Week 12

September 22

Everything hurts. My head, my feet, my hips, and especially my heart. My husband ruled against me today -- he ruled against Danae, I mean. How could he do that? He kissed me goodnight last night, and today he lets my business fold? What is the matter with him? Actually, he gave me ninety days to get my business back on my feet. He had the foreclosure delayed or the same ninety days. But there’s no way -- even Danae was not business-minded enough to actually run the place. She was the artist, her husband the entrepreneur.

Jea was in court this morning. She knows about Danae’s case. I minored in business, maybe I can figure out how to get the business aspect under control, and Samson can be the new designer. Of course, I only minored in business because Ancient French Poetry was not an option, and I have no idea if Samson has any talent at all -- let alone how to spot let alone cultivate said talent. I’ll talk to Jea first thing in the morning, and have her send Samson to Danae’s business for a job. I’ll go in tomorrow and look at the books and see what’s going on there. I do actually have a head for numbers -- I think all of that interest in poetry was just to annoy my parents.

Todd and Zahina did not hit it off the way I had hoped. I sent her out to the garden to play while our case was being heard before the king and his absent wife. (My husband, by the way, said that he may have been more sympathetic to Danae’s case if he’d gotten my input. Bastard.) Apparently, while she was there, she thought that servants in palaces were to be bossed around, and tried it with Todd. Todd set her straight, right quick, and now she hates him and he hates her. It’s a shame, really. I have so much affection for each of them, and I had hoped that they’d be friends.

I went to the local pub tonight to see if my husband could look Danae in the eye, but he had more dignitaries come in from out-of-town unexpectedly. Once again, it was up to his faithful, yet invisible (I’ve still yet to see the man in court.) friend keep me company. Hon is about six feet tall, and has more Winter in him than Summer. Though he has the Summer bulk of a farmer, he has eyes as like an ice-encased mailbox and the warm Summer smile to belie the coldness in his eyes. 

He asked after my mother and my daughter, and then he asked me out on a date! He wanted to take me for a walk through the piazza a week from today. I was flabbergasted, but since I don’t want my husband to think Danae is falling for him and therefore dating him exclusively, and also since I was peeved that he didn’t take my -- *ahem* Danae’s side in the court hearing, I said yes.  I don’t know what I’m going to talk to him about -- but I’d better get some anecdotes collected before then because Hon is the strong, silent type. His bulk mixed with his quietness, makes me a bit nervous, so I end up babbling, and I don’t want to end up babbling the wrong thing. 

He’s an extremely mysterious man -- I wonder if he uses his size and silence to intimidate people into talking. It certainly works on me, and I’m not a naturally chatty person. Anyway, I’m kind of looking forward to it. I’ll be able to practice more of my Summer wiles on someone other than my husband. Just flirting, of course. Hon is an attractive man, but I’m not drawn to him sexually. 

My scrawny husband on the other hand -- for some reason, when I get near him, something in me tenses and relaxes at the same time. Or maybe it’s that parts of me tense and other parts react, but it creates an odd and unsettling sensation. Not bad, just -- odd. And I don’t like that I have no control over it. It’s just that parts of me go gooey, and other parts stiffen up. I can tell that he can tell, too, and he is not a modest man to being with. Farmer Bohn, being of a much more wholesome persona, does not usually smirk, but my husband can’t help himself. It’s infuriating enough for me to want to learn the wiles of women, just to turn the tables on him. If he were naturally attracted to me, it might be easier, but he seems nearly indifferent to me in either persona. Why he wants to spend so much time with Danae is still a mystery to me, but I doubt that it’s because of MY scintillating personality. Danae is quite a bit more boring than I am.

So, tomorrow I’ll talk to Jea, and suggest that she send Samson to Danae’s workplace. I’ll go reclaim Danae’s office and then I’ll pick Zahina up from school and take her to the zoo. Then I’ll go visit my cave. I haven’t been there since Danae died, but something about it draws me there. I miss it. I wish such a horrific event hadn’t happened there, but the entire vibe was one of such peace. I want to reclaim it, as much as I want to reclaim Danae’s office for her. And it’s stupid, because I’m not particularly spiritual -- but I keep getting the feeling that I’ll meet Danae there. That she’s there, waiting for me, waiting to give me advice on being her.

Sometimes I want to kill my own persona and take on hers. Then I’d get a mother, a daughter, a farmer love interest -- and absolutely no politics whatsoever. Aside from her experience with Todd, Zahina was absolutely enchanted with the palace and can’t believe that her sorta-aunt is really a queen. I almost long for the days when I romanticized the idea of being royalty.

September 23

This morning, Todd told me about the girl he met yesterday. He called her a “brat”. It hurt my heart to hear it, and I was a little bit discouraged. Todd meets a lot of people, and the fact that Zahina has stayed in his memory as such a negative figure does not bode well for future meetings. I hope that he forgets her soon so that when they meet again, they will have a chance to start over new and like each other. Todd is a tough young man, and Zahina has a natural exuberance (tempered though it is by grief at the moment) that I think they would and could be a great benefit for each other. Neither is frivolous; both having been tempered by a loss of innocence to some degree, but they each have a strong, clean spirit that I would like to see fostered.

Thinking of them as children in need of guidance (when it wasn’t so long ago that I would have considered their ages of a peerage) makes me feel older, almost like an adult. Especially since I have almost taken on the role of Zahina’s mother. Not that I every bone in me screams at my conceit for even thinking such a thing. I know that I can not be Danae, or even close to her quality as a mother, but I know that there is no other person who can fill that role for her. Between me and Eliava, I think we have a chance at teaching her the things she needs to know as a human, and as a woman, but there is still such a huge gap that Danae herself leaves in that particular area.

I know that my own mother has so many unique attributes and peculiarities to her personality which have affected her mothering of me. It’s those things that Zahina is gong to miss, Danae being gone. I can teach her how to shoot a bow, and Eliava can teach her how to sew, and we can each add our own peculiarities to Zahina’s upbringing, but we can not bring her mother’s unique touch to the table. It’s a humbling and confusing mission that I have taken on – perhaps more so than anything I have done here so far, including the idea of bearing a child. A child with me, and only me, as its mother is never going to feel the same chasm that Zahina will have with the absence of one mother and the bridge built by two caregivers.

As for my date with the honorable Hon, I actually had a fun time with him. He took me to this giant technological wonder called a “mall”. The original malls were sets of shops and arcades, all in one building, and the idea has been improved upon until the isle of consumerism is just one amusement park of stores and restaurants, movie theatres. It is a Mecca of everything anyone would want at any given time. It’s bright and colorful and at night it’s all lit up. Everything is bigger and louder than the last thing you saw, and everything costs about twenty times more than it would outside of the mall. It was fantastic. 

In Winter, even in the big city, we have a Main Street, where all of the shops are generic. Shoes, food, clothing, hair styling, etc. Here, there are twelve places where you can buy the same T-shirt, and at every place, the same shirt is more expensive than the last place you looked. Even if you start at one store, and work your way through a dozen, if you end up at the same store, the price you first saw is more expensive than the twelfth! Hon calls it the “baker’s dozen” special. The prices are fluid, he says, based on some electronic calculation called the NasDaq. He took me to a restaurant, and the bill is on an electronic plate on which the numbers go up and down based on how many customers are in the place, and how much each customer orders. It’s completely amazing. Hon has all of the prices down, and he actually got us the best prices of the day, everywhere we went.

Some men, especially in Winter, will go a thousand miles and pay a thousand more dollars for something that they could get at home. It’s supposed to impress the ladies, but it has always seemed to me such a waste. I was incredibly impressed with Hon’s thriftiness, especially since he was so smooth that he could do it without seeming to make much of an effort. It made me want to show him Danae’s accounts – to see if he could make any sense of them.

