25th December (?)
As often as I can, I try coming up with reasons why he shouldn’t marry me. I tried telling him that I am too dull, as I know no poetry and have a dreadful singing voice; I argued that I know nothing of the politics of his world and would surely make a mess of things.
“Your thoughtfulness knows no bounds, my dearest,” he said. “But it’s of no matter to me that you are dull or ignorant, as you mortals do not live very long—one hardly has to turn around to find that you have expired. I intend for you to enjoy the brief time you have in this world, and then I will marry a woman of my stature. You needn’t worry.”
I am growing increasingly desperate. While I don’t know how much time has passed in the mortal realm, I know that my wedding date draws ever closer. Not that the Folk give much attention to dates—they move with the ebb and flow of the seasons. Once all the details are decided, and everything is ready, we will be married, and everything is almost ready.
Folk are gathering from every corner of the king’s realm to witness our nuptials, and the palace rings with laughter and music at all hours of the day and night.
But I have one more idea to try. I wish that I could think of something other than flight—a way of limiting this vicious winter into which he has plunged the land—but the truth is, my mind grows more and more muddled as the days pass. I know that I have to find a way to undo what the king has done—what I have done—but I also know that if I remain here much longer, I will lose myself entirely.
