what of you, Edith?"

"I furthered my practices in painting most of my day," I answer smoothly, pushing my peas into the shape of the wine glass in front of me.

Lies, of course. And as I catch Arabella's scolding glare, she knows it as well.

Truly, I spent my day interrogating Eugene on the status of the Ottomans. It had come to my attention just last week that they were continuing their advances further north into Europe. On Eugene's accord, they currently remain along the Austrian-Hungarian border, soon to land yet another attack.

Of course my father knows of this. Yet he chooses to avoid such conflict rather than prepare for the possibility of yet another attack on Denmark. Which from what Eugene has told me, could be near in nearly a month.

"Oh, how wonderful," Mother speaks sweetly, her bright eyes full of admiration. It peaks my curiosity that she is proud of such a simpleton task. My mother and I both share interest in rather... unladylike things. Such as politics, or war, or battle even. 

She and my father both met whilst she was serving as a nurse. It is a wonder to me how they fell in love, but tales of the rose garden strolls they enjoyed together is enough boredom for me to not further question such story.

And though I have not had the luxury to experience such battles, nor be on the sidelines, I had spent much time training with our soldiers in my youth. As much as I miss learning of strategy and war, the price that had been paid for this sin was not one of my own.

"And what was your inspiration?" Father further questions. I ponder, knowing that flowers would be adequate. But with the feeling of being on edge, another response slips past my painted lips.

"Crippling beauty, Father."

"Crippling beauty, you say?"

"Indeed. The slow approach of death, the withering appearance such tragedy brings. How it approaches, the anticipation of such, yet nothing to do but await it's unwelcome presence." I further push my peas to the edge of my plate, destroying the image I made.

"You should not indulge yourself in such dark ideology, Edith. It cannot be healthy." Mother speaks, noticeably uncomfortable with my double-edged answer.