June 1st, 1891
V,"If the worst should happen"—I was quite certain this was always merely an over-dramatic line belonging to the most base fiction. Tragically, however, the worst has happened, this time to me:
Regardless of my marks on my O.W.L.s, I am to be plucked from academics and thrust into the satin and tea parties that mark the life of a damned Pendergast Rose.
Father insists I have known this for years (I have not) and Mother, quite predictably, thinks it is the best opportunity I shall ever be gifted (it is not). What cosmic judge must I have offended to be saddled with two parents who are so utterly unaware of me that they believe it best that I be moved from the shelf to an ornamental cabinet, meant to make a husband's home more lovely but nothing else?
How am I to stop my brain from melting out my ears?!
In despair,
Z