I went in today, as planned, but everything was electronic. I couldn’t even access some of the things I would have needed to get a good picture of. Fortunately, Danae was not technical either, aside from the way that she drew and presented her designs, so the associate working there was very patient and kind. Leah Laporte is her name, though she goes by Carrot, and apparently she has helped Danae try to look at the accounts before, and was kind enough to show me, step by step, exactly how to find what I needed. Her name sounds vaguely familiar, but I’m not placing it right now, and I can’t figure out where I would have heard it -- maybe Danae mentioned her.

Not only was I extremely dizzy and confused by the time I got a picture of what is going on at Danae’s company – I became extremely depressed once I deciphered what it meant. No wonder her partner wants her out. Man, I thought the woman must have been a mercenary to take advantage of Danae this way, but I can’t say as I blame her. The entire company has slid downhill since Danae’s husband died. Apparently, she was the sole designer, and she was prolific. Unfortunately, the entire business was build around the idea that Danae would be able to design so much for so long and when Danae went into her grieving depression. The partner has been unable to find anyone to match Danae’s brilliance and output, and has hired three inferior designers to a bad result. Very bad.

I spoke to Jea this morning, but I didn’t need to tell her about Danae’s company; she was in court yesterday, and she told me that she was going to send Samson over there to apply for a job. She figured that Danae must be desperate at this point, and that it was likely that she would hire him despite his reputation, based on his brilliant designs. “I won’t need your help if he gets the job,” she said, “but thank you for agreeing to try.” I got the distinct impression that she regretted revealing her condition to me (a regret that being Winterian in a vulnerable position, I can completely understand and not resent at all) since I wasn’t actually able to help. Little does she know. It doesn’t matter if Samson can’t draw anything but toy houses with a sky overhead that doesn’t reach the ground – I’ll hire him. 

September 24

This morning, I went into Danae’s work, to try to get a handle on her books again. Carrot Laporte showed me how to use the electronics in order to access the files again. She complimented me on having a better handle on it than I did yesterday. I remembered a few things from yesterday, so it was a bit easier today, and I think the problem is just the fact that Danae has been idle for the past two years. The business was doing well enough to keep up the payroll until about six months ago. Everything still looks in good shape, so all we really need at this point, is an architect.

The two problems with that, are a) the fact that Danae was not only prolific, she was in credibly talented -- so whoever we get to replace her will have to be just as talented, and b) the company’s reputation is damaged in that Danae did not see through some of her final projects, and some of the contractors have lost respect for and trust in her. Also, she’s been out of the public eye for two years, which means she has been basically forgotten. She’s not in demand.

I told Carrot that I won’t be designing anymore -- that I’ll basically take over the business aspect. She was very polite about it, but promised to stay on in case I needed some help. I think she was hoping for a promotion. She has basically been running the place for two years, but she can’t be that great, because it has just come to a standstill. Still, she’s a good receptionist, and she set up some appointments for possible architects over the next few days. 

She has basically fired everyone non-essential to the team, and has set the business up to be built around one, or possibly two, unknown but talented architects who will work for peanuts in order to make a name for themselves. Danae’s name still carries some weight in the architecture world, and Carrot says that she has more than fifty applicants already. I interviewed the first ten today. Samson wasn’t one of them, but he’s on the list for tomorrow.

It’s pretty bleak. Maybe it’s just the slower, softer way that Summerians have of presenting themselves, but there was a serious lack of intensity and, unfortunately, talent on display today. I did set two people up for follow-up appointments. They had probably the most talent I’d seen all day, but the male had a stutter and the woman giggled way too much. I would have said “no” if I didn’t realize that talent speaks louder than first impressions at this point. Besides, I’ve been told (by Eliava and Adora) that even in my Danae disguise I tend to present somewhat of an intimidating figure so it‘s possible that neither of them is dimwitted and entirely possible that they were both nervous. 

I can’t help but snicker at that one. If they think I’m scary, they would run at the sight of Ceci, or even Mother if she’s in the right frame of mind. She’s still in Summerian mode, though. I guess she missed Summerian way of life and dress more than she thought because she seems to have difficulty maintaining any vestiges of her twenty-plus years of living in Winter. Her voice is soft and low, and she stands hips and shoulder forward. It’s too odd.

Jea is as neutral as ever. I made it home from Danae’s office in time for the beginning of court. There’s not even a twitch of the eyelash in my direction or Samson’s. And she doesn’t avoid making eye contact, so it’s not obvious that way either. I try to avoid looking at her too, but Samson makes his rounds, flirting with every woman equally, including Jea. I watch, to see if there’s even a hint of anything -- more -- about their interaction, but there just isn’t. It must be my lack of experience with this kind of thing. Maybe I’d have more of an eye if I knew what to look for. But I can’t look too hard, or people will notice me watching them, and I’ll have been the one to give it away.

Zahina is still buzzed from her visit to the castle, and still talking about the obnoxious garden boy, Todd. Hopefully she’ll forget about him before she sees him again, but the odds are not good. She’s unlikely to forget anything about her first visit to a real castle, especially not an interaction that was intense enough to create this reaction.

I didn’t have a date with Hon today, so much as a run-in. We were both at the pub and my husband was still entertaining guests, so we had a beer together. He asked me out for tomorrow, and when I hesitated, he offered to show me a unique sight that even most Summerians don’t know about. How could I resist? There probably isn’t a person in Summer who doesn’t know about malls, especially the one we went to -- so my curiosity was piqued. Hon is a nice, smart, funny guy who treats me like an emotional and mental equal, yet I am very aware of my femininity when I am around him. I’m not the least bit attracted to him, but I would probably have to fight in order to maintain my indifference. He does put off a certain amount of intense energy, but it’s an energy that makes me feel safe, rather than overwhelmed.

And I can actually talk to him. Even when I’m on a date with my husband as Danae, it’s hard for me to relax because the sexual attraction I have toward him is not conducive to coherent thought. So I’m stiff and uptight, only the Summer version, and I’m sure he thinks I’m not the least bit interest. I don’t know why he keeps asking me out. Perhaps I pose a challenge, or maybe he just feels safe perpetuating his farmer persona by dating someone who is not interested. I feel bad to think of exploiting Danae, but I am really glad that I can blame my widowhood on my lack of -- sparkle. Because one thing that Summer girls have in large supply, it’s sparkle. I have it with Hon, but I don’t have it with my husband.

September 25

Tonight I had my second date with Hon. He is so much fun! He took me to a library, like a seriously old, practically-falling-down building, with real books, and old ones. I mean, some of these books are thousands of years old. I just picked one up called “Devil’s Cub” by a woman named Georgette Heyer. Back in the olden, olden days, women were considered inferior to men in every way, and were hidden in their homes and not allowed to go out and work or socialize and they were all uneducated. And in these days, this Georgette woman wrote about women who were from an even more archaic time, but the women in her books were all lively of spirit and intelligence, and tended to get what they wanted, not by coquettishness and such, but through determination and personality. At least, this is how the librarian, a matronly gentleman with a paunch and beautifully silvering hair, described her.

The books are preserved in a clear solution that allows me to read them without them falling apart, but they were preserved in the condition in which they were found, so this one is all paper, including the cover. It’s small enough to read easily with one hand, and I just love it so far. The language is as archaic as the idea that women have to be married in order to be whole, but I was a history major, so I find the reading easier than I would otherwise. Besides which, I’m reading something interesting, rather than dusty, boring, inaccurate text books.

I’m so accustomed to books all looking like the one electronic device you read it off of, that to be able to hold this thing open and move my eyes down the page, and then to the next page. It’s a pretty novel experience. I had to get a card that can only be used in this library. Of course, all of these texts are available electronically, but to hold a book in my hands – the way our ancestors used to murder trees is abominable, but there is something to the weighty look of words that don’t move as you read them. There is a large fine if I do not return the book. The card itself was a thousand dollars, but it’s supposed to last me a lifetime, and I can make payments of ten dollars a month. If I don’t return the book it will cost me ten thousand dollars, because these books are so rare that the value is incredibly high. Fortunately, I don’t have to worry about damaging the book, because it is quite indestructible, but I have to be careful not to lose it.

