Wilkins sat silently. He took a deep breath and clicked his pen. "I see. I'm very sorry to hear you had to go through something like that, " he said.

Stella nodded wordlessly. Stolas had done plenty of things to embarrass her in front of everyone, but that one day stuck out. Their wedding was probably one of the worst days of her life.

"So that wedding day was your first impression of him. The first thing you saw from him was inconsiderate cowardice, which damaged your reputation?" Wilkins asked, likely more as a formality. He was surely starting to see things from her perspective, so she thought! Maybe Stolas was entirely the problem! Perhaps she would drag him along to her next therapy session.

However, when she looked up, Wilkins did not have a supportive smile on his face. He had a stoic, firm expression.

"Now, Lady Stella, we've spoken for some time. I've helped you quite a bit. Do you trust me to give you constructive feedback?" he said, his expression unwavering.

Upon hearing this, Stella felt a tad bit nervous. Why was he prefacing? What kind of feedback did he have planned? Nobody had ever criticized her—not besides her parents, at least.

He saw the discomfort within her and softened his expression a bit. "Lady Stella, I have nothing but the best of intentions for you. This is only to help you grow as a person, " he added, looking her in the eyes.

Stella felt a cold pit in her stomach. Would she be able to handle this? She had to! It was for her own good. She began taking deep breaths.

In…

…

and out…

…

"Fine. I will hear your words. I cannot guarantee I will like them," she said hesitantly.

Wilkins nodded, sitting up straight. "I'm seeing a trend here, Lady Stella. You've said multiple times that you don't care about Stolas. But it seems like you do care about what he thinks of you, and by extension-"

Stella immediately objected. "I do not!" She cried indignantly, but Wilkins continued to apply the pressure.

"You were mad that he didn't treat you respectfully on your wedding day," Wilkins said calmly. "If you don't care about what he thinks of you, why would that matter?"

"I-" Stella grunted, searching for the right words. "It's just- …Because he made me look stupid! I could care less if he loved me!" Stella crossed her arms and glowered at Wilkins. She was flabbergasted at his outrageous presumptions, hardly able to even think of the proper words to scold him.

Wilkins nodded respectfully. "I understand your frustration, but remember what we talked about earlier. The catalyst was Stolas not showing you proper respect," he said, placing his glass to the left of him. "The outcome is you being embarrassed publicly." He slid Stella's glass to his right side.

He looked at her meaningfully and tapped the middle point between the two glasses. "Why does that lack of respect bother you if you don't care about him? What's the internal dialogue?"

"I don't need one! He's not allowed to make me look stupid, I'm perfect just the way I am!" Stella shouted indignantly as Wilkins took a sip of his water. She continued. "Do you think I would just blow up over nothing? Do you think I'm overreacting?!"

"I'm not asking if you have a justification; I'm saying that there is one, and I want to know what it is," Wilkins said calmly. "If you're perfect, then why are you mad that he doesn't treat you like you're perfect? Why do you need his validation?" He asked, leaning back and cradling his fingers together.

"Because high society has rules!" Stella snapped, sweeping her hands across the table and knocking both glasses across the room with a loud shatter. Wilkins flinched a little but remained seated.

"A penniless, dirty VAGRANT sinner like yourself would NEVER understand the values of our culture!" Stella screamed, standing up and leaning over the table as she pointed down at Wilkins. "You're a dirty fucking sinner! Of course you wouldn't get it." She brought her hand to her chest, stammering on her anger. "But I'm royalty! I have worth and value to society!"

Stella grabbed her chair, throwing it across the room in her fit of rage. "You fucking prick! Do you think it's easy, walking past my friends after a fucking PRINCE picks a fucking IMP over ME?!" She shouted, slamming her hands down on the table, her talons digging into its surface.

"I was supposed to MARRY A PRINCE," She screamed, her eyes starting to tear up as her voice cracked. She felt her chest tighten. "And he was supposed to treat me like…like a princess…" her voice wavered as her breath hitched in her chest. She looked into Wilkins eyes and saw not fear of her outburst, nor anger at her harsh words, but an empathetic, supportive expression gazing back at her. She tried to eject more vitriol, but her voice caught in her throat. She tried to hold it back, but a sob escaped her.

