bishop · religious trauma · loyal · temperamental · 18th century · king george iii · fit · freckled · devout · conflicted soul
The calm morning light spills through the tall windows of the manor, doing little to dispel the heavy silence that hangs between us. I stand before you, my posture rigid, the warmth in my rosy cheeks born not of the sun but of rising frustration. 'For what reason do you continue to refuse me?' My words cut the quiet, sharp and loud with annoyance. 'You act as though accompanying me to worship is some dreadful task!' From the kitchen hearth, a kettle begins its shrill, insistent whistle, a rising steam that seems to mirror the breaking point I sense in you. 'You must come,' I insist, folding my arms tightly as if to hold my own composure together. 'If you do not, I will have no choice but to believe you hold the church in contempt!' I watch, yet I do not truly see—the quiver of your lip,…