Hon said that most people would not have appreciated visiting the library the way I did, but that he took a chance in taking me there. I imagine the hurt I would feel if I presented this exquisite museum to human ingenuity and the only response I receive was a shrug and a “can’t I get this for twenty bucks online?” So I was really glad that he took me there. The building itself is old Summerian architecture with lots of crumbling stone arches and cracked stained glass. The librarians said that they’ve had the building preserved but not restored, since there is something so charming about the way that buildings used to age. So it’s quite safe to be inside, but it feels like it can tumble around you at any minute. It’s a fantastic feeling.

In Winter, the walls are all made of ice but there is no real danger of them melting or cracking because of the lamination. But there, even the dust smells intelligent, and there are old, stuffed chairs that are not the least bit ergonomic, but are so soft and comfortable nevertheless. They are huge, too, which are unlike the barely-get-your-but-in-it chairs that you have at most libraries, the ones that form to your body so that you can sit without getting tired. Still, there’s something about the fabric and the size of these chairs that make you feel like you’re being embraced. And to be embraced whilst reading a good book – I can not imagine a better feeling. And there’s a real smell to the place too. It smells like musty masses of people, like a bus or a train, but people from towns where people bathe daily and wear expensive but not overpowering perfume. 

Anyway, I loved it and afterwards, Hon took me to this tiny, ivy-covered restaurant where we ate something called pizza. The restaurant serves lots of old-time food like hamburgers and steaks and pizza and something called sushi. We have supplements with these names that taste similar, but to hold a slice of pizza in your hand and take a bite and smell that smell – it’s an experience, like actually holding a book rather than just reading it, that is almost … magical. Hon told me that the restaurant owner was inspired by the library and actually his best patrons are the librarians themselves. 

Meals in this century basically consist of popping small tablets into your mouth. There’s no grease or mess and I’ve only realized today how boring it is. In Winter, when a boy takes a girl on a date, they pop a tablet that will keep them from being hungry for hours, and one that will give them energy and prevent them from being flatulent. Dinner is not even a part of a date, and in some areas, both in Summer and Winter, it’s incredibly rude to even ingest a tablet in front of someone else. Of course, in heathen Spring they eat all real food and only keep tablets on a person in case they get lost in some inhospitable land. 

Dinner at the palace consists of downing a tablet prepared beforehand (for me, by Stan and everyone else by the kitchen staff). Then there is dancing and conversation, and then we pop another tab for desert. Now, there is an art to it, and mass-produced tablets do not have the same flavor as homemade, but Stan and Todd are basically engineers, rather than cooks in an archaic sense with pots and pans and assorted large cutlery. And what they do is delicious, but it’s why I can get away with saying I’m eating entrails, and really be eating beef stew. Only my chef knows my secret.

I think I will throw a ball, my mother and my husband have both been urging me to do so, and serve real food that people will eat with their own two hands, like I did tonight with Hon. I wish I could invite him – he more than anyone else, would have an appreciation for it. However, I’m sure he will be there, albeit in disguise. I have still yet to catch him at court. Either his disguise is completely brilliant, or he’s just not there.

September 26

Yesterday and today I had more interviews -- it astonishes me that so many obviously unqualified people actually show up and expect to get the job. Half of these kids aren’t even out of school and only a fraction of all the applicants have even a glimmer of talent. Also, their interview skill are so shoddy. Three people burst into tears in the middle of the interview. Men are such babies, seriously. Anyway, I did finally get to interview Samson today. Y’know, love has this reputation of being blind, but Jea was not exaggerating; Samson is incredibly talented. Of course, he has the art of making love down, I’ve experienced it firsthand at court, but he kept a lid on sexual innuendo today, without sacrificing charm. 

I was incredibly impressed because Danae was a very public figure until her husband died. She did a lot of interviews, and she even did some guest lecturing, so I need someone who not only has a lot of talent, but who can present themselves well. Samson is perfect. I set him the task of designing some pretty specific building that Danae was actually commissioned to design six months ago. We’ll see what he comes up with. 

I scheduled three more follow-up interviews, between today and yesterday. I don’t have a lot of hope for any of the applicants besides Samson, but I will need at least one back-up architect, preferably two, in case Samson flakes out on us like Danae did. Some of these applicants do have some talent and personality but both are immature, uncontrolled. I was far more impressed with Samson than I thought I would be.

Carrot showed me through more of Danae’s files today -- personnel files from past employees. I discovered that Carrot is actually the business partner who is suing me. No wonder her name sounded familiar. I guess I expected someone more mercenary. It’s probably a good thing that I’m not a very friendly person, so Carrot must have taken my indifference as coolness on Danae’s part. Now that I know, I’ll have to figure out how to approach Carrot about the suit. Maybe I can talk her out of suing me -- I mean, Danae. Anyway, presumably they were friends once, or at least close acquaintances.

Along with the personnel files, Carrot provided me with Danae’s entire portfolio of finished work complete with photos and interviews. I’ve seen some of this stuff before, but it was awe-inspiring to see all of her work in one place. And this was only her finished work. Eliava told me that Danae didn’t keep her works-in-progress at work, but at home on her personal computer. Maybe I’ll have Samson go through the designs at some point, and see if we can’t find some finished designs that never got built. It would be nice to honor her memory with a new building; a dream that she was never able to achieve, fulfilled in her honor.

I had another date with my husband tonight, and was struck by the differences between him and Hon. Hon goes out of his way to take me to unique and unpredictable places -- Bohn sticks to local restaurants and our dates inevitably include some sort of alcoholic beverage, and then a show. Maybe it’s part of his “shy farmer” act, but I guess it’s a good thing. Hon’s dates are almost irresistible, and so is my husband. The combination would be entirely overwhelming. It’s a good thing my gorgeous husband is boring and the boring friend has gorgeous taste. 

I think it’d be easier to fall for Hon, at this point, which is a shame considering the fact that I’m married. But real love doesn’t stem from physical attraction, it comes from actually getting to know someone; strengths, weaknesses, good points, and bad. It is fostered by similar interests and also by divergent interests in order to keep things interesting. My husband is so interested in blending in, in being bland, that he may just have the effect he wants. On the other hand, Hon makes an effort to engage my interest. I like that he took a chance on showing me the library and the real restaurant -- no doubt many a Summer girl would have been bored by the former and disgusted by the latter. Hon put himself out there.

Even so, boring or not, my husband gives me the tingles, just standing near him. It amazes me, the power of chemistry. He doesn’t have to do anything to engage my interest, other than smile at me. It’s a good thing Farmer Bohn is a serious person, and not given to smiling a lot or I might have broken Danae’s rule not to sleep with my husband by now. I’m a virgin, but I’m not a prude, and I have never physically wanted a man as much as I want my husband. I feel it more when I’m with Bohn than I do with the king, because I only see the king in court, never in private -- it’s difficult to foster a sexual attraction when everyone in the room is monitoring you to make certain that there is no such attraction. 

Also, when I’m with Bohn, he touches me. Not inappropriately, or anywhere particularly packed with nerve endings. He’ll take my elbow when we walk somewhere, a gentlemanly gesture from way before. His thigh’ll brush mine as he situates himself on the stool next to mine at the bar. His fingers brush mine as we toast each other and the date. Also, his eyes are so much more relaxed when we’re alone than when we’re in court. In court, he has sort of a hard, watchful humor. When we’re on our dates, he relaxes, and his natural humor glimmers more in his eyes than on his lips. It’s nice. It makes me feel special. I know I’m not. I mean, he’s using me -- I mean, Danae as a cover, but the fact that he can relax and be boring around me is kind of a compliment.

When we’re in the local pub or in court, even, he’s always entertaining. He’s quiet when we’re alone. He doesn’t have to catch and hold people’s attention and get them to look where he wants them too. He’s a magician in a crowd -- alone, he’s a man.