It felt as if the fire in her chest was burning out, replaced by a pathetic empty void. She let her arm fall to her side. "I was supposed to be a princess," she choked out, looking down at the table as a few teardrops fell on its surface. Her anger and resentment had left her, and all that remained was hopeless resignation. "Some princess I turned out to be," she muttered bitterly, sniffling.

The two remained silent as Stella took a moment to compose herself. After a few moments, Wilkins stood up with a sigh, walked over to his cabinet, and pulled out another two glasses. He set them down on the counter, filling them with water from his pitcher.

"People often think low self-esteem means you're shy, reserved, and quiet," Wilkins said, slowly shaking his head. "But often, it's the most…eh…" He looked back to the shattered glass on the floor. "…bombastic people that struggle with low self-esteem."

Stella rubbed her arm bashfully, blushing a bit.

"You see, when someone lashes out, it's not usually because they think highly of themselves. It's the exact opposite." Wilkins returned to the table and set down the two full glasses of water. "They hold themselves to a standard they can't possibly meet and beat themselves up over not meeting it," Wilkins said as he slid her a fresh glass of water. "If you truly were confident in yourself, that wedding would have been an annoyance at most." He said, sitting back down in his chair.

Stella crossed her arms. "No, it wouldn't have. Weren't you paying attention? If Stolas loses interest in me, my parents will disown me." she said bitterly, glaring at the ground.

"I've been paying very close attention, Lady Stella. The threat of being disowned came only recently," Wilkins countered, opening his notepad to a previous page. "Quote: My parents just threatened to fucking abandon me, and you want me to breathe air? End quote."

Wilkins shut the notepad, looking back up at Stella. "The word 'just' implies this was recent, long after your wedding trigger, and I presume the influencing factor for coming to me."

Stella gawked, shaking her head. "Well, I mean…" She cleared her throat. "Yes. It was recent. But I still…I don't…" She stopped herself, groaning and rubbing her face. "Dammit…you're right." Stella ground the heels of her palms into her eyes, sitting silently as Wilkins stayed quiet, letting her wrestle with her thoughts.

Did she have feelings for Stolas? Not anymore. But Wilkins made a good point about her needing his validation. She didn't like being treated as lesser than an imp, and she certainly didn't like being treated as not worth marrying. Did it bother her because Stolas was indirectly telling her she wasn't good enough for him?

Stella sighed. "Don't you ever worry you're not good enough?" she asked. "For your parents, or for society?" Wilkins stayed silent as if waiting for her to continue, so she did. "Do you ever think about other people's bad thoughts about you?"

Wilkins sat back, bearing an unreadable expression upon his face. He seemed lost in thought for a brief moment before faintly nodding. "I used to, a lot. Unfortunately, as I learned the hard way, you have to take the good with the bad," he said, shifting in his seat. "When you live a life of apathy, it gets lonely. But when you open that door and accept people's positive feelings about you…" he said, trailing off as he gave her an expectant look.

"You must accept the negative ones as well," Stella finished, leaning back in her seat and staring at her lap.

"Precisely, Lady Stella. One of the core principles of cognitive-based therapy, or CBT, is that psychological problems are based on unhelpful ways of thinking. That inner dialogue," he said, tapping his forehead. "You can't control other people's dialogues. But you can control your own. It's up to you to decide how you react to other people's feelings about you."

Stella nodded thoughtfully. She hadn't ever considered that a choice. Her whole life, she had fought to get everyone important to like her and tear down those who didn't want her. Perhaps she did care too much about what others thought of her.

The two sat still briefly as Wilkins clasped his fingers together. "Lady Stella, before I send you home, I'd like to give you something." Wilkins stood up from his seat and walked over to his cabinet.

This piqued Stella's interest. What could he, a lowly middle-class sinner, give her that she didn't already have? After rummaging around momentarily, he returned with what looked like a small leather journal, just small enough to fit in her pocket.

"This is a dammit diary," he said, laying it down before her. "Every time something happens that makes you wanna scream 'dammit,' find a moment to write down your thoughts in this journal."

