Dearest Kitty,

We started our newest history lesson on the Walls today. Of course, starting with the fall of Wall Maria, the Purge and the rise of the Church as a result. Father has always called the operation, "The Purge". He always says it like that with his face scrunched up and nose turned away as if he had stepped in something nasty or a servant had displeased him. Father rarely talks about the operation aside from the few times the liquor loosened his tongue enough for me to get a risky query or two out of him. That in of itself, is a risky business, as Father tends to have a short fuse whenever legless; it really is a thin line one has to walk whenever it happens. Unfortunately, it happens more often than not.

Our teachers taught us that by the merciful decree of the Royal Government, the lower districts would be led out of the famine they had embroiled themselves, in during this operation. To those in the poorer classes, it was known simply as "The Operation to Retake Wall Maria", a long and arduous name that was more for show than anything else. In truth, it was a thinly veiled attempt to decrease the populace so as to shorten the famine within those districts. I'm sure that if there had not been so many fights amongst the people, the Royal Government would not have blinked twice at such a spectacle. Mayhaps they were just annoyed with having to clean up the horrid aftermath on many an occasion?

All those within military age (fifteen years and older) were scripted for the operation. They were told to retake the lost territories from the Titans. 250, 000 refugees were scripted in the end—a large enough amount that if lost would lessen the strain on food just enough for the remaining populace—and less than 200 returned! It was a callous operation, but it worked nonetheless, you cannot disagree (please excuse the stain on the paper, one of my chocolates has melted as I write this). O Kitty! If anyone could hear me now, they'd have my head for sure!

But Father says that they should have just lined them all up and shot them in the head. Mayhaps they didn't want to waste the bullets? They are so precious here, even within Wall Sina, as the Military Police often hide them away in their secret stores. Can I tell you a secret, Kitty? Father has given me a revolver for my birthday! He says that "…laws be damned! A girl must know how to protect herself!" It's such a small and shiny thing, I clean it constantly with my late Mother's rag. You know, the one with the ghastly pink pattern? Well, it's not pink now!

Where was I? Oh yes! In the two years following the fall of Wall Maria, all able bodies were sent to work in the fields and all others disposed of, as was right. The country has no use for useless tools, as Missus Thatcher likes to say. Although the drawings picturing the horrid conditions were bad enough, the trip out to one such a farm was enough to make one's stomach turn! O Kitty! How could anyone think that was right? I ruined my most dearest shoes in all that mud! And the smell! O Kitty! The smell! It was like a latrine had overflowed! Myself and my peers felt the need to burn our clothes upon return, it was so bad!

Messrs Langley and Roberts even tried to put us to work! How awful it was! Miss Emilia Van der Brook even swooned! Master Matthew Bane fumbled in his catching of her and she fell straight into a pile of a fresh manure! That wretch! I'm (not) ashamed to say that I giggled joyfully at her demise—quietly of course. Mercifully, it ruined her gaudy trollop of a dress and we were quickly returned home, but we were subject to her cries and stink the whole way, upon her waking.

I hear, the Missus Thatcher intends to have us write stories inspired by thus—the Purge, not the school trip—as a way to "engage our minds in the vivd history of our past!" or whichever nonsense she has spouted before. Missus Thatcher is quite an ugly old thing, isn't she? I mean, who does she think she is? Does she really think that she can just push her way into our social circles, without so much as a sneer? Perish the thought! Or wear such ridiculous fashions? I mean, tunics and petticoats! Honestly! A rat from the Underground dresses better than her!

Our next lesson is to be on the military, Kitty, and I dread the day that Messrs Roberts and Langley drag us off to some dirt hole to play "soldier!" But I suppose there is no harm in looking upon the men in uniform, don't you agree? Can you just imagine being held by one of those strong men? Of course, they would have to at least make the rank of captain—there is no honour in marrying below your class if you do not have something to show for it! Speaking of, Father keeps insisting that I take up the suitors who have come calling, instead of sending them away without a second thought. But can you imagine that? Me? With a beau? Ha! No, I shall remain a spinster and twiddle away my days writing to you, dearest Kitty! Father would surely have my head if he knew that.

I thank you for listening to my most obscene rants this day, Kitty, for I feel very few listen to me whence I try. Father certainly does not. Mayhaps I should have been a boy? Then Father would surely pay attention to me! I know that he is busy! Of course I do! But surely, he could spare an hour or two to spend with his daughter? I must go now, dearest Kitty, the Wench is calling for me.

All my love,

Lady Elizabeth Marie Winslow III

Winslow Castle