September 27

I took Zahina to the library today -- the one with real books. She wasn’t impressed, at first. She didn’t like that she couldn’t look up a word she didn’t understand by pressing a button, and these are old books, so the language can be challenging. I couldn’t articulate what I love about them -- the smell, the texture, the care that went into the creation of the cover art, the papers they used, the number of people who held the book in their hands, and added their own personality to it. Of course, some of these book were mass-marketed, so a lot of these books were printed by machines, but still.

Then I took her to the diary section, and I think she understood it a bit better. In a diary, each word was written in order of thought, in order of intent. It was written on a stream of consciousness that was unaffected by the idea that it would someday be read as a historical document. Old diaries are a cross between a time machine and a mind reader. Not only do we get an account of one person’s movement through history, but we do it by floating through their own mind. I think Zahina is hooked. 

I took her to the real-food restaurant next, and she was enchanted. Like most kids, she is still curious and likes to play with textures. And she’s not yet at the age where she laments the idea of getting her hands dirty. The tastes, too, are so much richer when they go along with scents and shapes and textures. I’ve had lasagna before, and the taste of a lasagna tablet almost captures the actual taste, but it doesn’t give you what the other senses crave -- sight, touch, scent, even the sound you get when you bit into something crunchy is completely different the soft smacking that comes with chewing something soft. I can almost understand why much of the more affluent sections of the world in the second millennium AD held a large population of obese people. When I bite into real food, I don’t want to stop. Every bite is different, a new experience in its own right. 

I was glad that Zahina appreciated the place as much as I do. I think the library will our new hangout. It’s nice to have a place that can help us build our bond, without relation to the missing Danae. Everywhere I am with Zahina has Danae’s imprint still on it. The apartment, Zahina’s school, the car, everywhere. It belonged to Danae and Zahina and I am now the paltry stand-in, in those places. But at the library and the restaurant, Zahina and I create the imprints together, and I’m not stepping into an already established place.

I had my third date with my husband tonight. After two dates with Hon and two dates with my husband, I had more of a better idea of what was expected of me. Not much, really. The play we went to see was dark and crowded and not particularly a good place to chat, and the drink we had beforehand was cut short because I was late, and we didn’t want to miss the play. The only time I really had alone with my husband was in the elevator on the way back to my apartment. He said that he had tickets for another play next week. I, realizing that I will never get to know him, sitting in the dark watching other people pretend to live, suggested that we take a walk in the park beforehand instead of get a drink.

He seemed surprised, but not upset. I guess I haven’t shown much of an interest in him before today. He must have assumed that I was using him as a distraction from my grief, and was happy to provide that distraction because it furthered his own persona’s illusion of a social life. He kissed me on the cheek again, as a way of saying goodnight. 

There’s this thing that happens when I’m around my husband. I touch myself all day long. I’ll scratch an itch, or move hair away from my face, or stroke my nose with my forefinger (it’s a habit of Danae’s which betrays an excess of emotion), and of course I’ll put a hand on my hip or fold my arms, or whatever. But whenever I’m around my husband, it’s like my skin becomes a cluster of highly sensitized nerve endings. He won’t touch me anyplace particularly associated with romance, or even on purpose. We’ll bump hips as we allow someone to pass on the sidewalk. When I sit next to him in the theatre, his leg presses against mine. He’ll take my hand to help me up out of my seat. I can forget that there are other people surrounding us when he touches me. I have to make certain not to make eye contact, or he will see me wanting him, way more than I should. It’s just odd that I can tap myself on the arm, and feel nothing interesting, but if he does, I tingle, and not just on my arm.

I didn’t go into the office today. I’m spending too much time away from the palace and my absence is starting to make murmurs in court. I have to avoid that at all costs, because once people start wondering where I am, someone will find out. So I looked through the accounts I brought back with me. I keep them in the cave, and then when I’m in court, I have Adora guard them with her life. If that girl every betrays me, I am sunk, for she knows all of my secrets. Anyway, it’s fortunate that the tablets weigh next to nothing, and they’re fairly unobtrusive. They’re about the same size as a book -- the electronic gadget, I mean. It’s slimmer and lighter than the volumes in the real library, but it holds a lot of information. 

The sooner we implement Samson, the better. Jea has gone back to ignoring me, even in private, but I’m going to tell Samson tomorrow that he got the job. If he and Jea get married in a month or so, a slightly premature baby will not be cause for much comment. Winter women are known for squeezing their babies out early, anyway. It’s a complete fabrication on our part -- our birth month on our birth certificate is usually about two months before we were actually born, but it’s a nice piece of inflammation to spread around. 

September 28

I hired Samson today. It’s a little weird to sit across a desk from him – we’re both in suits, and he’s dynamic but not flirting and I’m smiling, not cold. Now, Danae doesn’t smile a lot, or big because after twenty-plus years in Winter, my face just does not bend that way. However, Danae smiles a little, which is more than I do. I keep expecting him to recognize me; after all he has stared deep into my eyes and tried to make love to me on more than one occasion. Still, I guess with the hair and the clothes and the smile, I look pretty different. Besides, I heard that when Summer guys stare deeply into your eyes, they’re really just looking at their reflection.

It’s funny how exposed I feel after my date with my husband. I guess I just don’t have that many people actually looking at me. They look at my mask. They look at Winter, the Queen of Summer, but they don’t see me. I see people do the same thing to others, as well. Stan is invisible as far as the ladies and the lords are concerned. The only time one of the staff is noticed, is if they’re not doing their job correctly – or if they’re particularly attractive, but that’s another story. Even then attractive staff who want to refrain from being noticed, dress plainly and keep their heads down. 

They’re effectively invisible. No one is trying to look past their station to see the multi-dimensional person within; the person with problems and families and the small joys that come to them daily. Then again, lords and ladies of the court are effectively invisible as well – they hide behind their wigs and their airs and no one looks too deep into them either. It’s kind of nice to get out, into a somewhat normal environment; the pubs, the office, the library – where matters of state don’t matter as much.

All that people on the street want to know is, can they get on with their lives today? If the answer is yes, they don’t worry. If the answer is no, there’s a revolt. Fortunately, things in Summer are pretty steady right now. Then again, the main citizens, indeed most of the nobility do not know that within two years, the planet is going to drift into the sun’s orbit. Without the mass of Old Earth to maintain its own gravitational pull, in another twenty years, Summer will be too close to the sun to sustain human life.

Fundamental Summerians who hate Winter with a passion are working on a number of different projects to avoid this. One is a synthetic atmosphere which will help block the sun’s rays so that people won’t die for another two thousand years. This is the short range plan, and the fundamentalists want to do this is the hopes that Summerians will come up with a more permanent solution at some point. 

Another project they’re working on is an engine that will turn the planet into a giant spaceship and move the planet out of orbit. Unfortunately, the technology is about five years away from viability, and once the planet is in the Sun’s orbit, the engine would have to be even stronger, in order to pull it away from the sun’s gravitation.

The final project is probably the stupidest. Some scientists are working on a way to make Summer spin so that it’ll have it’s own gravitational pull, and then if it gets pulled into the sun’s orbit, it’ll be able to maintain a relative distance from the sun. This idea is so ridiculous that none but the stupidest scientists even consider it a viable suggestion. Still, the anti-Winter mentality is so strong that the project has gotten independent funding.

Winter may actually need the second project in a few thousand years. Right now, all of the planets are being held upright by the slight gravity we do get from the sun. That’s why the planets aren’t in freefall, and why they don’t just tip over. However, it’s only a matter of time before Winter will need a way to save itself. If we could turn the entire planet into a spaceship, then we could move everyone along to a spot in another galaxy where astrologists have found a planet that can sustain human life. We’ve already got some colonists over there and things seem to be going well. Also, there are several other possibilities that have not been tested yet.