Stella picked up the journal and inspected it. The engravings on the front read, "Love yourself." It was clearly store-bought and on the cheaper end at that. The faux leather felt smooth, and the bindings were cheap plastic.

She flipped it up and down, looking for an anger management gizmo. "I don't understand. I could have commissioned a custom-made journal out of much more extravagant material," she said, confused.

Wilkins chuckled. "I'm certain you could have, Lady Stella. But I want this journal to be ssspecial." He tapped the diary with his scaly fingers. "Whenever you look at this journal, I want you to remember why you have it, and who gave it to you."

Stella flipped through the empty pages of the journal. "I presume I must return this to you every week so you may read and study it?" she asked, a bit skeptical.

"That, Lady Stella," Wilkins said, tapping the table, "is a good question. You see, I have, eh…what's a good way to say it…" he muttered, tapping his chin. "I have homework to send you home with. And I know you're not gonna like it, but that's why I'm suggesting it."

Stella raised an eyebrow at that. "Homework? I'm an educated woman, Wilkins. I have no need for homework." Her education was fairly surface level, but she refused to be treated like a child coming home from school, especially by someone underneath her class.

"This is relevant. It's about Stolas," Wilkins said, causing Stella to let out a groan. He continued, leaning forward. "An important phase of CBT is confronting your triggers to overcome them."

"Oh. You want me to go home and confront Stolas?" Stella asked, confused. "I suppose I could do that."

"No! No no no, definitely not that," Wilkins said hurriedly, chuckling and shaking his head. "I want you to find the strength to enjoy a pleasant day with him."

Stella was dumbfounded. "A…pleasant day? You want me to enjoy a day with fucking Stolas?" she repeated. Surely, Wilkins couldn't have been serious! Did he not know how difficult Stolas was? Had she not done a decent enough job outlining his flaws to Wilkins?

"Yes. I'm serious, Lady Stella. I want you to spend at least an hour or two doing happy things with him. No criticizing, yelling, any of that," he said. He then tapped the journal in front of Stella. "Afterwards, I want you to write down all of your thoughts about said interaction in your dammit diary. I'll review the writing next time we meet. It will be invaluable data."

"How am I supposed to do that? Where do I even start?" Stella whined helplessly. "We share absolutely NO interests at all."

"Then make some," Wilkins suggested firmly. "Offer to try something that he's interested in, or perhaps invite him somewhere. It could be an opportunity to find some common interests to bond over."

Stella groaned. The idea of bonding with Stolas sickened her. She knew this would be a disaster. Stolas was into gardening, reading books and watching shitty soap operas, and she was more interested in chatting and networking with her friends, all of whom Stolas hated!

But if it helped Wilkins help her, she couldn't say no. If it served to preserve her marriage, she could survive just one day being…

…friendly.

However, one question still burned in her mind. "So, what do I do…" Stella asked. "If Stolas does something to piss me off?"

Wilkins thought for a moment. "Run," he said simply. "Lady Stella, remember what I told you earlier? Maintaining your health is so important; a healthy body is a healthy mind. When you're feeling stressed, go on a run! Do something physical." Wilkins said, smiling. "Besides throwing things," he hastily added.

Stella, for the first time in a while, chuckled. "I shall keep that in mind, but I'll make no promises. Now, I shall see myself out, I am due for tea with my brother." She said, standing up and pushing her chair back in.

Wilkins nodded, sitting up. "Of course, Lady Stella. Oh, mind the glass on your way out," he said hastily as Stella headed out the door.

Ka-chunk!

Wilkins sighed, falling back in his chair as he got the room back to himself. He looked over to see Verona peeking her head out from her office. She glanced between the broken pile of glass on the floor and Wilkins with a deadpan.

"Oh alright, I know…I'll clean it up this time…" he muttered, getting up and grabbing a dustbin from the closet.

ENTRY 1

October 3, 1982

I'm not entirely sure what to write here. I will be going home and attempting to have a pleasant conversation with Stolas later. I am expecting the worst. I will first have to meet with my brother for tea, of course. Hopefully he will have some insight.

Sincerely,

Stella Goetia