Very few know me for the young lad I was once. My mother used to boast about how I could have any lady in the kingdom - even though there was only one woman I deftly pursued. But now all they see is the bitter, cold recluse who wanders from the tannery to the local shops once a week - a man left with nothing but memories, whose family and loved ones have vanished by means of the Curse. Once, there was an eligible bachelor who wanted nothing more than to manage his own business and raise a family of his very own. He is no longer there. The opportunity to obtain these two simple aspects of life, I fear, has long since passed; and, it flew with the simple flick of her hand.
A refusal.
A rejection.
Atalanta.
Ridiculously stubborn, ever-challenging since we were introduced as childhood playmates, unbelievably finicky, albeit genuinely charming.
Everything she was, she was opposite me. Whereas I was all for traditions, she'd rejuvenate old ways into something fresh; and, where I was proper and rule-abiding, she tested the boundaries [and, vice versa, mind you].
If only I had initially kept the promise to keep the Lyall Tannery in business.
If only I weren't so hellbent, and she weren't so persnickety.
If only this Curse hadn't changed me, changed us.
What a pair of Lyall's we could have been.
Could have been.