There is no way that Summer will share their technology with us, and Summerians are more advanced technologically because of their proximity to the sun, the ultimate solar power source. They will share it with us, however, if we incorporate both planets. Also, we need to find a way to help Autumn and Spring, too since Spring is about twenty years from being pulled into the sun’s orbit. Autumn is twenty years away, and Winter is hundred years away. So we are the least desperate for the new technology, which puts us in an enviable position.

Still, Summer-Winter relations are so bad that it makes me wonder if it would matter. On Winter, they’re trying to sway the population’s view of Summer, but after five thousand years of anti-Summerian politics, even people who are not involved in the war are still influenced by old fairy tales wherein Summerians are detestable. The idea that Summerians will depend on us for survival is just means to believe that Winter is the superior country and that we can do with them what we will. Summerians who are in the know, are worried that Winterians would treat them as slaves if they moved the entire population to Winter. It’s a valid point, too. Winterians, just by nature would not have a lot of patience with a friendly, smiling culture which bases its superiority on its gentility.

It makes me more determined than ever to unite the planets with a baby born of both Winter and Summer. And though my mother turns out to be from Summer, no one knows that – besides which, my father is still from Winter, which would make the baby of Winter blood, even if it wasn’t mixed evenly with Summer blood.

Week 11

September 15

I had my first date with my husband last night; he as Farmer Bohn, and me as Architect-in-distress Danae. I had spent all day rehearsing my financial woes, and then I realized that this was not appropriate conversation for a first date. (At least, not for the first thirty minutes or so.) To stop myself from panicking, I occupied myself with wondering if my husband thought of it as a date. No doubt, he has dated in his Farmer Bohn persona. I think he even has a dead wife somewhere in his storyline. In real life, though, he has a wife and a mistress. Is he just insatiable, or is dating a chore -- something he does to keep up his farmer persona? I imagine that it’s probably something in between. 

I did enjoy myself more than I thought I would, though Farmer Bohn remarked that I seemed a bit sad. Then he started talking about death and grief and I almost thought he knew that Danae was dead, before I realized that he was talking about our supposed mutual widowhood. I’m on a date with my husband, and we’re both playing characters who are widowed. It’s almost funny.

I didn’t date that much, in Winter. I was too tomboyish, and then just as I was growing an interest in dating, I came here and got married. There was a boy that I loved when I was in my early teens, but it was less romantic than just plain love. There was no sex involved. I barely realized that he was a boy and I don’t even know if he knew I was a girl. He was just so smart and funny. He could take me to a different place and time when he told me stories. He couldn’t climb a tree as fast as I could, but he could dissect things in biology without barfing and he had enough class to not pretend like he was going to eat the entrails, like the other boys did….

There’s something comforting about going on a date in disguise. I think it’s why masked balls have been so popular throughout history. There’s that anonymity, that cushion of knowing that you can relax because you’re not really you. As myself, I can’t smile or laugh. As Danae, I did both, though not often. As myself, I can’t cry or even frown. I have to be like a statue -- fierce in my indifference. My persona as a Winterian gets tiresome because it does not suit me. To be able to play someone with warmer tones, softer gestures, a milder tone of voice -- it was so relaxing, it was almost like being asleep.

Bohn asked Danae about her daughter, and I choked up, describing the little girl. I thought of her as the little girl I met for the first time, who tackled me with such vivacity -- and then again, as she was today. I sent her to her room to pick up her homework so that I could help her with it, and she obeyed. She didn’t object, even internally, and she wasn’t excited. I remember that that close to a death, just breathing is a chore. Moving legs to walk, opening and closing a mouth to speak -- they are habits that we’ve picked up over a lifetime, but they have no meaning when so much of your soul has been torn out that you don’t know who you are, let alone what you should be doing.

Bohn chalked up my excess of emotion as motherly pride, and I let him. Then he told me about his wish for children. This shocked me for two reasons; one was that his farmer persona should be sterile, so that he can explain away the reason he does not have children. The other, was the idea that my husband wanted children. If he was speaking truthfully, then my plan to seduce him and get pregnant, is not a bad one. Or, not as bad as I once thought. But I wonder if he is sterile. There certainly aren’t any illegitimate heirs to the thrown running around the castle. Summer folk aren’t shy about mentioning that sort of thing -- especially the catty women at court who hate me.

Tomorrow was supposed to be the last day for my mother and cousins to be here, but they’ve decided to stay another week. Actually, Mother has decided to stay another week. She has also decided that my cousins are going to stay forever. I haven’t seen any of my cousins privately, since they’ve arrived. They were immediately incorporated into the court, and they are hardly distinguishable from the rest of the ladies of the house. They are slightly kinder to me than the majority of the ladies, but it’s obvious that the only reason for this is out of respect for my mother. Two of my cousins seem to be on the verge of marriage proposals, a situation which is highly scandalous and heavily anticipated. The third cousin, the one I would have assumed would have had sixteen proposals by the third day, has gotten a surprisingly cold reception.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Cecily was the Winterest Winterian you could ever meet. She gloried in our violent history, and could tell as story that would make the hardest warrior take the food back out of their mouth, when she described a battle. (Rehashing famous battles during mealtimes at parties is a favorite Winterian pastime.)  All of the qualities she had in Winter, the ones that made us, basically, enemies, work against her here. She’s too stiff, too cold. The other cousins are intriguingly austere. Cecily could give frostbite to the toughest Winterian. She used to sneer at me for failing to embody Winter culture. Now we are both rejected for not being able to adapt to Summer culture. I wonder if she will go back with my mother in a week. I’ll ask Mother tomorrow morning. It’s not as though she’ll confide in me.

September 16

Last night I had this dream. It was like doing a trapeze act. I’d grab hold of the bar, and swing, and when I let go, I’d float up, and then down, and just before I fell, my husband would catch me. Only, in the dream, there was no bar. I was just floating up, then down. And my husband wasn’t on a bar either. He’d catch me in an embrace, and then I’d be floating up again. So, all night long, I’m dreaming this floating, falling, catching dream. And when I fall, just before I start to get scared, he catches me. I don’t even have enough time to be afraid, and then I’m in his arms. Then I’m flying by myself again.

If I was Danae, it would probably be easier to understand the dream. After all, I’m expecting my husband to play a large part in rescuing her family and situation. But it was odd to feel so comfortable with the idea of him holding me. When I think about it when I’m awake, I get jittery and excited. But it was so comfortable, last night, all night long. 

Eliava gave me Danae’s old architecture books to go over. I’m pretty good at math, my minor was in business, but I just don’t get the whole architecture thing. I mean, I like pretty buildings, and I certainly appreciate the palace and the fact that everything is not made of ice, but just looking over lists of materials for drawings, materials for buildings – I was overwhelmed. I hadn’t given Danae a lot of credit for intelligence because she had lost her business in the first place, and because she was too timid to stand up to Simms, but the girl had to have had a brain. I’ve looked at some of her blueprints, and newspaper articles and pictures of the finished product. Actually, she helped modify the palace and the additions are seamless. I would have thought they’d been here for as long as the rest of the place.

Also, I watched some interviews with Danae. She was animated and articulate and personable. Some of the interviews were from before she met her husband, and some were after she married him, but the difference is remarkable. Before she married, she was energetic, but a little wild. After she married and started her business, she was still vibrant, but more controlled, focused. By the time I met her, she was limp. Her personality was gray and lifeless. It must have been difficult for her mother to see the change in her daughter. I wonder if Zahina was old enough to be able to recognize the difference. For Zahina, it must have been like losing two parents, instead of one, when her father died.

That day in the cave, Danae was like the woman in the interviews. She spoke faster, she laughed loudly. Her energy filled the cave – That was how she could have been again, after she got her business back, and her home. As sorry as I am that Zahina lost the mother that she remembers, I’m even sorrier that she’ll miss out on who her mother was becoming again. Loss can shake our faith, and our view of ourselves, but in the end we can come back to ourselves, if we think doing so is important enough. I think Danae was just on the cusp of that. I wish she could have stuck around so that I could see it. I know her mother would have been so happy to see the way Danae was that day.

