"<<As we work to create light for others, we naturally light our own way>>. What is your opinion on this quote?"

Freya was not paying attention to her friend. Maeve, the lady with snow-white curls and a dazzling smile, was one of the loveliest women at the Angels Caring Center. She would always say "Why call it an asylum? Just because we do not have a real family anymore, it doesn't mean we are alone. What we share here is something more comprehensive; it is a spiritual family."

Freya's gaze was focused on a tiny scratch crossing the window. On the other side of the glass, the endless meadows unfolded before her eyes. Serenity filled the air, and yet she could not enjoy the beauty of nature. Her responsibility has never been so crucial. The entire Duchy depended on her and the burden of such obligation was tearing her apart, so deeply and so vividly that she felt like a walking corpse. She has already accepted the terms, the idea of refusing was scandalous! And so, so luring...

"Freya, why are your thoughts so unfocused on the present? I was telling you something!" Maeve whined, revealing creases on her porcelain forehead.

"Believe me, I am in the present. In theory, the quotation is inviting to meditation on self-accomplishment by giving around the best of oneself, by freeing oneself from egotism, the desideratum of each and every good life lived in the divine spirit. Practically, it is a blade with two edges. I have helped people throughout my life, but I do not feel accomplished at all." The corners of her mouth have dropped significantly. Even the least experienced person could have realized she was not at ease with her situation.

"How can you say that? How can you not be grateful for a roof over your head and food in your fridge?"

"I would rather live in a dumpster and be happy than live like a queen and exposing my heart to torment! I apologize for my tone, but this should not be your concern. So please let us have our usual conversations." Freya implored, holding her hands as if she were praying.

The creases on Maeve's forehead were now hollows. She could barely comprehend the change in Freya's demeanor. Until recently, the corners of the young woman's mouth were almost reaching her ears. She was smiling constantly and her optimism was contagious -spreading like a rumor or a whisper. Maeve was aware of Freya's new social status, but her reactions seemed over-exaggerated.

"If you are at a loss for words, I would like to leave. My sleep deficiency is killing me..."

Freya rose from her seat, dusted off her skirt and left without saying goodbye. Her behaviour was frightening, but this was her only way of coping. Most people would have judged her in an instant, but she knew that Maeve forgave her right away.

Reaching her car, she noticed an envelope throttled by the wind screen wiper. Brushing her fingers on the paper, she recognized the emblem. In the past month, she was communicated so many details about her duty, that she could draw the emblem by heart. Two lions holding a white pigeon. The Duchy of Eastbroke was below the Queen when referring to its function, but truthfully, the queen had never dared to confront its decisions.

"We are impetuously asking you to participate in the dinner foregoing the marriage. The date and time are written below. We would be grateful if you did not express any offensive opinion, even if you have plenty to say. We wish you a wonderful day, but we both know it is unlikely to occur.

15th of September, 7 P.M.

With anticipation,

the Duchy of Eastbroke"

What an exquisite way of ending a day! Maeve exclaimed internally, perplexed by such a daring invitation. She will not bow down in front of the Duchy, which was practically equal to a single person, the Duke. She felt nothing but disdain towards this obscure man. His nobility was a product of the document that claimed his function, not of his genuine character. Hypocrisy was a loathsome thing, but unfortunately, inevitable among royals.

She tossed the envelope on the passenger seat and started the ignition. Looking in the mirror, she noticed the dark circles threatening her eyes and the little veins spreading across her neck. Such rage and frustration were indeed forces to be reckoned with.

The road that led from the Caring Center to her house was among the few consolations in her life. Driving a relatively large distance, she was able to cast away her worries, out of the window and into the comforting breeze. Every time she gazed at the everlasting branches of the autumnal trees, her vision was pampered with flashbacks of mother-and-daughter moments. Her limited time spent with her mother Anna was one of the elements, if not the only one, which kept her on at a steady pace.

