Week 9

 September 1

I was a history major in college. It may be why I’m a pacifist, even in the face of humanity’s love of war. In the twentieth century, there was thing called Witness Protection. If a civic-minded citizen gave testimony against a mob king, or whatnot, they could be relocated. They were given a new name, a new job, a place to live -- a whole new identity so that the mob couldn’t track them down and kill them.

We have Winter Protection. If someone has shown to much empathy, or publicly shown to be mentally or physically disabled they are “killed” and given a cover or reputation that will protect them their own weakness. It is truly a punishment, for citizens of Winter are unforgiving of overtly kind behavior.

Apparently, there is such a thing as Spring Protection, as well. Say, for instance, if a couple of people meet on a spaceship and fall in love, one can assume the identity of whichever planet they decide to live on. They are monitored closely in order to make certain they are not spies, and they can have no communication with their homeland. It is called “Spring” protection because most couples choose to move to spring and start over on a brand new planet. Spring is also more temperate, which means that neither individual must become accustomed to either extreme cold or extreme heat. The service is also run by Spring, a neutral planet. It is secret. Everyone at home knows about Winter Protection but I have never in my life heard a whisper, a rumor, or a skittish giggle about Spring Protection.

I watched my mother today, looking for clues as to her Summer upbringing. But they were in clear evidence, as my mother charmed my husband, his mother, and the entire court. She had enough crispness to her character to keep up the charade, but she folded her hands demurely on her lap, tilted her chin down when she spoke, and she kept up with that incessant giggle. Okay, to me it was incessant. Or maybe I was just irritated.

I guess it’s not a secret if you tell people, but to not tell me? I have family here. I wasn’t alone. And the way she’s acting, I didn’t have to be made of ice and enmity this entire time. Though she says I do. She says that I have to thaw slowly and that she gets to act this way because she is only here for a short time. She’s also leaving my cousins here. They are supposed to be part of my entourage, but what she really wants me to do is marry them off.

I s’pose I was always a bit of a tomboy, which is why I and these particular cousins never got on well. The idea of being stuck here with them to monitor me and flirt and giggle with Summer men, while I can’t even enjoy being married, pissed me off. Seriously. They all know I’m still a virgin. They know that no Summer man would ever touch me, even if I made myself pretty and soft and Summery. My husband has a mistress, and they will tell everyone back home. It’s humiliating. No Winter woman tolerates a mistress, but it’s not as though I can insist that he gets rid of her. 

For one thing, it just wouldn’t be fair to ask him to be faithful to me. He is the same pawn for his planet as I am for mine. He deserves whatever happiness he can muster. And if the position were reversed and we had to be king and queen of Winter, I would have been hard-pressed not to dally with particularly fine beaux. Here, the men are not to my taste, and vice versa, so the temptation barely arises. Even so, I am human, and have the same hungers as anyone else. I could not deny them to my husband, just to save my pride. Besides, as humiliating as it is for him to have a mistress, I can see that smarmy grin when he asks me to justify the reason for asking him to get rid of his mistress. Do I want him for myself? Am I willing to take over her duties of stroking his ego and other delicate areas? Ugh. Besides, the time to have done that is long past. As soon as my cousins make friends here, they’ll find out. I’d gladly face down their snickers, than be seared by his smirk.

September 2

Having my mother around, after being alone here for so long, feels strange. She is almost unwelcome to me here. I am a grown woman, married, whom she is visiting, yet she often takes the lead in conversations and reproves or reminds me not to display certain behaviors. The constant correction is irritating and embarrassing. I have built a reputation as a competent person and she is, in less than a week, sending that reputation crumbling. 

Part of this is intentional, no doubt, but I would rather build my reputation as a reasonable person, not one as an incompetent child. I don’t think she can help it. The words seem to fly out of her mouth with little to no thought. It makes me wonder if, when I was a child, she did not despise me for my retardation. I would think that, at last, she has an intelligent daughter and this would make her happy, but alas she does not think of me this way. I need to find a way to reintroduce her to me, in a way that will shock her into seeing me as a woman.

