The silence beyond the window 😔

March 6th, 1864 – Charleston, South Carolina

The wind whispered through the rose-laced curtains of the Ashmore estate, carrying with it a scent of coming rain. Miss Evelyn Ashmore, a girl of seventeen, sat quietly at her oak writing desk, gazing out of the towering window. Her golden gown fell around her like spilled honey, but her heart was heavy, a prisoner beneath the silk and lace.

Evelyn was born into opulence. The Ashmores were among the oldest and wealthiest families in the Carolinas, their name echoing through parlors and ballrooms. Her mother, Lady Clarissa, was a vision of grace and iron-willed decorum. Her father, Sir Reginald Ashmore, believed emotion was a flaw best buried under polished shoes and fine china.

But Evelyn was not like them.

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April 19th, 1864

Evelyn filled the pages of her hidden journal with verses she dared not speak aloud. Poetry bled from her soul like ink onto parchment. She dreamed not of ballrooms, nor of marrying some well-named suitor, but of walking barefoot in fields, of listening to her thoughts without fear of judgment.

“My dear, the Wentworth boy is fond of you,” Lady Clarissa had said over breakfast, her voice firm behind her porcelain teacup.

Evelyn smiled politely, but her insides twisted. The Wentworth boy knew nothing of her sadness, her yearning, her silent screams.

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June 2nd, 1864

A thunderstorm shook the valley. Evelyn sat at the same window, clutching her mother’s letter. It was an invitation to a summer gala in Savannah, where her debut was to be announced.

“It is time you embraced your duty, child,” Sir Reginald had told her. “You were not born for peace. You were born for presence.”

Tears streamed silently down Evelyn’s cheeks as she looked out into the storm. Somewhere in that darkness was the life she wanted: quiet, free, honest.

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July 14th, 1864

The house swelled with guests in silk gloves and powdered faces. Evelyn’s dress clung to her like chains. She danced and smiled, even as her lungs struggled for air beneath the corset.

When the music ended, she slipped away—not to her chambers, but to the stables. The only creature who understood her pain was her old mare, Selene. She brushed her gently, whispering into her ear the same words she had written in her journal the night before:

“I must leave, or I will die here.”

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August 1st, 1864 – The Escape

Before dawn, Evelyn took only her journal, a small pouch of coins, and Selene. She wore a plain brown cloak over her dress, and with a final look at the tall windows of her royal prison, she rode off into the mist.

She didn’t know where the road led. She didn’t need to.

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October 23rd, 1864 – A Cabin by the River

She found it deep in the woods—an abandoned cabin by a stream. She cleaned it, repaired the roof, and made it her own. She wrote by candlelight. She learned to fish. She sang to the moon.

For the first time in her life, Evelyn Ashmore breathed.

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November 9th, 1864

In the distance, the war raged on. But Evelyn’s heart began to mend. Her skin bore the sun’s kiss, her hands were rough with work, but her soul… her soul was still, and joyful.

She no longer needed the Ashmore name. She was Evelyn, simply Evelyn, the girl who chose peace over pearls.

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Final Entry – December 12th, 1864

"They will never understand why I left. But I do. I was not made to be a doll on display. I was made to feel the wind, to write the pain, to live as I choose. That, to me, is the finest royalty of all."

......................Afia khan