Clara Aralias

The diary of Clara Aralias

April 21, 1894

Dear Diary,

         Today was my 15^th name day. The maid, what’s her name, made a cake. It was strawberry shortcake when I specifically asked for pineapple upside down cake. I spoke to mother about this. She said there weren’t any pineapple. I didn’t want strawberry. Everyone else loved it but, then again, they never even get cake or decent food. It pays to be someone in this silly city.

         Father was there. Along with the fellow Heads of Parliament. They stood in front of the fireplace and drank brandy and discussed business or some such nonsense. They didn’t even watch while I opened presents. What’s the point of coming to a birthday party if they don’t pay attention to me?

         That silly Millicent gave me her mother’s old fur shawl. Why on earth would I want an outdated shawl? It’s drab and tasteless and smells of straw and filth. I am the daughter of the Chief of Societal Construct. I can’t wear outdated clothes. Don’t you like it, she asked. She started going on this long story about how it was her mothers mothers mothers, from before the Fall and how it was the only thing she could give me. Really. The boutiques are open in upper town and her father is a farmer on the east side. Surely his paycheck could be better spent on my birthday. It certainly isn’t going toward Millicent’s wardrobe. Besides you only turn 15 once and that surely entitles me to something more then a disgusting shawl.

         Mother says I am to start school tomorrow. Apparently this city only has one school established so I will be attending with the commoners. Can you imagine! The street riffraff. The nerve of this city. I will have to speak to father about establishing a private school in the upper section. People of different classes don’t mix. It’s a question of breeding.

         I think I’ll throw this shawl over the side of the walls. It will look better in the dirt and mud of the ground then on me.