I wonder if Adora is a long lost sister or cousin. It would make a nice Summer ending to the story. Of course, Winterians hate those kinds of endings, but I never minded them. It must be the Summer blood in me. I have asked Mother and she has denied it, but she has lied about so many things that I do not feel the inclination to believe her. Besides, I didn’t even get a chance to describe Adora’s background or any of her kin’s surnames (because I don’t know them) and Mother cut me off. 

She doesn’t like Adora, I can tell. I have no sympathy, though. Adora has been my one constant friend since I’ve been here and I have judged no deceit in her. Besides, Mother’s reliability is in serious question these days, so I think I will stick to the habit I have cultivated over the past two months and make up my own mind. I sound bitter, even to myself. I wanted so badly for Mother to be here and take over and make me feel safe and taken care of, like I was still a child. Now she is here and her presence is an intrusion. If only—

I would like to seduce my husband. If I can do that and get pregnant, then the child will cement the truce between Summer and Winter. This is exactly the opposite of what I have been instructed to do, because neither party really meant the truce when they made it. That’s why I married the king, rather than the princess of Winter. What does a Librarian’s daughter have to do with royalty? Not a dang thing. Yet they chose me, because I could be missed as a sacrificial lamb. If I married the king and moved here and they killed me right away, it wouldn’t matter because I am no one. I knew my life was forfeit before I made my wedding vows.

Seduction is not something that I am particularly skilled in. Actually, I have no experience at all. At ALL. I’m completely ignorant in the ways of womanliness. What little knowledge I do have is cultivated from Winter lore, most of which is made up for the history books, and too gruesome to work on a Summer man besides. I can’t ask Mother for help, or she’ll figure out what I want to do and try to thwart me. Adora is even shyer with men than I am. Even her male friends touch her with tongs rather than fingers. So I’ll have to figure it out on my own.

In order to do research, I will dress up as a servant and go to a local pub. No one will recognize me here, any more than they did in the country, because all anyone sees are my piercings and frighteningly blue eyes – both of which can be removed. Adora IS skilled in make-up and costuming. I will be ugly at first, so that I can be invisible and observe, and then I will have Adora make me seem beautiful so that I can practice the seduction.

I am setting a time goal for myself. By the end of next year, I will be pregnant, and my husband will be madly in love with me. It all must be secret for now. It reminds me of those Summer romances I read in my mother-in-law’s library. The thing about the women in those stories, though, was that they were not trying to be seductive. They were either so unconsciously, stunningly beautiful that no man, particularly the robust hero, could resist her – or she was an ordinary woman whose man fell for her personality. There is no chance of either in this case, so I must create a beauty and a personality that my husband will fall in love with. It’s time to get to know his mistress a little better.

September 3

I heard my husband talking about me today. He said I was an “evil Winter bitch”. He wasn’t talking about me, specifically, but about Winter females in general. And since I am a Winter female, I couldn’t help but take it personally.

I have a question. How can I seduce a man who, when I see him, I want to punch him in the face? Also, why does it hurt so much to be called that? After all, Winterians call each other bad things all the time, and it’s considered a compliment. What my husband said today would barely be considered an epithet. I think it was that he said it, my projected lover, the projected father of my children. 

How can I seduce him when he sees me as nothing more or less than an unwelcome piece of the country I come from? I think about becoming softer, like Summer women. Dressing in soft, floaty curves. Then I see his face, laughing at me. They would all laugh at me. Even if I lived in Summer for a thousand years, I’d never be comfortable in garb like that. I don’t even like the clothes I wear now. Back home, I wear corsets and trousers. Corsets make a pleasing shape, and they’re onobtrusive. Pants allow me to run when I feel like it. I wear big, clunky boots, even around the house, in case I get the urge to step out into the garden.

