The Aftermath

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 The ring? The ring...the ring...the RING?!  And how is Sir Guy? Since the day after Christmas these questions have been asked of me daily by others, whose manners, for the most part, has been less than friendly when doing so, which is part of the reason why I have taken to bed. At most it is because of what I feel is the loss of Sir Guy. At least the loss of MY  Sir Guy, not the one who destroyed Angel's Mass. Yes, his ring is nice and it was given in love and was dearly treasured but what others do not seem to understand is that I would rather have Sir Guy back. Much rather have him.

  So since then bed has become my great refuge. I can get some By drawing the doors, windows and tapestry I can now rid myself of the world and have some peace. I do not have to endure the snickering and side long glance from the gossiping hags that have never known love or the pain that it can bring.

  Some of the servants, either out of courage or senselesness, have ventured to knock upon my bedchamber door to inquire about my desire for food or drink. Why do they not understand that I wish to be left alone to mourn for Sir Guy?!

  Granted, it has been within the last couple of days that I have had the temptation of taking part of food and drink for I hear a tray being left by a servant a few tmes a day. But that would mean leaving the refuge of my bed and I really do not feel like moving. For without my Guy, why bother? I know it is wrong to feel this way but I do not care.

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