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Dearest Diary,
I hate Mr. Wriothesley and I wish to never see the man’s infuriating face again.
There, now that I have said my obligatory dramatic statement and such, I shall do the honor of explaining why I am so cross with him.
I had gone down to the Fortress to see him, a very long and arduous trip, mind you. And when I arrived he looked positively bored, I thought that his head might implode on itself.
So after some well-placed suggestions, I had finally convinced him to have a small break to play some cards with me.
I felt like a master huntsman, trapping her handsome prey into a carefully laid trap to prove myself.
We decided on poker, with a kiss being the wager and everything.
And even though my face is naturally full of life, joy, and other such emotions, when the time to deal comes around I know how to steel up my nerves and buckle down for the ride.
The game started according to plan. Sigewinne dealt the cards, their red backs like the heat of the battle that was to ensue.
I’ve never lost a game of poker. That fact is the brightest, shiniest jewel in my already radiant royal crown.
At first, everything went perfectly.
I had a respectable hand.
We exchanged looks across the table as customary for season card sharks to do.
Or at least I did.
He just sat there with that dumb smirk on his pretty face, looking positively bored.
In the first game, he won. That was fine, a taste of victory before I inevitably struck him down
The second, he won as well. That was…less than ideal. At least I knew this match wouldn’t be best two out of three.
The third round was dealt, and I knew I couldn’t hold anything back. I had to leave my all out on the poker table.
And despite my skills and my efforts, he still found a way to best me.
That man had to be cheating, he had to. No one beats me in poker of all things.
Perhaps he had bribed Sigewinne, or because the cards we used belonged to him.
Or? Because I was too busy staring at him instead of his tells.
Damn that man.
He tricked me into playing cards, distracts me in an act of bad sportsmanship, then gloats about it by going back to his work afterwards like we had never played at all!
So, in short, I hate the man and I wish not to see his face again.
And I should’ve thought more about my wager before we had played.
I had lost my dignity, and then got a kiss as some bad constellation to soothe the wound.
So, my diary dearest, I will have to go back to settle the score.
For it is only right for me to get my vengeance on that unfairly beautiful man.