Crystal roses are some of the most beautiful creations I’ve ever seen. They are living ice. The roses in the Summer gardens are like the women here: soft and pliant and sweet smelling. Crystal rose petals are frozen raindrops caught by the sepal and held in place by expectation. In some lights they are barely visible, and they’re nearly indestructible in their own environment. But if you take them inside, where it’s warm, and no new moisture can help form the petals, they melt.

Anyway, my husband likes his roses blushing and seemingly innocent. At least crystal roses aren’t shy about exposing their thorns. With Summer roses, the thorns take you by surprise -- not because they‘re hidden, but because they‘re an unexpected part of something that looks so soft and lovely. I look hard and uncompromising, but I melt, with a warm touch. If my husband knew that, perhaps he wouldn’t make stupid jokes about his wife, when he’s not aware of her presence.

When I was kid, it always seemed that no matter where I went, I was either in the way, or I was not equipped to provide the help that was needed. I always wanted to find somewhere, where I could be enough. Not too much, or too little, but just right. I’d see my parents together, and I imagined I would find that home with my own husband, someday. 

If my husband wants a Summer rose, I am just irked enough to give it to him. But that is the less than mature way to handle the situation. I think about the reasons I’m attracted to him. I like his crooked smile, and his constantly amused eyes, and the fact that our union could unite our prospective planets. I want him for the potential he has to give me the family and home that I always wanted. But I don’t know him. I don’t want him. I don’t think I’ve even met him.

Enough about him. I’m putting the first part of my seduction plan into action tonight. Adora and I have fashioned an outfit and a persona, and I will join her party as a hairy-moled old nanny who was actually kind to her in her youth. One of the few people who was actually kind to Adora. My character is based on a real person, and it makes me glad that someone showed Adora some kindness, previous to me, even though she gets sad and guilt-eyes when she thinks about the woman. 

I will observe the “young” people and their courting rituals, so that I can use them on my husband. Part of me wonders why I would bother seducing a man who hurt me so badly, but then I remind myself that he was not describing the fullness of my character, any more than the free eyes and the guarded smile, describe the fullness of his.

I have to try not to pick at my warts, when we’re out. It’ll be fun to be Summer ugly for a while. Summer ugly is invisible, where as Winter ugly is highly visible. Though, after a while, I become invisible in my own garb. But it’s an invisible wherein no one responds to or interacts with me, yet they guard their words and their actions. I’m like the hidden menace, the assassin in plain sight. They sense me, even as they see through me.

September 4

My husband’s mistress, Nalir, is actually pretty friendly and charming. She obviously sees no threat in me, and it almost sends a thrill of guilt through me at the thought of seducing her one true love. But since he legally belongs to me, I squelch that initial reaction and focus on befriending her. Nalir is shorter than me, with a friendly Summer plumpness to her, which no doubt exacerbates the skeletal frame I exhibit when I stand next to her. She has dark, exotic features, and is very aware of them.

She is one of those women whose grooming habits take hours, with the result of slightly glossier hair and brighter eyes and a slimmer waist, with no discernable remnants of make-up or other products. She is slightly neater with the casual floaty dress that aside from few adornments than most people wear, still leaves her looking feminine. Her scent, too, is of vanilla and sandalwood; sweet and husky and alluring. Her overall appearance is of one who is unconcerned with her own physical beauty, which only enhances the latter.

Her gait is strong and steady, with ramrod straight posture, which makes her hair bounce all the more with her movements. She gives the impression (to me, though I doubt to anyone else) of someone who spends a lot of time knowing exactly what impression she is making at every moment at every day. I recognize it, because I have the same attitude; the only difference being that she is received with pleasure, while I am received reluctantly. The result of which boosts her confidence, and tears mine down. 

The way she speaks is easily yet precisely, as though she has practiced and chosen the best way to pronounce each and every word. Each word drops individually from the other, with no stuttering or slurring. It is quite impressive, and not as irritating as I would expect it to be. Her entire persona is so stylized that her body and voice are like a machine that she operates from within. This is not to say that she gives the impression of falseness. If anything, she has the very straightforward manner of someone who has already figured everything else. If I ever needed Spring Relocation, I think I would start my new life with her personality.

