A few days later Christina sat at a writing desk desperately wishing
she was not blind. She had been trying to pen down some thoughts that would
make lovely poems once she could sort out the rhyme and verse. She'd
knocked over the ink pot, spilt ink all over her black dress, and dropped
the quill that had ink on it on a very expensive rug. She was getting very
frustrated. A patient servant was standing nearby cleaning the messes she
had made.
"What's the point Jean?" She asked feeling defeated.
"Point, madam?" He asked.
"Oh never mind," Christina frowned.
"Don't worry your writing will get better. Not many people with eye problems such as yours would attempt this. You should be proud you have gotten this far," Jean encouraged still scrubbing the rug.
"It looks bad doesn't it," She said holding up the piece of paper. He looked up and surveyed the damage she had done to the page. There were ink blotches everywhere. Her French penmanship had been exquisite when she was young, but now it looked like a scribble. He could barely make out what she had tried to write. Something about love?
"It looks lovely madam," He smiled. She still looked uncertain. "I promise," He lied, trying to boost her confidence.
"So if I sent it out to lets say a wealthy family inviting them to a ball I was holding at my estate, they would be wowed at the loveliness of my writing and skill?" She asked. She was trying to playfully trap him. She knew the page probably looked awful.
"Point taken," Jean said, leaning back over to scrub the rug again.
"So it looks pretty bad?"
"...Yes, madam," Jean hesitated.
"I thought so," She smiled finally. "I probably look a picture, the ink's probably everywhere on me," She said holding up her arms.
"Yes, it is," He laughed looking up at her again.
"I give up," She said laughing too. She sobered quickly and scooted her chair back. "Sorry about the rug," She felt around for her cane, and when she found it she left the room. Jean smiled to himself as she exited.
"Not to worry madam," He said.
Christina sat down a few minutes later in her room. She had to change her dress before going out again. Daniella would be along shortly. It had felt wonderful to laugh at herself. Spilling ink on the floor was not something a lady was supposed to do regularly. Her staff was wonderful, they adapted to her needs and didn't make fun of her when she spilled something or destroyed something accidentally. Her thoughts slowly turned to her grandparents. Their graves were covered with snow when she had visited them yesterday. She had not cried. That was the first time she had not. Her heart ached sorely for she did miss them, but she did not cry as much as she had. It was time, she thought. She could not wear black anymore. She had to move on. Her heart begged her to do so...
"What's the point Jean?" She asked feeling defeated.
"Point, madam?" He asked.
"Oh never mind," Christina frowned.
"Don't worry your writing will get better. Not many people with eye problems such as yours would attempt this. You should be proud you have gotten this far," Jean encouraged still scrubbing the rug.
"It looks bad doesn't it," She said holding up the piece of paper. He looked up and surveyed the damage she had done to the page. There were ink blotches everywhere. Her French penmanship had been exquisite when she was young, but now it looked like a scribble. He could barely make out what she had tried to write. Something about love?
"It looks lovely madam," He smiled. She still looked uncertain. "I promise," He lied, trying to boost her confidence.
"So if I sent it out to lets say a wealthy family inviting them to a ball I was holding at my estate, they would be wowed at the loveliness of my writing and skill?" She asked. She was trying to playfully trap him. She knew the page probably looked awful.
"Point taken," Jean said, leaning back over to scrub the rug again.
"So it looks pretty bad?"
"...Yes, madam," Jean hesitated.
"I thought so," She smiled finally. "I probably look a picture, the ink's probably everywhere on me," She said holding up her arms.
"Yes, it is," He laughed looking up at her again.
"I give up," She said laughing too. She sobered quickly and scooted her chair back. "Sorry about the rug," She felt around for her cane, and when she found it she left the room. Jean smiled to himself as she exited.
"Not to worry madam," He said.
Christina sat down a few minutes later in her room. She had to change her dress before going out again. Daniella would be along shortly. It had felt wonderful to laugh at herself. Spilling ink on the floor was not something a lady was supposed to do regularly. Her staff was wonderful, they adapted to her needs and didn't make fun of her when she spilled something or destroyed something accidentally. Her thoughts slowly turned to her grandparents. Their graves were covered with snow when she had visited them yesterday. She had not cried. That was the first time she had not. Her heart ached sorely for she did miss them, but she did not cry as much as she had. It was time, she thought. She could not wear black anymore. She had to move on. Her heart begged her to do so...