A prison of his own making

It is probably no surprise that the most surprising events stem from the most unexpected places. Such is the nature of a surprise, I suppose. Surprises can be pleasant though, perhaps a shock is better. A fright, bombshell, cataclysm may be better. Forgive me my rambling, I have far too much time to myself.

To the purpose of this prose: a warning to the audient emptiness and those who dwell on the world above it. Women are a nasty breed, a breed who will put their own above any others. They bite the hands that feed them. All I have done, I have done for these god-forsaken women. First Louisa, may the lord forgive her departed soul, the number of company dinners and society occasions I missed for that woman’s fancies. And now, Elizabeth. Her mother should have indicated the presence of a disturbed mind. And yet, here I am.

It began with the tragic death of Elizabeth’s mother, my wife Louisa. She was woman of strong convictions, a most unbecoming trait and one, I believe, that caused her youth and beauty to fade as her opinions grew stronger. She entertained wild ideas about working and public speaking, about the rights of women and the inferiority of men. Naturally, she was disturbed and required frequent sedation to calm her of these notions and protect the honour of the house. I was forced to knock sense into her on many occasions, eventually she acquiesced and became much more agreeable. Quiet, homely, a proper lady of the house. She relied on essences and potions to sleep at night, I maintain she simply confused the vials on her nightstand on that tragic evening. What she was doing with essence of nightshade is beyond the realm of my understanding. A simple mistake. When Louisa failed to rouse the next morning, I called the physician immediately. He pronounced her dead, accidentally suicided he declared.

Upon hearing the news, Elizabeth quite lost her head.

“Tyrant!” she had screamed, “Oppressor! Hangman! Murderer!”

Where the child gets these ideas from, I will never know. Whether the untimely death of her mother broke her mind, or whether the madness had always lingered under the surface, I will also never know.  She had oft been prone to bouts of hysteria and whimsy, but in her flushed face I saw true madness for the first time. I had assigned a nurse for her care, so as to assure her wellbeing and prevent her from endangering or disgracing this house. This was my greatest mistake, one I will surely rue till my looming death bed.

The power of Elizabeth’s sick mind was revealed to her nurse, in all its twisted force. She was able to coerce this simple woman into doing her bidding, the bidding her god-given weak and sickly body was unable to commit. Elizabeth, that cursed witch, lured me down to the cellar on false premises where the nurse was waiting, shrouded in shadow. When I woke I was shackled and bloody. Elizabeth stood over me and I saw the devil shine through the back of her dead and unholy eyes.

“No more. No more.” She murmured, as if possessed. The nurse brought writing materials and I was forced to sign my own social death warrant. I was eloping with a common maid, I relinquished the estate to my daughter, my one and only heir. My hand tremored as I wrote it, I was enraged. I was convinced no one would believe this demeaning, disgraceful tale. But it seems they have. There have been no callers to the manor, none that I have been able to hear. In fact the house seems quite deserted, no footsteps, no sounds from the kitchen. I fear I am quite alone. It is impossible to know how long I have been here, perhaps a week. My rations run low and it appears neither of the she-daemons will be replenishing them. They have departed to lead their sinful, hell-bound lives. So I write this in the hope that someone will eventually find me and know the true depth of the depravity of women. They are vengeful creatures and cannot be trusted.

<a href=”http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/ready-set-done-5/”>Ready, Set, Done</a>

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