So after day one of Mission: Befriend Husband’s Mistress, I am still feeling inferior to her. Whatever part of me that has any pride left, wants to quit the whole thing and go back to coexisting without acknowledging each other. But the part who wants the babies and the happily ever after; the angry girl who was thwarted from every finding her own One True Love, reminds herself that this is why I’m befriending Nalir in the first place. So that I can lower the level of inferiority that I feel, and learn what it is she does that is so tempting that it makes my husband stray from the unloving presence of his cold wife.

I was thinking about something else as well, which is that even if – nay, when – I learn the arts of seduction, there is still no way to seduce my husband without the entire kingdom knowing about it. This means my immediate death, rather than my inevitable one. So perhaps my initial idea of seducing him in disguise would not be such a bad one at that. Oddly enough, my husband visited the same pub I was in last night, in disguise. Apparently, he does this quite often, because he has a false name and reputation already established. The Spring Protection agency could not have done better. 

So when my husband disappears in the middle of the afternoon, apparently he is farming, rather than hanging out with his mistress. So when does he have time for her? Well, there’s always court for the courting and the late night hours for the sleeping (and whatnot). I think this completely sans bitterness or irritation or jealously. And it’s not as though I’m jealous of Nalir. I’m jealous of my husband. There is not a man in Summer who would touch me for money, let alone for free. (Aside from the drunken old men at the pub, of course.)

In any case, there was one man, the farmer who came in with my husband. His name is Hon, which is apparently short for “Honorable” a name that embarrasses him to no end when one addresses him by it. And apparently, the reason people do so is for precisely that reason. I caught his eye last night, and he stared only slightly longer than would have been comfortable, as though he recognized me. I wonder if he is one of my husband’s entourage, in disguise as well. I will have to look for him, and I will need to make certain that tonight, my disguise is unseethroughable.

September 5

I grew another wart for my persona last night, just to ensure that no matter how drunk anyone got, I wouldn’t get anything pinched. My husband came in with the same companion, and though I looked for him in my husband’s entourage today, I couldn’t find him. It doesn’t mean he’s not a regular, it just means that maybe he was absent today. In any case, he gave me that same piercing look. If I had been able to recognize myself in the mirror before we left, I would have been more worried. But I noticed that he looked at everyone with intensity -- probably the reason he looked at me more intensely is because I’m a new figure for him.

My husband, in his farmer persona, is clumsy. He wears shoes about three sizes bigger than his feet, and he trips over them frequently. He also has a limp in his farmer persona. I guess this explains why he doesn’t spend all day in the field (most people wouldn’t guess that he spends the rest of the day ruling the country). My husband has been known for his savvy in knowing which side of a dispute to rule on. Now I know why. Adora doesn’t even realize that this farmer, Bohn Joy, is her king. Either that, or she has a better poker face than I even knew about. She likes him though. The man is known for his humility, though he’s in debt, so there isn’t a girl in town whose parents would let her marry him.

I think he does something to his appearance, as well, because he’s not as attractive without his kingly robes, and I hope that I am not so shallow that it would make that big of a difference. He spoke to me tonight, which was interesting. He’d had a couple of pints and sat down at my table. I wondered for a panicked moment, if he knew who I was. He questioned me as to my relations. I said that I’d been born here, but moved away, and just recently moved back to help my daughter take care of her baby. The woman I’m pretending to be is real, which is always dangerous. However, I’ve been made to look exactly like her (plus a few more warts) and the story is a true one.

It turns out Bohn Joy knows my “daughter”. They went to school together. Ha ha. Since my daughter is newly widowed, like any good mother with an eye to the future, I invited him to the house for a little class reunion. Almost indiscernibly, he tensed up and evaded my invitation. He doesn’t have the glib charm of the king when he’s playing the farmer, which I suppose helps make his character more believable. Still, his mind moves a mile a minute, I can almost see the thoughts spinning through his head, and so many of his natural impulses being quelled so that he can stay in character.

