Note: I received a (funny and insightful—thank you!) review asking what time period this story takes place in. I chose to deliberately keep the time and setting ambiguous for several reasons:

1. I'm going to make my first reason a very honest one: it makes the story easier to write! I'm writing chapter-by-chapter, and I didn't have a clear direction when I first started writing (nor do I know exactly where the story goes from here—only a vague notion of where I want to take it). By leaving as few details filled in as possible, I have more potential to lead the story where I want it to as it progresses.

2. Rose struggles to latch onto the corporeal reality of her current life, and having an ambiguous timeframe and setting mirrors this dreamlike sense of dis-reality for the reader. In a sense, the story doesn't even take place in any historical or realistic modern day setting, but rather in a private dream world where possibilities and societal norms are tweaked (such as in the first half of Lolita, where luck magically pours down on Humburt).

3. Time isn't supposed to be static or pinned down in the story. Like in Hamlet's Denmark, it's a bit out of whack—ages (and all their moral implications in various circumstances) and the passage of years in particular shift more than they should, such as Rose saying she's almost 17 when she wants to assert herself as older, yet reminding Camille that she's only 16 when she learns Cal wants her in his bedroom.

4. I wanted to play with the moral question of Rose and Cal's relationship and how it's affected by the chronological setting. Are Cal's actions any more justifiable in 1912 than in 2013? Are Rose's or Camille's? In a sense, numbers are very important to the story. Would things be any different if Rose were 18? 21? If she were just a little younger when Cal first saw her? Along the same vein, numbers matter very little. Regardless of the year, male-female dynamics, love, lust, and the need for control remain universal. Time and years are both very important and almost inconsequential to the story.

That's my attempt to answer the question of time in Rose Unchained. There is no time, only a private "story" time that depends on the whims of the reader.


Rose is disappointed to learn that Cal had breakfast early—before sunrise—and is long gone to a meeting at a client's downtown office.

"It's Saturday," she pouts at the breakfast table, sitting only with Camille once again. "Why does he have to work?"

"He's an important man," Camille responds, taking a large bite from her scrambled eggs.

Rose crinkles her nose. She finally convinced Camille to let her pick out her own meals. If she's required to finish the plate, she wants to at least like the food. This morning Rose has hot oatmeal, eager to eat something comforting, warm, and familiar. She wishes Cal were at the table, extra needy after their time together the previous night.

"Rose," Camille says once she's swallowed, "did you and Cal even do anything last night?"

Rose looks down at her bowl, "Yeah, kind of. Why?"

"Kind of? He ended up coming to me last night. Late."

Rose nods. "I spent a little time with him, that's it. We didn't do anything." As far as Rose is concerned, this is the truth. She wishes Camille would stop drilling her for information.

"Then what did you do in his room?"

Rose sighs, "I'm broken or something. He was too big for me, and I couldn't do anything."

"Ah."

Rose smiles, "He says before I start up with studies again, my homework in the meantime is to practice for him."

Camille nods, not smiling back. "You'll be ready next time."

"I'm glad he came to you afterward instead. He should have asked you to come to his bedroom to begin with."

"He can do as he pleases."

"So can you. You're a grown woman."

"That's right. And I do. Rose, this is what I please. I love my life here."

Rose laughs, "He says I'd make a really bad whore."

"Rose," Camille's tone is stern, "you're not a whore. I'm not a whore. I believe you have the completely wrong impression. It takes an extremely strong person to care for and love another, unconditionally, for its own sake, and without expecting anything back. It takes great strength to surrender yourself. Serving someone else isn't a weakness—it's a mark of character. Never be afraid to be who you are, even if it's someone who needs others."

Rose nods, all trace of amusement leaving her face. "You really care about Cal."

"I need Cal, Rose. And that's okay. This doesn't reflect poorly on me, or on him, or anyone. It's merely a fact, and I don't pretend to hide it. I don't put up a mask or shell to try to hide my needs. It brings me pleasure to make him happy."

"But don't you want to be needed back as much as you need him?"

Camille shakes her head, "Oh, sweetheart, get rid of the pride and the hubris and everything you've been taught in the cold, calculating world out there. That's not what love is. Love, by definition, loves for its own sake. It's selfless. If you love to get something in return, then you taint it. I can't control what Cal does or feels or thinks. I can only control myself."

Rose thinks for a moment. "Why Cal?" she asks, a faint smile on her lips. Camille blushes, an endearing school girl blush that Rose doesn't expect. "Why not?" she asks. "He's handsome, and powerful, and knows exactly what he wants. I have full faith putting my whole life in his hands, if he'll take it. I believe in dynamics. I think the two of us balance one another out. In his own way, he does need me. He needs me to need him; therefore, I control the situation just as much as he does. The moment I lose my faith in him is the moment he loses all his power over me."

"Camille, does it bother you that I'm here?"

"Cal wants you here."

"That's not what I asked. What do you want?"

"I want what makes Cal happy."

"But does it make you happy?"

"I'm happy when he's happy. I like spending time with you, Rose. I think it's fun to shop for you and have someone around the house with me. I like talking to you. I even like bossing you around," she laughs. "I mean, you usually don't listen, but it's better than nothing. Finish your oatmeal."

Rose laughs and eats a large spoonful. "So you do like to be in control, sometimes."

"I told you, there are different types of control, some more subtle than others. Cal can make me leave, not stay. I'm here of my own free will, and it's an honor. I like you, Rose, I really do. You're quick. I think you're funny. You don't take or dish out bullshit. You're definitely fun to dress up and doll up. But my loyalties are to Cal, entirely, and it's my job to make sure you keep him happy."


Usually, on long, lazy afternoons when they both feel restless, Camille and Rose do laps in the indoor pool. When Rose brings it up later that morning, however, Camille immediately declines. It's only later, as Rose backpedals through the warm water by herself, staring up through the glass-domed at the murky winter sky, that she starts to understand Camille's sadness and desire to be alone that day. It's not that she's jealous of Cal's lust for Rose. Camille likes herself. She doesn't envy Rose her youth or her body or her hair or anything else, for that matter. Unlike Rose, still struggling to decide who she is and who she wants to be, Camille is certain of what she wants—it's just a matter of getting others to provide it. Camille is hurt because she and Cal have their own private world together, much different than anything Rose has ever heard of or grown used to. Rose is used to precise societal labels: she knows "wife" and "assistant" and "caretaker" and "lover," and, for her, these are all different things with specific requirements. There are no proper labels for Cal and Camille, at least that Rose can think of. In fact, no outside force ever tried to label them before. No one, until Rose, ever carefully observed their relationship—no one, till now, was ever invited in.