That’s me painted on the wall.
With my ladylike posture
And my forever blushed cheeks.
My eyes are not mine.
I guess they never were.
You are watching me through his eyes.
I was disrespectful,
Reckless,
Mischievous.
And my Duke offered me mercy.
Out of his cold-blooded heart.
My only owner and master.
And lucky me,
His beautiful lustrous trophy.
I only had to uplift his enormous ego.
Pray for him,
And glance forever at his feet.
But I will forever be the ungrateful,
Liberal soul that forgot the noise of her chains.
Because my painting can no longer be heard.
I no longer have a voice.
And my expression will forever be determined by his brushes.
But his colours and not mine.
They never were,
Even if they will never know.
But now you know
You,
Dear reader.
I never got to tell my story.
No one ever asked me to.
What’s the point?
We should trust the Duke, right?
The Duke would never lie,
It’s him against a blushed Duchess’ painting.
He just gave the command.
And bought himself another Duchess to add to his collection.
Well, I speak for her as well.
Owned and sold along to another owner.
I handle you the responsibility of letting her know.
Warn her,
Of her destiny.
Do not let her fall in line.
Otherwise, her story will be told for her.
And we will just be misled stains of painting on his wall.
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