My free time is spent searching great halls and corridors for entertainment.

A dropped coin, a petrified mouse, an empty bottle of port. Anything with a story. Anything until my husband summons me. Poor Aldous, everything changed when a dreadful car crash took his leg. He rarely strayed from his typewriter after that, leaving me chasing errands and making excuses. This led to his first publication, bringing us freedom from debt and a perfect wedding. When he lost his right eye, my husband closed the door of his study. I tended to him for what seemed like an eternity, until one day people were cooking my dinner. During this period I taught myself to ignore his glass eye and always smile. Supported by a replacement limb, Aldous eventually re-emerged. He was very generous to the servants. At less formal occasions he would talk to them like friends. After a heart attack put him in a coma, the most loyal remained by his bedside and played a crucial role in his recovery. When Aldous returned to us it was clear the pacemaker had installed significant changes in him. From that day onwards he not only ceased travelling by car, but never again met anyones gaze. [Empty rows inserted for easier reading of comments]

Kommentar [JS1]: I wish this could be referenced in some way, later in the story.

Kommentar [JS2]: What? How?

Kommentar [JS3]: I feel I need some kind of justification in the story as to why poor Aldous cant ever catch a break. Kommentar [JS4]: In what way? He was in a coma. I dont think any path to recovery is known some people wake up, some dont. Kommentar [JS5]: I would like some more justification within the story for this. Pacemakers keep your heart rhythm, and as far as I know they never affect the brain/mind. Kommentar [JS6]: I hadnt even understood that he was moving about so freely. I still thought he preferred to stay close to his typewriter.

Servant bonuses diminished then vanished, and many jobs were lost over abhorrence. My husbands reforms brought more wealth but also change. I became subject to regular inspections, and would join him during meetings of unfathomable vocabulary. At night, cold precision replaced the passion that once captured my heart. [Empty rows inserted for easier reading of comments]

Kommentar [JS7]: Do you mean that the servants quit because they are angry? Im not sure you are phrasing this as well as you could. Kommentar [JS8]: This seems to imply that the changes were bad, but its not completely clear. Changes have kind of a positive spin many times, dont you think? Kommentar [JS9]: Not sure you are using the word vocabulary in the best way here. I for one have no idea what this says about the meetings. Kommentar [JS10]: I kind of like this, but it sounds like it is the wife who now, in her heart, feels cold precision instead of passion. Im thinking you mean to say that it is the husband who is expressing this cold precision. Kommentar [JS11]: More disease, after all weve already gone through. Really? Kommentar [JS12]: Probably some kind of sexual innuendo, but Im stupid, I dont get it. Kommentar [JS13]: What does it mean for a summer to diminish?

When cancer took from us the only connection we shared, I became his sculpture. I never saw an expression on his face after that. Not during debates, staff discipline, or when I was commanded to undress. It became impossible to tell one eye from the other. Each summer diminishes quicker than its predecessor, and now our only interactions occur within meetings. My presence is but a tradition. Aeons have passed since I had an effect on my husbands decisions, yet I witness every one. The garden rolls on for what seems like forever; the jewels lie heavy on my breast. I turn from the glass and wander under great portraits of men where my footsteps are loud but meaningless. Somewhere in the distance a bugle demands my attention.