First, something we all know and love to review….I am not insane!
I have very good reasons for all that has happened in my lifetime and why it’s landed me in an Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls. I’m sure as you read, you will agree, that all of the actions taken from that fateful day were indeed committed fully realized and sane.
Although I don’t wish to recall life before the Asylum, I think it important that we share what brought us all together.
There was a wedding day that was to be the beginning of a new life, a new era, a new freedom. I was from a good sounding family that gave me excellent standing and an estate to start my new life with a new husband. What greater thing can come under attack, than love. I was blinded by the streams of independence I saw in my future, and forgot to pay attention that it was not me my husband loved, but the money I came with.
So, there it was. The day of reckoning when a contract would forever bind me and meld my independence to this man. The morning was shrouded in scents of jasmine and lace, and whispers of romance steaming from hot pools. Thank graciousness that a window had been left ajar where I was privy to a pre-festive chat. My soon to be husband was quietly planning my demise following the ceremony with the carriage driver. A tragic ending that would set the hearts of our guests weeping into the night. My body was to roll into a deep ravine and set the stage for a newly widowed husband to take over all accounts, estates, and treasurey that my marriage to him would provide.
My rage was slow and fixed. I became stealthy and focused as my body went into action without it’s friend, thought. Nothing was plotted or planned, just executed, with a grace that still makes me smile to this day. Moments before the flutes were to escort me down a murderous aisle, I asked for a favor from family and staff to give me and my soon to be husband a few moments alone in our chambers before the ceremony. As soon as I was sure he was giving the finishing touches to his wedding whiskers, I was at the entrance to his room twisting the lock on his scheme.
Lamp oil was accidentally brushed over the lavish rugs and curtains by the swiftness of my movements as I prepared an alternate ending. It took no more than a half of a match switch for the wine soaked curtains to jump into flames. The estate took to brilliant russets and reds in a matter of minutes. Not only was it the flammable materials that made the estate catch so quick, but my rage fueled the licking flames even beyond what I thought I was capable of.
The guests were too busy with their sparkling drinks and frivolity to notice a delay in ceremony. Thank goodness for a roaring party to distract the innocent. Although, I must say the roar of celebrations only let me enjoy the celebrating I was partaking in myself. I do admit i was in a state of fluidity that didn’t allow me to think twice or judge any action I was taking. I simply let it unfold in the moments that passed, until I was satisfied with the safety of my being. What happens next, I’m only told in retospect, for I don’t remember it myself.
One of my dear childhood chums came to hurry the wedding couple along, and as she crested the hill that seperated the estate from it water valley a blood curtling scream sent me into a state of black out in which I remember nothing from that point on.
I like to imagine how the following events unfolded although I don’t retain these thoughts as my own. After the house and the husband were charred blacker than licorice, my body was drawn to the freshly cooked flesh and I began to chew away at the husband that was to be. When the proper authorities arrived, they found me working on the rounded hip flesh and retrieved an earlobe and fingertip from my pockets. The photograph that was taken of me that day, certainly shows a black gritted grin in which I must confess, I look extremely guilty. I was committed under the terms of arseny and cannibalistic terror. My future in the Asylum did not seem so terrible in comparison to living a life of chained matrimony in which I would have mysteriously disappeared.
So here I sit with my memories of charred revenge and the salvating stories they inserted into my files, and I’m resilient to say one more time, because wouldn’t you have done the same…I am not INSANE!!