___________________________________
Before the chapter starts, I want to let you guys know in advance that this chapter isn't very engaging. It's very wordy and does not contain conversations, just very minimal monologue (literally one line). I'm just now getting back into writing this story/getting familiar again with the plot and storyline. This is simply a filler chapter, but I feel like it gives a good inside view into Odette's personal feelings and emotions. Anyways, that's all. Until latersss.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
After the Rhodes left, life continued as always. I felt more at peace and less miserable. I didn't think much about Archibald after his departure. The thought of him only appeared when I would think about my get-together with my friends. I would think about my friends, get excited, and then remember Archibald was going to be there and I'd get upset. Of course, we hadn't left off on bad terms, but he's still Archibald. Archibald Rhodes. He's still my childhood enemy who hates me as much as I hate him. I was sure he was going to do something that day. Something to ruin it for me. Though, there's no point in dwelling on the future, so I pushed my thoughts away.
This would also be a good time to talk to Ezra. I wanted to make him apologize for the way he treated Archibald. It was unfair, really. Sure I... did talk to Ezra about Archibald in a poor manner, but that's only because Archibald gave me no other way to talk about him. Had he been nice to me, I would've had nice things to say. But I confided in Ezra; I shared my emotions and distress. I did not know, nor did I imagine Ezra would use it against Archibald. I do know one thing is for sure though, what Ezra did was not right, and he was going to apologize.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
Today is Wednesday, five days after the Rhodes left and three days before my get-together with my friends. It is something I am looking forward to. I have not seen my friends in sometime, or rather not spend time with them.
I have spent nearly the entire afternoon painting. The art room has a great view of our lands and seeing as I was bored, I attempted at drawing as much as I could see. I put my watercolors down and look at my (still in progress) painting. It's not complete, but my countryside landscape painting is coming along quite nicely, if I do say so myself. When I am finished, I will add it to my collection of countryside paintings. These days, it seems as though it is all I paint. As beautiful as the countryside is, it gets rather repetitive when it's the only thing you see. I understand fully that my life is one of privilege and that my aversion to the repetitiveness of my prospect is insignificant in comparison to the problems of others. However, it still kind of depressing. Walking through the same halls, same walls, surrounded by the same people—lovely people, of course—entering the same rooms, and reading the same books, it's like a loop. A loop that I was taught I should be okay with. I mean, I'm not not okay with it, again, I'm very grateful for the life I live, and the view I get is marvelous. But sometimes, I, perhaps selfishly, yearn for more.
I don't mean to irritate anyone by being that woman, but sometimes I wonder: how different would my life be had I been a man? It seems that in this day and age, men have freedoms that women don't. I'm fortunate enough to have a mother who could not care any less about societies standards on women. I'm also blessed with a father who works long hours. When the cat's away the mice will play and boy, we did. My mother taught me to do things that are considered masculine and unacceptable for women to do/enjoy. That is why I am skilled in things like mathematics, chemistry, fencing, billiards, all that. Of course, mathematics was taught to girls in school, but never to the extent boys were taught. Us girls were taught the basics: adding, subtracting, multiplication, division, but not topics like calculus or geometry. Aside from the basic maths, I had to learn everything else through my mother. Yet, even with my extensive knowledge and abilities, I feel trapped and bored since I cannot publicly partake in any of the "manly" activities I enjoy.
I like to tell myself that I do not care what people think of me, yet I find myself hesitating to do things that I know I would be judged for. Even in the comfort of my own home, I get a strange feeling of guilt when I commence to do something "masculine" or "unacceptable". When I pick up a sword, or a chemistry book, a mathematics book, a cue stick, or a deck of cards, I feel like I am failing—like I am failing as a woman. The feeling vanishes once I'm focused on my task, but it returns when I am done. And when I do "feminine" things such as reading, writing, painting, drawing, or playing the piano, I feel an profound sensation of unsatisfaction after some time. No matter what I do, I'm not at peace. Walks in my garden are only distracting for a while. If I try to go horseback riding to take my mind off well... my mind, I'm quickly reminded by every stableboy that my father has forbidden me from going on a ride without a chaperon. He never did give a reason as to why I am not allowed, but every time I consult him about getting a chaperone, he dismisses me. Men don't need chaperones, men do not get berated, nor do they feel guilty when they do things they enjoy.
Then again, if I'm discontent with my "feminine" hobbies and discontent with my "masculine" hobbies, what else am I looking for?
And this is the time where I take a deep breath, look around the room I'm in and put on a forced wide grin.
'You are fortunate to live this life, Odette. There are people dying out there and struggling to make ends meet. Being stuck on a large estate with beautiful views is a problem many wish to have... and the painting looks great. So there.'
My gaze diverts from the wood pane walls to the window overlooking the grounds. It really is beautiful, and it looks it even more now that the sun is setting. The green hills and fields extend as far as the eye can see. Rows and rows of crops cover the mounts as well as a small cottage here and there. The skies are painted a beautiful ombre of orange and yellow to indigo and purple. Rose laces of clouds are scattered across the vault of Heaven, and the leaves swinging slightly are an indication of the gentle breeze. Spring, a truly beautiful season to experience.
After my mental spiral, I started feeling thirsty. I wipe my hands clean on my apron and take the apron off. The house is silent, as always, the sound of my shoes hitting the ground with each of my steps echoes through the long and shallow corridors. As I hurry down, the clock chimes ring through the house.
Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding.
Seven in the evening. This means I missed my father's arrival from work. Not that it matters to me, let alone to him.
As I descend the stairs into the great hall, I hear my mother's shouts coming from the drawing room.
"Yes! I am being emotional, Vincent, and you will do nothing to stop me! If you and Theodore don't conjure a plan to tell them soon, I will! I may be many things, but a liar is not one!"
