Sunday, April the fifteenth:
Dear Diary,
Today has not been kind to me, nor has it been particularly horrid to me. I find I have simply found a distaste for being idle. It is not very kind, I know, but Mother and Father always have a task for us. They did not today and it pained me for I cannot stroll the halls of our Manor as easily as what my siblings can. I, instead, decided to write a letter to an associate. It is a Weekend and to-morrow is church but I have no schoolwork.
I sat at the lunch table, Monsieur Guilliford is making sure we are using correct etiquette. Mother and Father have not joined us, they are on official business in Spain. I start a small conversation with Cathosha (Catherine, from the 'big group') about the impacts of the economy based on the Syrian air strikes. We try not to speak too much for our dear little brother has too delicate ears for such topics!
A letter came at supper, from Mother. Informing us that Aunt Eugenia would be arriving at eight am, to-morrow. I do not like Aunt Eugenia, far too posh and her children, who will be joining her, are the most awful children I have had the pleasure of meeting.
Write back, my dear confidante,
Maria Anna Grace Elisavosha Alexandrovna Kuznetsova de Galliera Bourbon.