We talked about his boyhood for a while, but since Adora stayed with the woman I’m pretending to be, for a while when she was a child, she’s filled me in on lots of adventures that I got to speak to my husband about. He seemed very diverted, yet there was a tenseness to him that I could not define, which worries me. 

Perhaps he’s looking around for another mistress, because before Adora and I left, he did promise to come for a visit. I nearly panicked, then with a stroke of brilliance said that my daughter could use a night out. I said I’d babysit and send her to the pub. I guess I’m going to practice Summer flirting a bit more quickly than I thought I would. Adora says that I look like “my daughter” which makes me wonder if she is actually a Summer cousin, but either way it’s a good thing I do, because there is going to be a pub full of people tomorrow night, some of whom know her. Danae Joseph is the woman I’ll be tomorrow night. Fortunately, she’s been practically a recluse and a basically unfriendly person her entire life, so she has no friends who will call me out.

I guess I’d better review the rules of flirting that I’ve observed. It comes down to the same basic points that Winter girls need to consider -- or else, I’m just thinking about it in Winter terms. It’s funny, some things that Winter girls do are the same as things Summer girls do, and some things are completely opposite.

Posture: In Winter, you want arms and legs akimbo, and standing is always better than sitting because it creates more of a dominant presence. Winter males are very aggressive as well, so it doesn’t frighten them to meet an aggressive woman. Summer women sit, with legs locked demurely under them, and hands either folded in the lap, or fingers fluttering innocently toward impressive décolletage or a slim neck or a smooth cheek.

Gestures: Again, Winter women use big gestures, they take up a lot of room in order to tell a story. Summer women move their hands in very graceful, almost dance like motions as they speak. I thought it was interesting that both Summer and Winter women use their hands a lot in conversation and that men on either planet, don’t. Winter men don’t move their hands a lot because it is supposed to connote a lack of ability to find the correct words and since Winter men are scholarly and Winter women are more active, men are discouraged to show a lack of intelligence. 

Facial Expressions: Winter women are mostly impassive, unless in the middle of a story. There is a subtleness to the rejection or acceptance of a man as a possible mate. This may be because they men are less social, and therefore easily embarrassed -- though this consideration would never be spoken aloud. In Summer, I think the men are just so exhausted from farming all day that they don’t move their hands around in conversation, just in case they have to save up some energy to punch a man, later in the evening. Summer women are just as subtle, though their expressions generally remain genial, if not downright worshipful.

Tone of Voice: A Winter woman cultivates a soprano at best, and a mezzo soprano if that can not be achieved. The voice rises high and clear, with almost a crystalline sharpness to it. The tone is distinctly feminine. Here, women go for a high alto, but barely audible so that the man has to lean forward in order to hang on every word. It’s an interesting approach.

Clothing: Now, here is something that Summer and Winter women can agree on: breasts are an important part of flirting. In Spring and Autumn, women show off their legs. Spring women show their legs bare and brown from the sun, whilst Autumn women wear trousers that emphasis the length of their lean legs. In Winter, we wear high collars that frame the face and expose as much cleavage as possible. We have lots of corsets for tiny waists and flared hips, as well. Summer women like bare shoulders as well as showing off the tops of their breasts. They wear long skirts that flare playfully from the waist and bounce around bare toes. Winter women wear long, slim skirts that drag behind them on the ground (mostly to cover the furry slippers they’re forced to wear everywhere).

Props: Winter women like staves when they are not in a situation in which brandishing a weapon is appropriate. Summer women like fans, which have no defensive properties whatsoever, unless you count the hypnotic twitch of fan is used to reveal or expose her assets. With that much breastage exposed, women in both cultures have their own way of defending their honor against overeager men.

So tomorrow, I must practice all day, in order to be Summer enough to flirt with my husband in the evening. Fortunately, Danae is anti-social enough that whatever faux pas I hit him with, I have a ready excuse.