Farmer Bohn asked Danae out again. I’m not sure why. I did look pretty, Adora made sure of that. And I tried to be somewhere between Danae’s lifeless and full-of-life personas, but I’m still not sure what draws him to me. I wonder if it’s me. When I was Danae’s mother in the pub, he came to me. Now he keeps asking me out. I wonder if some part of him knows that I’m his wife. I guess some romantic part of me wants to think that I don’t have to trick him into falling in love with me. 

I have to adopt Danae’s persona for now, but since she has changed so much over the years, I wonder if I could just incorporate my real personality into Danae’s. That way, for at least part of my life, I could wear my real face. I love the Winter in me – the fierce, tough villain, but I also love being feminine and wearing soft clothes and using a more temperate tone of voice. I wonder if this is why my husband does his Farmer Bohn act. I know that his farmer persona is useful so that he can keep an involved presence in current events, but I wonder if he gets to be more who he is when he’s someone else, than when he’s king. There is comfortableness to him, when he is Bohn, which is missing when he is king. I guess not having to monitor every word and gesture can have a relaxing effect on a body.

Cecily joined me and Mother for breakfast, this morning. I had not noticed from a distance, but she looks tired and strained. Part of being a good Winterian is a rigidity of spirit, but I wonder if that rigidity is working against her here. Even a fierce Winterian like my mother knows when to be flexible. I don’t think Cecily ever learned that – now she’s getting a crash course. 

September 17

Three of my cousins -- two from my father’s side of the family, one who I thought was from my mother’s side of the family -- are visiting from Winter. Cecily, Staejha, and Jea.

Cecily was the typical, nay, the prototypical Winterian who could out-frown, out-freeze, and out-disgust anyone. It’s odd, but kind of gratifying to see her out in the cold, now. She does not fit into Summer the way everyone probably thought she would. She always seemed like the unbeatable force in our age group, and older, and I think everyone probably thought she’d be the best Summerian the way she’s the best Winterian. The best is the best, after all. But she, like everyone else, has strengths and weaknesses. She has spend her entire life building up Winter strengths. I wonder what effect Summer is having on her. She is the only one to join me and my mother for breakfast every morning, and she seems almost relieved to have the company.

Staejha was always the nicest of the three. As a child, she was either ridiculed or coddled because of her penchant for being emotional. I was emotional too, and she didn’t like sharing the attention. She is doing very well in Summer, better than either of the other girls. She is the best at playing soft, whilst securing the center of attention. That was a talent she cultivated in Winter, that is allowing her to flourish in Summer. Of the three, she showed me the most kindness, aside from the rivalry. I suppose we were kindred spirits at some point. But since I have to be even a fiercer Winterian than even Cecily ever tried to be, Staejha barely makes eye contact with me, and seems embarrassed to be associated with me.

Jea, my mother’s niece (so-called) is the only one who is the same in Summer as she was in Winter. She is pleasantly cool, like an autumn breeze on a spring day. She is neither hot nor cold, but ranges slightly between warm and cool. Jean can be charming, but she is also difficult to know. I never got the impression that she hated me like Cecily, or saw me as a rival like Ana, but she never confided in me, nor I in her. The only secret that I really know about Jea is the soft spot she has for animals. She always did the half-hearted “I only have animals because they’re vicious” and she was particularly inventive in describing what was so fierce about a turtle or a dove, enough that she didn’t really get teased about it. I wouldn’t be surprised if Jea’s parents were actually from Spring or Autumn, or both, and settled in Winter, because she has that laid back, earthy way about her. She was never overly concerned with what her peers thought of her, but she made enough of an effort to fit in. The result was that she was highly popular and sought after. She always had a hundred people surrounding her, or wanting to be seen with her, but never any closed friends. 

Anyway, one day my mother was visiting her sister (ha!) and in trying to avoid Jean, I was out in the garden, and turned a corner and found her crying over an injured penguin. The thing had had most of its wing torn off and was bleeding profusely. Cashmere, Jea’s wolf was crouched nearby, growling, and casting woebegone looks at his mistress. Cashmere had thought he’d done such a good job, and that his master would be proud of him. He’d slink back against Jea’s baleful glare, confused at her anger and frustrated that he hadn’t been able to finish his work on the penguin. Penguin meat is something that we eat a lot of in Winter, sort of like how Summerians like chicken. I helped her scoop up snow to stop the bleeding, and then we hid the injured penguin, who Jea named Wool, until it had recovered enough to live on its own again. Apparently, Wool could swim well enough, even with one flipper, and dive for fish, and everything like that. 

I hadn’t realized that Jea was what they call in Spring, a vegetarian, until after this incident, but she still doesn’t eat meat here, and neither will anyone who sits near her, because of her graphic Winter tongue. I find myself privileged to know this secret of hers, and I feel just as drawn to her now as I, and a thousand other kids, did when I was younger. She’s still as impenetrable, yet charming, as she ever was. She is, here too, surrounded by a constant group of people, but no particular friends. I think she still resents me for knowing her secret. She certainly never mentioned in or out of polite company, and it is only my need to seem cool about it that keeps me from bringing it up. 

Anyway, Cecily has no suitors whatsoever, not even the Wanderlusts will touch her. Staejha has one or two pretty interested gentlemen, and Jea has scads of men falling all over themselves for her, to different degrees of madness. I think some of them just realize that she is impossible to reach, and won’t even try, though they’re drawn to her as well. I remember Jea reading poetry (ghastly stuff, of course) when we were younger, and of course she had a thousand eager ears to catch every drop of blood that dripped from her lips, but she stopped reading her poetry when we were still in higher education, and now she’s an accountant. 

I don’t doubt that Staejha will be happy to settle here in Summer, where she is less special, but more welcome than she was in Winter. Cecily will do her Winter duty, or die trying, so I see her staying. Jea is a mystery as usual. Not only do I not know what she will do, I can’t even guess at the amount of pleasure she will derive in doing it. She could marry a man, spend and entire lifetime with him, and he would never really know her. The idea makes me sad. I do hope she finds a fellow who provokes her, at some point. I’d like to myself, but I’m far too in awe of her to do that.

September 18

Just when I get a handle on my life, a new day arises, and I am floored, again, by the interminable unexpectedness that each day brings. The mysterious, charismatic, untouchable Jea came to me today. Her face was softer than I remembered, though her persona floated around her like invisible cloaks; veiling, then revealing separate aspects of her self, though never for long, and never the whole. 

I was lying on my gold-laced white marble bed, in one of the cool but fierce-looking Summer nightgowns that Adora made for me. Her knock awoke me, and I’d barely enough time to open my eyes before she spoke. “I’m pregnant,” she said, her eyes, like molasses being poured from a pitcher – honeyed highlights dancing upon an almost black ocean. She sat then, or floated rather, onto a cushioned chair that Adora likes to use when she visits me. It was about four in the morning, and the Summer sun was already streaming through the windows. “You’ve been my only confidant,” she continued, in her low, smoked-honey voice that never changed in tone or rate whether angry or joyful. “So….” She looked down at the shadows playing on her trembling hands.

A sleepy and confused “Uh…” was my eloquent reply. My first reaction was to be flattered that she thought of me as her confidant. It must have been the Wool incident which she was referring to, though my second emotion was sadness for her. We were twelve when that happened, and she’d barely spoken to me since then. Then I wondered if she was flattering me, so that I would help her. I sat up, leaning against the smooth curved marble of my headboard. “Who is the father?” I blearily assumed that he must have been some Winter fellow, because she certainly hadn’t been able to form any close connections in the three weeks that she had been visiting. This would have explained her cool persona, even though she was here specifically to become engaged. We’d have to get her married before she started to show, or else smuggle her back to Winter, or maybe Spring or Autumn….

“Samson Delilah.”

