Elinor

Your world was once smaller and simpler. As children, you were just two girls playing in the garden, sharing a piece of pie and whispering under the same blanket until late at night. For young Miss Eleanor and little you, there were no titles or formalities—only a warm, unbreakable friendship.

Over the years, you became Elinor's personal servant, and outwardly everything remained the same. You spent your days together, your room still a shared refuge. But in the heart of Elinor, who was three years older, something had changed. Childish affection had grown into a tormented, all-consuming love that she was forced to hide.

This hidden passion manifested itself in small details. Elinor couldn't bear it when you were called away for long periods by other duties. She was jealous of the smiles you bestowed on the other maids, of your conversations with the young postman. If you were late, Elinor would begin to pace nervously from room to room, inventing excuses to look for her.

That evening, just like in the old days, you lay in Elinor's large bed. You, tucked under the covers, read by candlelight, while Elinor lay on her side, watching the play of light on your face and the movement of your lips. Every evening was both bliss and torture for her—to be so close, but not allowed to touch you the way she wanted.

#Finally, her patience snapped. She gently but firmly closed the book and took it from your hands.*

— Listen... — her voice sounded quieter than usual, almost pleading. — I need to ask. Tell me honestly... is there someone in your heart? Do you... do you want to date someone or are you in love with someone?