The paradox that guided Anna's life was a source of fascination for the callow Freya, who studied her mother's features as if she were an artist painting the portrait of a muse. Long, thick lashes surrounded big cerulean eyes and curly auburn hair framed a porcelain-looking face, with flawless skin and a glowing touch. But for her unstable frame of mind, Anna could have been more renowned than Marilyn Monroe herself. Freya's liaison with the Caring Center came from a long time ago, when names did not bear such kindness. Back then, mental illness was treated in a lunatic asylum, in precarious conditions that have never been truthfully mentioned. Most people blamed the child for her mother's damage, and Freya was always a subject to mockery.

Focus more on the road, and less on your past! Freya exclaimed internally once again. The disadvantage of flashbacks is that you cannot control them, and once you remember a tiny portion of your past, the whole turmoil of sensations blurs the initial memory. Alas, she divagated from her mother's exquisite descriptions of invented places to repulsive connotations!

At last, she reached her destination, parked the car and entered her house. She felt the need for a sudden confession and admitted to herself that she did not know the true meaning of home. Her previous house and her current one were simply bricks, stones and furniture. Nothing more, nothing less. This one was a ground-levelled building, so it did not have any stairs, much to the content of the sedentary Freya.

It was almost six P.M. One hour until the ultimate death of her enthusiasm. She dropped her purse in a random spot and opened her closet. Actually, it was her mother's closet. In her room, she had two wardrobes, one with her own clothes, and one with Anna's flamboyant, yet decent dresses. Since it was a fancy dinner with guests whose character made her frown in disgust, she decided to wear a black dress that matched her state. If she was not allowed to rebel verbally against her future inner circle, at least she could wear a subtle declaration of discontent. What intrigued her about that particular piece of garment was not only the soft, yet harsh fabric, but also the backless dress itself, revealing not too much skin, but definitely enough for making a statement.

Spraying a delicate perfume at the base of her neck, she put it on, along with silver stilettos and looked in the mirror. She did not imagine herself remotely close to her mother's beauty, but she was indeed satisfied with her overall appearance. Ignoring her rather plump features, she turned away and was about to leave, but she was disrupted by a phone call. She pressed the answer button without checking the ID and was surprised to hear Maeve's silky voice.

"I hope you understand I was not affected by your sudden and rather impolite departure!" Maeve faked certainty, but the tremor of her voice betrayed her emotion.

"Of course not, I was actually thinking about you."

"Really, how?"

"I am going to, let me quote the exact words, << the dinner foregoing the marriage>> and I was wondering how our conversation would evolve based on this evening." Freya simply stated the truth, being absolutely sure she would have plenty to say.

"I refuse to believe that the Duke is a monster. I am also positive about you taming him and I want you to adopt the same optimism. If you detain yourself for so long, you may actually lose important aspects!"

"Alright. I will strive, but I cannot promise anything. I will see you tomorrow, unless I kill someone and end up in prison."

"I do not think the other guests will be fond of your dark humour, you know..."

"Tell me about it! Kisses, darling!"

Freya ended the phone call and hurried to the car, bearing in mind that punctuality is a must at such fancy events.

Half an hour later, and five minutes before the specified time, she entered the immense garden of the Duchy and was welcomed by one of the butlers, probably John, who led her to the Central Hall, which was the main room for organizing important events.

Three golden chandeliers were placed above the carefully arranged tables, each of the seats being indicated by an elegant label. Some of the guests had already arrived, but were too busy discussing futile matters, as Freya supposed. Food was delivered once the suite of guests was complete and the eating ritual had very specific rules. If one did not respect them, he or she would be a subject of disdain for the whole evening. Freya revised the rules in her head, counting on John the butler, who was designated to supervise her demeanour.

"Milady, I beg your pardon. It seems I have somehow interrupted you. The Duke requests you in his office. You will descend the stairs together with him, your arm entwined around his. Do you have any questions?" John asked in a serene voice, clearly obliged to fake the British accent. He was one-hundred percent American, coming from an underprivileged family, and being the right hand of the Duke was a gift and a curse at the same time.

"Will I ever feel less like the property of Eastbroke?"