Better I say it not. If one of the sisters finds my scribbling, and it has no name on it, I can widen my eyes and say, 

I don’t know how that got there! Whoever could have written such things?

 But if my name is upon it, that would be terrible, no?

I would be in trouble, because I stole the parchment to write on, and Stealing is a Sin.

It wouldn’t matter that I wanted only to practise my letters.

 want to practise my letters… but I want so much 

I want real porridge, not the thin gruel they serve here. I want warm, fresh bread with butter or cheese. I want meat! Pastries and sweets! I want a hole not to be gnawing in my belly. I want to be soft in her arms, not bony and old already like the Sisters.

I want a cushion under my knees at prayers.

I want a softer bed to lay in, and a room without a draught. 

I want to wear something bright! And Satin-sweet against my skin! Beautifully made, and perfect for dancing in. (I want to dance.) Not this dull, rough habit. I want to bare my collarbones, and wear my hair uncovered. And I would like some men to look at it, admire its shine, and want to touch it. But then I want to smile at them, and dance away.

I want to look up at the sky and not feel like it ends where these stone walls do. I want to feel in my soul how it stretches to the end of the earth, and I want to laugh and follow it, and find her there.

I want… I want to write down my thoughts, so they don’t send me mad. The Sisters would tell me to pray, but God doesn’t absorb the spill of my heart like the parchment does. Perhaps it is because I am Wicked, but I think my prayers bounce off his feet. They never reach his heart. Echoing back to me, they make me feel madder than ever.

I think I will be in trouble for writing about God. They will say it is blasphemy, or that a woman should never.

There are so many rules that don’t make sense, and so many Shouldn’ts for women. I feel tied up by them. I feel freer now. Writing it down. Is it madness, then? Or is the writing just my own prayer?

This is what I want: I want to write to someone I love.  

I want her to smile when she sees my writing. I want her to know my hand, and her eyes light up with the knowing, but also to look in wonder at how much better it is. How it flows, even and sure, on the page. I want her to know me more sophisticated than last she saw me.

I want her never to tire of me. I will surely never tire of her. How could I? She is… Oh she is all the things I love and want and admire! She is dauntless. She always knows just what to say, or what to do. Nothing stops her, or frightens her. She barely thinks, the right things just flow from her, and my heart nods and says, 

. When people say she is like to a man, her eyes flash, and she laughs. She is 

 like a man. She is more beautiful than any man I ever saw, and braver too.

How can it be bad to love? I think we are supposed to believe it is always bad for a woman to love. She is supposed to submit to her husband’s love, or to Jesus’. But I don’t believe that. I think if it were true, my heart would not ache so fiercely the opposite way.

Bad enough for a woman to love at all, except the pure love she has for her children, and the obedient surrender to the man she is given to… Worse if she gives her love to another woman.

It doesn’t feel wicked. It is love, so it is God, so how can it be Wicked?

Father and Mother said it was, and so! They sent me here. To this dry and chilly place. All stone and edges, and prayers without cushions. Where the wind sighs, but never changes. Where God is, but Love is not. And definitely not this love.

Only the chilly Love you can get from God or Jesus, or someone in Heaven. Cold light and a lonely bed. Not the kind of love that is heavy and warm in your skin, like honey. The sort that feels too delicious to be real, but it 

 real, and you can feel it humming in every part of you.

I want to find a way to write to her, so she doesn’t forget me. I want her to know I think of her all the time. 

 her! I want to look up and see her in the doorway, every line of her daring and prepared, and a smile waiting behind her eyes. I want to be unsurprised by the way she wears her hat, and the way she looks over her shoulder, and the way she rides her horse too fast. I want her to know the sun is in my blood when she is near. I feel brave. Braver, at least. Older. Surer. Cleverer. I feel like the person she thinks I am. I ride ever closer to being that person (faster, oh yes, faster!) It feels so wonderful, I could laugh at nothing.

Thank you for reading! Comments, reciprocation, etc, etc, SEE YOU TOMORROW! 

Thou Shalt Not Love

AKA, "A Woman Should Always Never", AKA, "How Do You Write A Sigh?" Day 4, Story #4, Tuesday 15th April and I very nearly missed it because the site was down AGAIN

My name is… 



Better I say it not. If one of the sisters finds my scribbling, and it has no name on it, I can widen my eyes and say, I don’t know how that got there! Whoever could have written such things? But if my name is upon it, that would be terrible, no?



Thou Shalt Not Love

AKA, "A Woman Should Always Never", AKA, "How Do You Write A Sigh?" Day 4, Story #4, Tuesday 15th April and I very nearly missed it because the site was down AGAIN

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Thou Shalt Not Love

AKA, "A Woman Should Always Never", AKA, "How Do You Write A Sigh?" Day 4, Story #4, Tuesday 15th April and I very nearly missed it because the site was down AGAIN

This is an Exclusive Story for supporters of .css-13w9qce-Text{display:inline-block;color:var(--text-accent);}L.C. Schäfer

About the Creator

L.C. Schäfer

Comments (10)

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Naked Truth

This is an Exclusive Story for supporters of L.C. Schäfer