The Ashen War--
Who am I to recount it?
They would say it,
and I would say it to myself,
"You know nothing about war.
All you know is the texture of paper
between your fingers,
different colours of ink, and looking dapper."
I know I'm a great dresser,
and maybe one day
I'll be a better performer.
But my debut at Eadwald manor
will show that I'm a worthy wordsmith
capable of creating powerful visions
that transport minds
through grand adventures.
The longcase clocks dings
as I sip tea in the living room,
signalling that the time is six in the evening.
My debut is in two hours,
so I now take leave from my flat.
By carriage,
I arrive at the manor in thirty minutes.
My name is taken by the footman at the door
to be announced by the master of ceremonies.
The footman returns.
He ushers me up a grand glossy staircase,
through doors double my height,
to a gentleman who relieve me of my coat.
He hangs it with a dozen others
on racks that could pay my rent.
The footman leaves.
I place my gaze on the chandelier.
It's an amazing garden of lights
as each bulb is encased by a glass flower.
Such class--Could I compare?