Why I Stopped Working and Started Absconding with the Duke’s Eldest Son
Why I Stopped Working and Started Absconding with the Duke’s Eldest Son
Abscond once, shame on me. Abscond twice, shame on thee. Abscond thrice…
‘Tis hard for a lady to make a name for herself in this modern Kingdom of ours, what with ye olde patriarchy and most things being illegal for womyn and all that. We work so hard to getteth ahead, and yet we oft come away with naught to show for our efforts. This is especially true if, like mineself, thou art a lowly peasant wench with a tight waist and a hefty bosom but not a speck of noble blood with which to plight one’s troth.
That’s why I decided to put an end to this madness and make a change. And thou cannest, too!
Ladies: It’s tyme to stop working and start absconding with the Duke’s eldest son.
Before I absconded, I thought the only way to become betrothed to a wealthy, high-ranking nobleman with many estates in desirable climes was to be a fair princess with a smooth nape and a considerable dowry. Turns out such thoughts were mere folly. There are much easier ways into the Duke’s son’s castle’s keep.
‘Tis as the sages say:
Abscond once, shame on me.
Abscond twice, shame on thee.
Abscond thrice, lure the future Duke into a seductive lady trap whence his heart (and his loins) shan’t e’er escape.
It’s so easy that even a lowly peasantess can do it, so long as she’s fit.
E’er since I began absconding, mine entire lyfe has changed before mine eyes. I’m happier, healthier, wealthy, and wise. I’ve hung up my drab tunic for a silken gown; traded in my battered, uncomfortable shoes for shoes that are just as uncomfortable but way more expensive. And I wouldn’t be caught dead doing physical labour unless said labour was absconding-related or hunting.
I was so burned out as a peasant wench, so tired of the daily grind. It took everything I could muster just to wake up each morning and birth another child who would inevitably die young of ill humours, before he ever got the chance to grow up to be a man and die in war. Some gyrls prefer the peasant lyfe, they prefer the mindless predictability of warshing clothes in the stream then apathetically stirring the same pot of stew o’er and o’er again til they die.
But such a lyfe, ‘twasn’t for me.
Ever since I absconded with the Duke-to-be, using my lithe body to subtly manipulate him into loving me, I feel as if I’ve been born anew.
Oh! how we escape to the meadow without a care in the world for our fathers’ remonstrances that such a relationship will cause an upheaval in the delicate social structure of the fief! I recall with longing the first tyme he offered to have the enemies of my youth flogged on a whim for my love! There’s also some pretty goode hand stuff.
If thou dost feel like I did, burnt out and tired of the peasant gyrl grind, I beseech thee to get out there and start absconding with the Duke’s eldest son today! (Just pick a different Duke, because if I see thee with my man, this bytch ist apt to get bestraught.)
In other news:
The Royal Executioner hath once again thrown a perfect game. He would like to thank the fans for coming out to Chop-Chop Square to show their support, and the opposing players for having such tender necks.
There beeth some new products available in Ye Olde Tyme Shoppe, for the coin-endowed amongst thee. I plan on adding more in ye future. Thou cannest check them out here.
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