September 6

The date with my husband was uneventful. By that, I mean it was a non-event. It didn’t happen. My husband was unexpectedly set upon by out-of-town diplomats. Apparently, Farmer Bohn had a similar event, because he sent Hon to beg off of our date.

Of course, I knew that before I left, but there was no way for Danae to know, so I had to get all Summer pretty anyway. Danae MUST have some relation to me. When Adora showed me her photo, I saw that we had the same bone structure, though different coloring -- I’m pale bordering on albino and she has that golden tan that all the Summer boast. It comes in a bottle, apparently. It did for me, anyway. Every time I’ve dressed to go out with Adora, the idea was to look plain, not worthy of note. 

Danae, though she dresses rather simply, is a stunning woman. Some part of me makes me think that is a conceited statement, especially when, after Adora was done with her ministrations, I looked exactly like my possible cousin. Doppelganger, more like. Then again, it was a spray tan and careful shading on my nose and lipstick that made my lips fuller and eye liner to make my eyes bigger. Then, of course, my face was softer with wisps of lightened hair framing my face, rather than pulled back and severe. I guess I could say that Danae could pass as ugly if we made her up to look like me.

Hon insisted on buying me dinner, which consisted of hearty stew and bread and two mugs of ale. I poured the ale into other people’s mugs when no one was looking, but the stew was delicious and so was the bread. I wish I could get Stan to add it to his repertoire, but unfortunately, it‘s strictly peasant fare. Hon was good company, and I got to practice my flirting on him. He is surprisingly social when he wants to be. I guess my husband instructed him to keep me entertained.

And since I was pretty tonight, I did not lack for dance partners. Of course, Adora taught me all the steps, but it is quite different in reality, when large men dance atop your feet, as  much as they do on the floor. Fortunately, Hon rescued me several times. When I got tired, he danced with Adora and several other girls. The girls were lining up to dance with him, because apparently he rarely dances, and though he has no money or lands to speak of, he is large and handsome and charming in his own rustic way -- and he dances more on the floor, than he does on one’s feet.

Adora is quite plain in her dress and her manner. When she is around her friends, she relaxes and smiles more, and something in her eyes makes her entire being glimmer. Apparently, she has been chummy with Hon for long enough that she doesn’t shut her light out at his approach. I think, though it was too brief to say, that he made her laugh. Of anyone who could benefit from some kindness and real romance, it would be her, but I worry because Hon is not a farmer, any more than my husband is.

In Winter, sometimes we’d be visited. Since my mother was known for finding word for people, we would get unexpected visitors at all hours of the day and night. Sometimes, men would show up with wives and children. The women and kids would be normal, and they would stay with us for a while -- but the men had a hardness in their eyes. The hardness would soften when they looked at their families, but they had a peculiar military-ness about them. Now that I know what I do about my mother, I wonder who they really were. They were dressed as out-of-luck-ers, but they didn’t stand like them, even if they did try to stoop over.

There was something about the way they looked at things, at people. Searching for danger, behind every couch, in every corner, in every pair of eyes. Hon reminds me of those men. Women too, would stop by and leave husbands and children, and they had the same look and attitude, but the women were more convincing. I had to watch real closely, to catch their gazes sharpen and search when they thought that they were not being observed.

There’s also a thing that Hon does when he enters a room, that reminds me of those men and women. As he steps in, and he usually enters before my husband, his eyes glaze and focus on not one thing, but everything. He takes in the position of the décor, the people, possible threats -- I can see him doing it, but I look around and no one notices. I guess it’s his body language. Unlike the men who would visit us, Hon cuts a relaxed, almost lackadaisical figure. It is only under careful observation, that I notice that though he is large, he never stumbled. He is centered in his body, at all times. 