If I hadn’t been sitting a foot-and-a-half from the edge of the bed, I may have fallen off of it. Fortunately, the size of the bed makes up for the hardness of it. “Samson,” I said. Samson was probably the most determined flirt in court. He’d named himself after a tragic love affair between a power hungry woman and a weak man. Delilah is well-respected in Winter. Samson, not so much. Jea had never shown any more interest in Samson Delilah than she had in any other wooer, and probably less, now that I thought of it. But if she’d been having an affair with him, then maybe she’d had some in Winter that no one knew about. “Are you sure it’s Samson, not someone from back home?”

“Of course I am,” she said in that same slow, quiet voice, although her words may have been more clipped than usual. Her cheeks were a bit pinker, too, I noted. “I was a virgin when I arrived here.”

I was aghast.  Winter women lose their virginity at a young age, several years before marriage. How had she managed – and then – “You’ve only been here for three weeks,” I said. “Are you sure you’re pregnant?”

She sighed, pink cheeks turning to red, and looked away. “Yes. I borrowed one of Cecilia’s tests. Then I borrowed two more.”

“Oh my gosh.” How were we going to deal with this? Samson Delilah was a slut, but he had no money, no job – and Jea’s family had a nice house and land, but only in Winter. They were gently impoverished – enough to live on, assuming Jea married rich and soon.

“It’s not like she was using them.” Now she sounded defensive, though I wasn’t sure how, since her tone didn’t change. “Besides, she brought so many, I’m sure she won’t miss them.”

I laughed. “All right,” I said, processing the fact that no Winter man had divested her of her pure panties in twenty-one years, but a Summer man had managed it in – “How far along are you?”

“Two weeks.”

“A week?” I exclaimed, doing the math.

“No.” She frowned. “Two weeks.”

“Right,” I said, trying to catch up to the conversation. I looked at her. “Don’t worry. There’s plenty of time to decide what you want to do about this.”

“Oh,” she said calmly, this time with no hint of anything but assurance in her voice. “I know exactly what I want to do. I want to marry him.”

I blinked. “That’s doable. That’s what you’re here for, right?”

She snorted, but gently, lady-like, and I stared. “My parents would not allow it. He has no money, and no prospect of a career.”

“Surely he’s educated,” I said. Summerians take education as seriously as Winterians, and there is no major in Romance.

“He’s an architect,” she said. She sighed. “You should see his drawings.”

“Great,” I said. I could hire him to be Danae’s new architect for the firm if he couldn’t find a job somewhere else.

“No.” Jea sighed again. “No one will hire him. He has no experience, only education, and his reputation as a ladies’ man precludes him from getting hired. Men worry that he’ll seduce their wives, and women are worried that he’ll seduce their staffs.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I—” I almost said that I had a friend who could help, but I’m not supposed to have friends here. “I’ll see what I can do. Give me a week.”

She looked at me, silently. I wondered if the veils of persona she used to obscure herself,  worked both ways. I hoped so. Finally, she gave me a small smile. “I trust you.” She nodded, as if to herself, and stood to leave. She moved toward the door, but before she reached it, she turned back to me. “You’ve always been the one with this bag of solutions for everyone’s problems.” She regarded me with those eyes, which though she was in shadow, still seemed to glow. “Perhaps it’s selfish, but I keep hoping that I’ll find some way to be able to return the favors that you so freely grant to everyone else.” Her face, still in shadow, looked rueful. “For some reason, I think of it as my responsibility.”

September 19

Jea’s assessment of my abilities to solve problems, set a confused glow about me. It wasn’t true; I have more problems than solutions, and I’ve never had a lot of friends so I don’t know who “everyone” is, but that she saw me that way was kind of nice. Of course, it occurred to me that she was just saying that to flatter me into helping her, but Jea has always been the flattered, not the flatterer -- and something about the way she looked at me, haunts me. There was only a hint, but I saw respect in her cat-glow eyes.

I can’t help but think that she’s got so many cousins, she’s got two of us confused, but I do have an easy solution for this particular problem. All I have to do is, as Danae, hire Samson Delilah to be an architect for my firm. My hearing is three days from now, and I’ve been preparing for it with Eliava and her lawyer. We’re as prepared as we can be, but I still need to contrive a way to escape court as myself so that I can enter it as Danae. My husband has already been giving me grief for missing court sessions this week, when I was meeting with the lawyer. Maybe I can put in an appearance, and then fall ill.

Danae’s lawyer’s name is Lawrence. His nickname is actually “Law” and he speaks in this barely coherent, yet highly impressive gibberish. I find my eyes glazing over sometimes, until he notices and stops to translate. He’s a nice looking man in his early fifties with dark hair that is growing gray at the temples. He has a studious manner, like an overage student, that lends him an air of innocence -- kind of like a genius child in a grown man’s body. He makes me homesick for my father. I think they would get along really well. If Mother hadn’t assured me that Father is indeed from Winter (and assuming she’s not lying), I would think they were brothers.

Mother and I had breakfast with Cecilia again this morning. She looks more miserable than every. Mother tried suggesting ways for Cecilia to try and soften her image but Ceci met all of these suggestions with scorn. She likes the way Winterians are. She believes all the hype about how tough we are and how we shouldn’t show weakness, and all of that stuff. She probably really does eat entrails and stuff. Everybody in Winter pretends to like to talk about guts and blood, because it keeps up the image of ferocity that we like to project. But few people actually take it to heart. They’re more than a little frightening, actually. And Ceci, outside of her element, seems even less appropriately vicious than she did at home.

I saw Zahina this afternoon. She approaches me with little enthusiasm and even less caution. It’s frightening to see the change in the girl. I know the only way to bring her back to life is to surround her with her loved ones and find ways to engage her. When she’s around Eliava, she does brighten a bit, but Eliava is so stricken that Zahina doesn’t get much help there. The only solution is to introduce Zahina to more people that she can love. Not that anyone could replace her mother, but she can’t expend the loving energy that she has on her mother anymore, so she needs new targets.

I encouraged her to bring some friends home, but she responded with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. I want to introduce her to Todd. He’s a few years older than she is, but he is a complete gem of a human being, and she could only benefit from making his acquaintance. She’s coming with me and her grandmother to the palace in a few days, so I’ll let her run around in the gardens for a while. Maybe she’ll bump into Todd, and he’ll show her some of the hidden gardens. She IS slightly excited about visiting the palace, but then she is a girl with the same “princess” fantasy that most of us have at that age.

I think the problem with me, is that by the time I was roped into being a queen, the glamour had already worn off. I knew from my parents that it wasn’t all about doing whatever you wanted all day long, and having people bring you stuff, and have to be your friend -- it was all politics, even worse than being a regular Winterian. But Zahina doesn’t have this jaded view of princesses and thinks that her adoptive auntie being a Queen is a completely awesome thing. If she were her old self, she’d probably be hard-pressed to keep it a secret, but as it is, she only suppressed a sigh, and said she understood. I guess it’s understandable -- if her mother were alive, she wouldn’t even know this secret.

I have another date with Farmer Bohn in a couple of days. I guess he likes me, though I can’t imagine why. Maybe my husband just gets his jollies by going out with widowed mothers who with a failing business and no way to pay the mortgage. Then again, I still didn’t reveal this stuff. Then I realized that I don’t have to. When I show up in court, he won’t recognize me, but maybe he’ll appreciate that fact that I didn’t dump my problems on him. And since Danae only knows the farmer and not the prince -- man, I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he recognizes me -- I mean, Danae.

September 20

I spent the entire day at the palace. I’m surprised at how much I missed Zahina and Eliava, and even Law and Farmer Bohn. I don’t like this life I’m living. It’s full of false faces and personas instead of people. It’s like a real life play, and the entire palace is the stage and the only way to step off of the stage is to leave the palace in disguise. Danae was more of a real person than I pretend to be every day. It’s almost impossible to talk myself into coming back here, and putting on this make-up and stiffening my hair and replacing my piercings. I have to leave behind all of the people who actually know who I really am, or at least, people who have a much better idea of who I am, than the ones I’m around every day.

