The First and the Last

When I looked into his eyes, I can tell he is not reading me at all, or he didn’t even try to read me. I smiled to him, and he took my hand and kissed on my face. He was cold. That is all I remember on the first day I met him.

But I have to live with him, for the rest of my life. I had no choice, and only to live with my emptiness. On the table, food and drinks are always there, but never being finished. In the bed, there is no conversation, and only pain and tears. I got nothing to do, and just waiting. I wait for the chance that he allowed me to go to the nature, into the flowers, the trees, the sun, and everything that makes me feel free. The wind touches my face, sunshine warming my skin, that is the only moment that I feel I am alive and happy.

One sunny morning, a young gentleman came to me and gave me a brunch of flowers, flowers were so beautiful, and I could smell the sense of freedom. I was so happy, as I hadn’t go out for a week. But then he locked me up, and forced me to live with the darkness. And I lost my words and I started to sink into the dark.

Love is always something far away from me, and the one in front of me is the only “love” in my life. His hand with his knife is on my breast. He keeps on asking me why I always smile to the other men, and why I thanked for the gifts from the men. Well, did I smile to them? And did I really smile to him before?

He is holding my hand, and tasting my blood, this is the first time I feel warmth from him.

I am to be the new Duchess... (The Last Duchess rewritten_

I will soon be the Duke’s new Duchess. I do not want to become his new wife but I have no choice in the matter because I am a female and must do what my father commands of me. My father has decided, that to elevate the families standing in society and to have the assurance of knowing my four sisters will have a comfortable life, that I am to marry the Duke. The Duke is a handsome man from good breeding, but is known to have a nasty temper towards the women in his life. This nasty temper is all too well rumored while he was with the last Duchess. The last Duchess was a woman of very low status in society, but for some reason caught the Duke’s eye. The pillow talk is that they had a wonderful courtship and then after being betrothed, the Duke began to show his true colors. The last Duchess had no choice but to put up with the daily cruelty inflicted by her once sweet and kind husband. After years of being married, and time beginning to ravage the once beautiful features of the Dukes wife, the Duke decided to have a painting of the Duchess commissioned by Fra Pandolf. The painter told the Duke that the grand twenty-foot tall painting would take him six weeks to finish. When the Duchess heard that she was going to have to sit in the same position for six weeks she was angry. That was the story in the mansion. I believe if I was in the Duchess same position, which soon I will be, that I too would be mad. But the Duchess went on and obeyed the commands of her husband and went into the grand gallery for the artist to create her portrait. The maid told me that when the Duchess and the painter set eyes upon each other, it was obvious that they had instantly fallen in love. The Duke realized that the painting was going along a lot slower than expected, but he never dreamed that his wife was spending most of the time in the grand gallery. He suspected they were falling deeper and deeper into love with each other. The butler at the mansion said that the Duke decided to sneak and watch what the painter and his Duchess was doing during the painting sessions and what he saw made his blood boil. He saw his wife and the lowly painter kissing passionately on the sofa. The Duke didn’t barge in and confront them, he did nothing. The rest of the story is all rumors and gossip but what I can tell is that the Duke killed the Duchess. Though the police said that the Duke said she tripped over her skirts and fell down the stairs and broke her neck. The painter was seen fleeing the London mansion with bruises covering his face. So now my father is about to go meet the Duke to discuss the marriage arrangements of his daughter to the Duke. I shiver as I think of how badly this marriage will be and I am considering running away to becoming a nun. All that I know is that I do not want to become the Duke’s Duchess…the last Duchess.

By: Cinthea

Co-wordle

This wordle shows the most commen words on the this blog-webpage. In other words it is a co-wordle on My Last Duchess.

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Thoughts of a duchess

The daughter had heard of the late Duchess. She caught snippets from the maids’ conversations. Mostly she heard them discuss the mysterious circumstances surrounding the Duchess’ untimely death. These were simple people, who found the most pleasure in scandalous gossip and untruths. I am above such things, the daughter thought. And yet, considering her father’s errand today, gone to the Duke’s Hall, she could not help but be very interested in anything concerning the late Duchess and her sudden demise. She turned from the window overlooking the gardens, where she had been considering the gardener below, working among the roses. He rose with difficulty from his overworked knees and dusted the dark earth from his clothes. It was a lost cause; his clothes were covered in dark patches of soil from the many hours of his life he had spent among the green leaves and blossoms.

Was the Duke the cause of the Duchess’ death? My soon-to-be husband, she thought with a shudder, if my father is succesful today. She crossed the sunlit bedroom and sat by the mirror, studying herself. The maids had described the late Duchess as a carefree, young girl with a ready smile for anyone. Golden hair and green eyes. Lovely. The daughter wondered if those smiles had always been sincere or if they had only been a mask, hiding an inner sadness. Like my smiles do, she thought, as she studied the curve of her own lips and the angle of her jaw. The maids had whispered in corners about the Duke’s severe disapproval of the Duchess’ welcoming nature. The daughter surmised that he was of an easily jealous nature, if it took nothing but a few misguided smiles from his wife to result in such gossip. The daughter awaited the return of her father with trepidation.

My Dutch Warmblood

-‘What do your master have in mind?’
- ‘A mare for his fiancée. As you are renowned in the area of breeding noble riding horses, it is in your stables he is looking for a warmblood. Do you have any Rijpaards from the finika-line?’
-‘Indeed we have. What an excellent choice! This fine bred mare-line has provided the country with many prominent dressage horses. The good character and soundness will please the Duke.’
- ‘Blue blood yield a reward in itself. It is a favourite saying of his.’
- ‘Indeed it does. Please follow me sir. Here you see our finest Dutch-bred mare, Azarah. She was broken in late but broken in well. Azarah has been shown at every level of dressage and has won numerous championships. As you must know, it is important to break a warmblood in thoroughly. Some resistance is excellent, as they will obey your will even stronger after surrendering to it during the breaking.’
- ‘How are her bloodlines and studbook? Are you able to account for her granddams and grandsires and is she suitable for breeding?’
-‘Indeed sir, she is. Azarah has an impeccable studbook and the vet guarantees she is fit for breeding.’
-‘I will discuss the matter with the duke. You will hear from me as soon as dowry has been negotiated.
- ‘Off course, will you bring my greetings to the Duke? I congratulate him on his choice of wife to be.’
-‘Thank you, Sir! We are all looking forward to welcome her noble blood to the estate.’