My husband plays the stumbler when he’s in his Farmer Bohn persona, but it’s almost the reverse of Hon. When my husband is the king, he moves carefully, as though he is trying really hard to be graceful. And Hon, if he were to visit my husband, I would look for a jester, rather than a strong-backed figure. I must do that at court. I am determined to spot Hon, because I am convinced that he does not leave my husband’s side easily or often.

September 7 

Farming is supposed to be such a wholesome lifestyle, but I guess that’s the way the bourgeois wish to think about it. In reality, it’s hard, sweaty, thankless work. I don’t know how, after a long day of toiling, these people have the energy to romp around a pub floor, but they seem to manage, and in fine spirits too.

I had to dress up as Danae’s mother again, in order to explain her absence from the pub, in case my husband showed up, which he did. He apologized profusely for standing my daughter up, and rescheduled the date on the spot for a week from today. He promised that he would be there, and I know my husbands schedule, so unless there are more uninvited guests from out of town, I have a date with him next week.

It’s a good thing our date was postponed, because I realized that I know absolutely nothing about Danae’s daughter. Should my husband wish to know about her, I would have to make something up, and the stories I made up about her could easily be discovered as falsehoods. Adora has been filling me in, but I’m getting dizzy trying to keep all of these personas in one brain. There’s me, the real me, who loves crystal roses and hates floors made of ice. Then there’s the Winter me, who loves blood and hates compassion. Then there’s the Queen Winter Me who only smiles when she’s recounting gory details of past kills (all of which are made up). Then, there’s the nameless hag friend of Adora’s that I pretended to be when I was staying at my mother in laws. Now there’s Danae’s mother, and Danae herself. Most days, I have difficulty sorting through my own turmoil, now I have to do so for two extra people, and a faux daughter, and this whole charade is getting more and more complicated.    

One small bit of good news is that Adora says that I almost having Summer flirting down. And when I am dressed in Summer casual, I almost look like an actual person. I passed in front of a mirror, and thought I’d left a door open and a Summer peasant woman walked past it. If I didn’t know it was me, I wouldn’t know it was me. Which doesn’t do much for the crises of identity that I am currently exploring, however, my life is not boring, I can say that. And the floor to my room is entirely made of parquet marble -- not a threat of frostbite in sight. And Adora has taught me what fun sliding around in booties on a marble floor can be.

Mother has been here for nearly two weeks and is settling in nicely. I see her every morning for breakfast, and in the early afternoon in the caves. She is a vigorous woman, herself, and can not stand the lack of physical activity here. In Winter, you must move around, in order for your muscles to stay stretchy and strong, so you develop a habit of moving around constantly. In Summer, the attitude is much more languid, and affects us all equally strongly. My cousins have joined us a few times, though we enter the caves through non-secret means. Mostly, they use up extra energy with fencing, which helps reinforce the deadly Winterian façade, and it gives them a chance to flirt with strong young men.

I must say, my cousins are far less dreadful than I remember them being, but then, they are out of their element in a big way and I have thrived here for two months by myself, when it is clear that it is only their company of three which works on keeping them all sane.

I need to get up early in the morning. Adora has a friend who is in trouble and needs my help. I don’t think she really understands the danger I put myself in when I show any kind of compassion -- and the danger is doubled now that my mother and cousins are here, and therefore leaving more Winterian targets than just myself. I am not just making myself vulnerable, but my closest family. 

Adora is quite insistent, though, and since I don’t think I’ve ever heard her insist on anything, I must give in to curiosity, if nothing else. We are meeting her big emergency in a secret cave that no one but me and Adora know about. 

If it is an assassination, I’ll be happy to die there. I have never before seen walls of grass, or flowers growing where there is no sun. Indeed, the sun does shine through a hole in the sky, and bounces around strategically placed crystals. It is obviously a manmade place, but there is no evidence of a human having visited in a decade, at least. Adora and I, even, had to prune the grass so that the sun could hit the crystals -- though it took us a while to find them. Adora chose the spot for the meeting, so she must trust her charge well enough to chance the exposure of one of the most beautiful and sacred places I have ever encountered.