theatrical_muse Prompt #142
When I first came to London I felt a thrilling sense of unreality, as though this place were something entirely different from the world I had grown in as a child. There was a sensuality, an overwhelming passion that came from the streets, and I wanted it. I wanted all of it, all of it for my own. I had no desire to share it with anyone else, even my husband who had ultimately been nothing more than the means by which I could get here.
My gown was simplistic and my face exquisite, and while people often noticed things in that order I was fortunate in the fact that simple was not always condemned. Edward was proud enough to have me on his arm the few times we went out into the city, but I was more satisfied with the prospect of being seen alone and free, from things that were not binding me to the life I had been married into.
Nevermind the reasoning behind my marriage, it was shackling me to the house Edward owned. And I wanted more than that. I wanted a world outside of walls, spurred only on by beauty and promise, passion and love. Edward didn't love me, so I sought and searched for someone that might. It was then I realized how little love actually can mean to people, let alone to men.
So what is the point in binding yourself to one place, if only to be condemned to that same solitude that is so feared? I filled my days, nights, and hours with loveless, passionate affairs and the few short bouts of what might be considered romance...all for reasons I refused to disclose. I was tired of being alone, and I refused to partake in that same sentence any longer.