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#13824331 Jul 28, 2018 at 04:11 PM · Edited 4 years ago
13 Posts

It was the end of the day and like all those before it, there had been a flurry of trainings, meetings, and activity. It seemed never-ending at times, and she always returned back to her desk to a new pile of paperwork.

The Dame hated paperwork. There was something about sitting behind a desk, staring at a dozen or more 'read this' and 'sign here' prompts that made her want to burn the building down. If given the choice between fighting an army on her own or tackling several hours of paperwork, she would have grabbed her sword and submitted herself to a glorious, glorious death.

But today, she had gotten through all that with sanity intact. The office was quiet - free of cousins, brothers, uncles, soldiers, guards, and everything in between. She had only herself, a glass of brandy, and the day's thoughts to occupy her mind.

Reaching into her pack, she pulled out a small, leather-bound book. It was a simple thing, stitched together and held by a length of twine. She had several of these books, all stashed in trunk - nearly two and a half decades of entries and thoughts piled together between pages.

Tonight, she opened the diary again and set out to write.
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