No Words Needed

Love Me More

Penelope woke up two days after the Featherington Ball, feeling like a shell of herself. She hadn't left her bed since that night---not that her mother or anyone else noticed. As far as Penelope was concerned, the world was better off without her.

Have you ever felt like being somebody else?

All she did was ruin the lives of those she loved most. She lied, schemed, and caused them all pain. And for what? So that she could have a purpose? So that she could move through the world, satisfied that she had left her mark with the words of her scandal sheet? She hadn't changed anything since Whistledown started. The people of the Ton were still the same as they once were, and as they always would be. She was no better than any of them. She exposed her cousin Marina and broke Colin's heart in the process, all because she thought she was preventing him from further pain. She put Eloise in danger with the Queen, and instead of finally owning up to the truth, she published a scandal about her best friend in the hopes to save her. It didn't matter in the end, Eloise still hated her anyway. An insipid wallflower, indeed. Honestly, Penelope hated herself right now too.

Penelope rose from the bed, standing on shaky limbs as she padded over to the floor length mirror resting in front of her changing room. Good God, she looked terrible. Her eyes were red and puffy from hours of crying and evading sleep. Her hair was flat and lifeless, reflecting how she felt at the moment.

Feeling like the mirror isn't good for your health?

It was no wonder Colin said those words about her. Who would want to court Penelope Featherington? She was nothing. A nobody. She was lucky the Bridgertons even spared her an ounce of their attention all these years, and now that was over. She didn't blame Colin for what he said. Granted, he could have been kinder about it, and more mindful of her reputation, but she understood. She would always be like a sister to him, nothing more. Hell, she wasn't even a woman in his eyes. Colin was entitled to his feelings, and she couldn't hold them against him. But she didn't have to dwell on her own any longer.

Everyday, I'm trying not to hate myself.

It was getting harder and harder to live in the body of someone that was looked on with only contempt or indifference. Nobody truly saw her. And what would she even want them to see? According to her sisters, she was a waste of space with how much she took up in every room. Her Mama at least pretended to hide the same comments under a disguise of motherly concern. That was if she even remembered to include Penelope in the conversation. Her Papa left them all to fend for themselves, the only thing to remember him by being a mountain of debt. It was clear that she had nobody in this world. And yet, she felt hope.

Lately it's not hurting like it did before.

She was strong. She knew she was. Even before Whistledown, she endured the comments of the Ton and her family and took them in stride. She knew she was capable of great things. She held onto the fact that she was a good, kind person, and hoped that would be enough to earn her happiness. Penelope knew she could no longer claim such positive traits for herself anymore, not after the mistakes she had made. But she still had her strength, and she was still capable of change. She could decide to become the person she always hoped to be. She could change her story and be better, if not for them, then for herself. So that one day, she could look in the mirror and be proud of the person she saw staring back at her.

Maybe I am learning how to love me more.

Cressida and her cronies could spit their venom all they wanted. Her mother and sisters could spout their comments and continue to ignore her existence. Colin could tell his friends all about how unworthy she was. Eloise could wish she was never born. It would sting. It would feel as if a piece of her heart had been ripped out, and that's not to say she wouldn't try with them to make things right. But Penelope wouldn't let it eat away at her any more.

It used to burn, every insult every word, but it helped me learn.

Whistledown used to be her lifeboat. She clung to it when the world tried to pull her under the waves. When she was drowning in despair, and her happy ending seemed too far on the horizon, there it was. But now it was tainted. The edges of each page were burned with deceit. She would have to find another way to move through life now. Perhaps she would learn to speak her mind. Perhaps she would learn to give herself the kind of love she never received. Perhaps she would find people who wanted to listen to what she had to say. Lady Whistledown was a coward with a sharp tongue. Penelope Featherington was a voice that until now had remained a whisper. Both were no more.

Eventually, it sets me free.