Here is Rosana, with scratches on her shins and berry stains on her fingers, walking restlessly at the edge of the woods, trying to tuck her hair back into its fraying braid.

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....What the devil's a viagr-star?

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She's outside -- has been more or less constantly outside, since the weather began to allow -- sitting cross-legged on the grass, bent over the skirt she's hemming.  It is evident, by the faint scowl and not-so-faint "ows", that mending is not her forte.

Greed:Very Low

Gluttony:Medium

Wrath:Very High

Sloth:Very Low

Envy:Very Low

Lust:High

Pride:Low

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Yes, I'm awful, I am. (amused)

Sun pours down, the air is clear and mild, and Rosana is outside, leaning against a tree, half-drowsing.

Rosana is wandering down by the margin of the lake, breaking off dead reeds as she goes and crumbling them between her fingers. She's found herself an extra petticoat somewhere, and, much grudged, a pair of boots; she's also braided her hair back, for all the good it does.

(not in the main room, where there is neither room to move nor peace to think -- nor in the bedroom, which is entirely too white and frilled and circumscribed -- nor yet in the library, surrounded by conspicuous knowledge ( Read more... )