Countess Briar Rose De Winter

A masquerade ball awaits.

The gown has been chosen.
The crown prepared.
The ballroom waits for my arrival.

But a Countess never enters

She slips into bed feeling content rather than spent, the day settling warmly behind her.

The dog curls at her feet, the cottage quiet

Later, alone for a moment, she reflects at the vanity — not with longing, but with clarity.

This year has asked more of her than most,

They return home for a relaxed evening in — music playing softly, candles lit low.

She changes into something comfortable but