M'lady's hands are soft and danty, pale and fair, clean and unblemished, regal and proud, just as ... a White Rose. They are nothing like mine... sharp and bulky, callused and dry, tanned and dirty, common and rough... so what am I? At first I believed that if she were a rose that would make me a weed, common and nameless, the type that grows everywhere but now I grow uncertain am I really just a weed?

  We live under the same roof, I the servant and she the lady, yet it seems she has never had a paper cut for she has never valued paper half as much as I. Tired of brown nosing into the night, I sought out more knowledge and started teaching myself between shifts thus becaming one of the few literate servants though few would know.

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  Coveting books like a dragon it's hoard, by searching out any I could get my hands on, I've read through the libraury and M'lord's study (though I technicly wasn't allowed to). M'lord is very wise and articulate, yet he seems to believe that the word 'CONFIDENTAL' is written in red capital letters can really protect the wayward documents sprawled out over the desk from 'prying eyes'.