12. 8.ii - Extract from Lady Maryanne Rogue's Journal
What is a home?
A place where you live?
A place where you are welcomed?
A place you always seem to return to?
A place no sweeter than any other?
A place where you merely survive?
A place where family may as well be enemy?
A place you are bound to on account of a lack of anywhere else to turn?
A place so fiery it might as well be hell?
It's hard to leave the life you've known best. Even if the life you know isn't a pleasant one. Hour by hour, inch by inch - it seems the days will never end and the nights thrice as long.
One crisis after another.
It wouldn't be so hard, if that man whom I'm supposed to love and cherish, would tighten his cord every once in a while and abstain from that vulgar drink.
That repulsive poison that turns even the most noble of men into scoundrels.
How many more marks must I count on my body?
But if I leave him... If I leave Ruben, where would I go? What would I do? What will become of me?
And now I must think of... Our child.
I've seen what happens to those children belonging to broken homes - how they are looked upon, how they are regarded and abused. I would never wish that on my own.
But what use is a home that was in a state of disrepair even before the setting of it's foundation?
Would I want my child anywhere near that drunken wretch?
This bastard... I never agreed to marry Ruben of Locksley.
My father and his ways, why hadn't I protested against it? Oh, what would have been the use anyway?
What man in this world hears a woman's plea?
Oh... What am I going to do?