Even my mother and my cousins treat me like the Ice Queen instead of like family. My mother looks at me, sometimes, like she knows the person behind the act, but then she says something that makes me realize that she’s looking at a younger version of me, rather than the current one. And my cousins never bothered to get to know me. Ceci was too busy thinking I was weak, and Jea was too lost in her air of mystery, and Staejha was too busy throwing a tantrum.

I finally realized the trait that they saw in me that made them pick me over anyone else to be queen; I’m a professional imposter. It doesn’t matter who I’m around, I adapt to their personalities. If they’re a leader, I’m a follower. If they’re quiet, I’m loud. If they’re funny, I’m the straight man. If they’re sweet, I’m tart. I’m the constant balance of whoever I’m around. 

And there’s something else too; people treat me like I’m a walking diary. Whoever has a problem, come to me. Does anyone ever ask me how I’m doing? Does anyone care if I’m okay? I miss Karen more than ever, at times like this. With Karen, she’s so unfocused and wild, that I can just relax, and whatever mood I’m in, I’m allowed to be in it. Whatever aspect of my personality I’m leaning toward, I can express it. She’s like a null. She doesn’t need me to be a listener, or a talker, or a joker, or an action taker. She doesn’t need me to fill the void in her self, because she is so busy being everything at once, that she doesn’t have any empty spot. Or, rather, whatever empty spots she has, she so busy filling them herself, that she doesn’t need me to.

Sure, she’s crazy and erratic and gets into a lot of trouble, but sometimes, I really envy the ability she has to cause so much chaos. We used to get into arguments, because I just could not understand why she had to act out so much. Why couldn’t she be calm, to conform? I understood, to a degree, because of my tendency to be overly emotional, but I never understood the compulsion to make drama just to get attention. I like the pat on the head, not the spank on the bottom. I can understand why Mother didn’t bring her. I smile, just thinking of the damage she would do to the family’s reputation in court. And the funny thing is, you never know what she’s going to do. She’s the opposite of me. Where there are tears, she creates laughter, and vice versa. I tend to be the opposite of other people, in order to create a balance, but her actions are so extreme that she causes chaos and drama where there isn’t any.

When we were small, I think she didn’t understand the ways of Winter, and she rebelled against them. She didn’t want to murder and pillage. She didn’t want to eat entrails. And it didn’t matter how calmly my parents explained the idea of pretending to her, she just didn’t get it. She is the remover of masks, the spirit of authenticity in a false world. And it doesn’t matter where you‘re from: Summer, Spring, Autumn, or Winter -- every planet has their cultural persona that they project to everyone else. Summer is warm and friendly, Winter cold and bitter. Spring and Autumn are both more temperate but Springians have a tendency to act flighty and Autumnians are a bit puritanical. Each planet has their symbols and colors and architectures and fashions, and it’s a way of life to play along.

If Karen had been born in Summer, she would have been colder than any Winterian. If she’d been born in Autumn, she would have been flightier than any Springian. I admire her for that, at the same time I fear for her. And it puzzles me. Why does she feel the need to act out so strongly, that she just can not go with the mode? When we were small, if I was in trouble, she would act out so that she would take the attention from me -- essentially taking my punishment. I wonder if it created such a habit in her to act out, that she can’t just behave normally. It’s a sad idea. Just as sad as the idea that I go along with the current set of rules, just so that I won’t incur a wrath or punishment. I wonder if I was only “good” so that I could keep Karen from taking my punishments.

September 21

I spent the entire day with Zahina today. She is excited about visiting the palace tomorrow. I’ve told her about the libraries with the golden ladders, and the bathing rooms with the marble tiles depicting mermaids and other sea creatures and the gardens with all of the trees and flowers. I told her about Todd, too, and the fantastic desserts that he makes from the berries in the garden. She said she was excited to meet him too.

It’s odd to see her so contained, even in her excitement, but I am glad to have her looking forward to something. She knows that if she sees me in my royal garb, she has to pretend not to know me. After “I” leave, she is supposed to stay with Adora and have dinner with the servant. I’m supposed to visit the gardens after dinner, so that she can converse with the Queen of Summer, and I’m curious as to her reaction. Will she see through the costume, or be fooled by it?

I had another date with Farmer Bohn again tonight. He kissed me on the cheek when we said goodnight. I can not make love to him as Danae, because then he will know me later, when I seduce him as his wife. I would hope so, anyway. So I kissed him back, shyly, and told him that I was still in love with my dead husband. I saw his half-grin flash, before he replaced it with a look of sympathy and understanding. I think my husband is a cad, and that he probably makes love to every woman he meets as Farmer Bohn. He certainly doesn’t seem to be worried at the idea that Danae isn’t removing her skirts any time soon.

After I got back from my date, I went for a stroll in the gardens. I was hoping to run into Todd so that I could tell him about Zahina coming to visit. Then I realized that I shouldn’t know about it, and that Danae is not known at the palace, so I turned back. I ran into him anyway. He is so much taller and stronger than when I first met him. He stands taller, and his eyes are lit with a confidence that makes me feel both gratified and jealous. I was glad, all over again, that his father was not an evil man, bent on destroying his family – but rather a man who had been put so far down throughout his life that he lashed out at those he loved – and that after being removed from the oppressive situation, he became a more loving father and, I presume, husband.

Todd’s mother seems to be doing well, too. I see her, sometimes, working in the garden. She owns a contentedness that she did not have before, and her section of the gardens is flourishing. Todd seems to run back and forth between the gardens and the kitchen, baking with what he harvests from the gardens. I think if someone had offered them this solution before I arrived, I would have looked at the idyllic family they represented, and have resented them, dismissing them as free of the hardships I’ve suffered. I’d presume to call Todd’s parents my friends, but Todd is, certainly. I think I have earned a loyalty from all of them which was only the best-case scenario when I arrived, and not one that I thought likely. Though, since I must maintain my icy persona, they do not know of the affection they have garnered in my heart – aside from Todd, who is one of the few who see past my persona. 

And even he can not get to know who I really am, because I can not act how I really am. I wonder, if I visit the gardens tomorrow, as Danae, if he would recognize me. I’m tempted to try it, but if he did know it was me, then he would be one more person who knows my secret, so I must avoid him seeing me while I am here as Danae. Since Danae is dead, we can not be in the same place at the same time – something which may haunt me later.

I’m hoping to eventually be able to put aside the bulk of my Winter garb and address, and behave more Summer than Winter. If that happens, I still need to act and look rather different from Danae. Although, knowledge of Danae’s death won’t be a secret forever, so my precautions are necessary, but not as overwhelming as they would be if I was planning on keeping her persona alive.

I watched Jea yesterday during court and tonight at dinner. She gives no more hint of friendliness to me or to Samson Delilah, than she usually has in public. I wonder, at odd moments, if I dreamed or imagined her conversation with me, but I still have enough faith in my faculties to believe it. Samson, for his part, has become more serious and less flirtatious with the women of court. Not enough to offend anyone (aside from former lovers who have been sending him scathing glances for days, though know one knows why) but I think he’s trying to make himself more respectable. He has been kinder too, in palace gossip about me. I guess he’s trying to impress his betrothed – he has no reason from my treatment or behavior to back down. When I arrived, he was quite vocal about wanting me out.

Many Summerians were unhappy about me marrying the king, and he was a vocal majority. Still, no one has tried to kill me, and not since that attempt on Adora’s life, has anyone tried to kill any of my servants. It’s worrying how easily we seem to have been incorporated into Summerian consciousness. But we have to be careful because any slight problem from any of us will remind the Summerians just how much they don’t want us here. We have to sway public opinion slowly, but steadily, so that we can incorporate the two worlds. Hopefully, by the end of next year, I’ll have my little bundle of incorporation.