The Dutchess behind the curtain.
Point of view: the Dutchess.
As I hang here on the wall, after being painted by the hands of Pandolf, tucked away behind a curtain I am trying my hardest not to be feeling awfully alone. Reminiscing though is hard to avoid, so I try to remember the good times, most of the time.
The years went by so fast and I never got to experience life to the fullest, with the man I loved, the Duke. I was a beautiful woman with a special glow, I was told, and that was what ended my life. My husband the Duke always felt I had a heart that was too soon made glad and that I was to easily impressed by everyone I looked upon. I was fascinated by other people, but I never, till the end loved anyone else but the Duke. He did not share my fascination and would sometimes end up him showing a glimpse of jealousy, which I should have reacted upon instead of letting it slide. The Duke never thought I cared much for his nine-hundred-year-old-name, because I was friendly towards other men and he was right, it was not his name I fell in love with, but him with or without his title. He believed he was to proud to stoop for such trifling, but today my portrait is covered with a curtain so only I can smile for him, whenever he walks past the portrait of me he had painted before he sent me away. He was different from other men I had ever met and that was what I fell for, but time changes people for better or for worse. Even though, I know he loved me otherwise I would not still be in his life and in spite of everything I will love him forever even though he ended my life and as long as he looks at me I will smile my prettiest smile and the feeling of loneliness will disappear for a moment.
This is a somewhat pathetic Duchess you draw here, one that is almost grateful for having been killed and objectified. She is interesting as an almost masochistic female character, except that she is a little too Goody-Two-Shoes...
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