Eister was sitting on the bed, taking a advantage of her husband's brief absence to do what she hadn't been able to do when she'd awoken for fear of him finding out - writing in her diary. The small leather tome was nothing too special to look at, and she had kept it in her luggage, so she had some confidence that Steffin hadn't run across it, before, the only problem was making sure he didn't in the years to come. Years.... Eister's face wrinkled into a little pouty grimace at the thought. Married less than six months and already it felt like too long. Days felt as though they dragged by, but a week passed in a snap of an eye. It was exhausting being Eister Stark. Eister Farwynd hadn't felt this harried and anxious. Her father would arrive soon, too, which she knew very well meant she'd have to wear her brightest smiles and feign perfect happiness if she didn't want him to go and murder the Hand of the Queen, not that she didn't already have to do this on a daily basis with her "darling husband."
Heaving a sigh, the girl dropped her head into her diary, not quite sure when she'd stopped writing. She lifted her head slightly and eyed the pages right in front of her nose. She never spent too much time writing, at least, so the entries were short. Her wide, round letters took up a little too much space, and it was almost to her relief at the moment that most people found her handwriting nearly illegible. At least if Steffin found it, he wouldn't be able to read it... she hoped.
It was choking again, this time. I haven't dreamed about being drowned since my first entry, the third time I had the dream. Perhaps it was not a good sign, as I thought it might be. Maybe I should start keeping a tally of the number of burnings and chokings, those seem most common. Nothing special about this one, or if there was, I don't remember it. This time it was hands around my neck, not very inventive. I'd be more scared, but I just can't imagine him actually doing that.... I maybe can IMAGINE it, but he won't.
She had stopped there, unable to think of anything else to say about it. Write it down, put it away, Eister. She told herself. No use thinking too deeply about it, as she had no way of figuring out what any of it meant. For now.
There was a knock at the door, and Eister jumped and squeaked,
"Yes!?" She coughed a bit and lowered her voice, trying to sound mature and Lady-like.
"Yes, who is it? Steffin?" Pulling up her skirts slightly to give her easier access to movement, she hastily snatched her diary and dumped it back in her trunk. She grabbed some spare papers and scribbled,
Dear Levina, in an attempt to rationalize her use of ink at the moment.
"No, my lady. It's just Wynett, here to help you dress for the day."
"Oh, uh- yes, come in." Eister stood, drawing herself up to her full height and standing with her back very straight, as if that could possibly make her five feet of height and lifetime of boyish behavior magically melt into anything close to resembling a stately grace.
The maid bustled into the room. "Now lady, what would you like to wear today? Ooh, you got ink on your hand. Were you writing to the mistress again? Let me help you, that is what I'm here for, after all." She had been Levina's handmaiden, and Eister's least favorite wedding present. She never stopped talking, and clearly still hadn't gotten used to the idea that Eister was "the Lady of Winterfel," rather than her mistress' baby sister.
Eister let her scrub the ink from the side of her palm and managed to calmly spit,
"Bring the pretty blue-green gown with the dark trim, if you please, Wynett."
"That green one? Oh, but you look awful in it, M- Lady Eister. Here, let me." The Farwynds of the Lonely Light had always been more lax about "decorum," but Wynett got more and more on Eister's nerves every day that passed. She pressed her teeth together tightly, just barely managing to stop something sour from coming from her mouth, then let it go with a soft breath.
I look awful in most of them, anyways. She allowed her sister's annoying handmaiden to dress her and left to look for husband without another word.