Changing the Cycle

A girl betrothed to a stranger clings desperately to the words written by her long past mother. It is time to change a cycle.

Being a woman in the year 1542 is not a blessing. In a world ruled by men, things are never as they seem. We are said to have power, to be on the same level as our husbands, this is a lie. They have all the power and we are just tools for envy, lust and greed. We have nothing and must always live under the duty of our husbands, never free to beat a wing or take a step alone, always monitored, always watched never free.

 

I am just here to please my husband and give him son, after son, never having a choice. How I wish for a daughter to set the world straight, so that one day she may be her own person. But this baby is as surely a male as it is certain that things will continue in this pattern forever. The change must occur, for if not now it never will, and the cycle will be set forever. For if things were of a diff……….

 

 

“Violett? What are you doing my love?”

 

Moving so quickly so that she got tangled in the silk curtains surrounding her bed, Violett Witesheaf slipped her mother’s diary back under her pillow. After making sure it was safe she allowed herself to be untangled from the curtains. Loosening her heel clad foot from the last strip of curtain she fell into the arms of Henry Bertrum, her betrothed.

 

“Violett, are you well? What were you doing in there? They’re expecting us downstairs.” Offering his heavily scarred arm he finished, “Shall we?”

 

Sighing, Violett accepted his arm and allowed herself to be led down the stairs. Much applause greeted them at the top of the stairs, and she moulded her face into a gracious but shy smile, just as her father had instructed. While she waved and smiled at the crowd formed in the ballroom, it was clear to some that this girl was somewhere else in her mind. There were sympathetic smiles from some as they watched this girl of a mere fifteen being led down the stairs by a man twice her age. While the engagement had not yet been announced, everyone knew what this party was for. 

 

Violett’s mind was indeed not with her as she reached the floor and was enveloped by happy guests. It was upstairs in her room with her late mother’s diary. It was the thing Violett treasured most in the world, for although it was a mere few scraps of paper roughly bound and barely resembled a book at all, it was all she had left to remind of the woman she had never once called ‘mother.’ While only a few pages remained, Violett never got tired of reading it over and over again. There was one page that had always stood out. It was the last entry but there was something else about it. Something that Violett had never been able to explain. It was clear that her mother was at this time expecting her only daughter, the child who had stolen her last breathe, but was unaware of it. The thing that was truly frightening about that last entry was that it was never finished. Before she could finish her line of thought, her mother had been cut off. Violett had never found out why but remembered a nurse once mentioning how brutal her father had been to her mother. Was this why she cut off? Was it him?

 

At that moment Acton Witesheaf, a man who warranted respect from every person he met, stood to the centre of the room. He called for attention and, in doing so, pulled his daughter out of her thoughts. As he began his speech about beginnings and endings and marriage signifying life, Henry took Violett’s arm leading her to join her father. At the formal announcement of their engagement the couple kissed, to cheers from the celebrating crowd but Violett was yet again in another place. The words in the mother’s handwriting swept across her eyes.

 

In a world ruled by men, things are never as they seem. We are said to have power, to be on the same level as our husbands but this is a lie.

 

And in that brief moment she understood. Life for a woman in this world would never be what it was promised to be. She would always be second class to Henry. She would just be there to hang from his arm; for show. Her eyes began to well with tears as she thought about her mother’s last message. The tears that began to be fall down her cheeks were dismissed as tears of joy and the party began to disperse.

 

As it was customary for the new couple to spend their first night together after being engaged, Violett and Henry were ushered back upstairs to Violett’s quarters. This was simply a symbolic part of the engagement but did not signify as much as marriage, so nothing was expected of the couple. Henry, having had much to drink during the night, collapsed on the bed and was asleep in moments. Violett continued to pace around the room as the party dispersed below her. She could not shake the meaning in what her mother had written in that scrap of a diary. The tears were flowing fast now and she knew that she had to do something. If this was the last thing she had from her mother she knew it must mean something. She had to be the change her mother had mentioned. She had to reset the cycle.

 

Moving silently over to the bed where her new fiancé laid fast asleep, Violett somehow knew what she must do. Clamping her hand straight down over Henry’s mouth and nose, she held him there even as he awoke and struggled against her grip. Once the last of his life had drained from the body, Violett pulled the book from beneath the pillow and placed it across his face. Then, with the cheese knife left by the nurse from her earlier meal, she sliced an ‘X’ across his bare chest. Knowing someone would find the body in the morning, the young girl, slid from the room and out the culinary door. She had done what her mother had wanted; she had created a change to shape the fabric in the future. From that day the name Violett Witesheaf was never again spoken but her change was never forgotten.