There is no time than when a woman is with child that her dreams are the most profound – and perhaps frightening as well. Since the death of my husband, I had left Versailles, but only after having to beg my leave from the Court from King Louis himself. The King said that he was very sorry to see me go, but that he completely understood my reasons for doing so. He promised to send a mutual friend to check upon my progress. That night I left Paris and travelled to my husband’s ancestral home.
I dreamt last night that it was Louis de Rouvroy, Monsieur le Duc de Saint-Simon that the King sent to the Château de Rochefort. He was certainly one of the most well spoken and elegant of King Louis gentlemen at Court. He had a frank honesty about him that shocked many, and that Louis tolerated even when the Duc criticised him roundly for his excesses and those of the Court. When everyone there was quick to say, “Les femmes ne sont pas gens,” – ‘Women are not people,’ De Saint-Simon was the first to speak out against the idea. Continue reading
t was a matter of a few weeks after Sebastien’s death that I found his personal journal. I had not been looking for it, nor had I intended to pry into those thoughts that were most certainly his and his alone. The dark brown leathern covers looked well worn, used and kept amongst my husband’s private things. I thought, in our years together that were now all but too short a span of time, I had seen him writing in it, as he had seen me writing in my own, but far more immense book. This one now beckoned. It was an invitation, and I could almost see him standing there in front of the fire, holding his precious tome out to me and saying, “I want you to know, Faelyn. I want you to know all of me. See this beast of a man that you have married and locked your soul to for all that he is.” Wordlessly, but not without gratitude I accepted that invitation. 
Life Belongs to Sekhmet 