I am ten (and a bit) years old. Right now, I’m trying to remember everything I can about the government and stuff. First of all, this isn’t England or Britain but Anglia. It’s basically England. There’s no Scotland or Ireland (literally, the map is different), and the Cornwall and Devon bit is moved up to where Wales would be, and then it’s all squashed into a more square shape. There are quite a few extra isles in the north and north-west, which are together called the Celtic Islands, but they’re still a part of Anglia.

Anyway, there is an actual government with ministers and stuff, which is headed by the king himself. He owns some land, but most of the land is owned by the dukes. There’s twenty-nine dukes and the counties are mostly named after them. Every fifty years, a census is carried out and the counties are adjusted so they each have about the same population—nearly a hundred thousand each these days.

The counts also own land and are directly under the king. Usually, they own military ports, or important mines, so the government has more control over them. Some counts are used to balance the populations of the counties better since they don’t fall under a duke.

Cities bigger than ten thousand people become a “Crown City”, which means they’re run by a lord mayor and report directly to the king.

While the king, dukes and counts own all the land, it’s too vast to manage themselves, so they have a special, inheritable “lease in perpetuity” with various upper-class families, who are called barons. Even if the actual owner of the land changes, the lease continues. Really, the only way to lose the lease is the family line ending, or going full-on bankrupt, or something like treason.

Everything’s pretty delegated. The dukes and counts set the taxes for their lands, and the barons collect it (keeping some for themselves). The government also takes a cut, but that’s after things like schools and hospitals and churches are paid for. Then the government pays for all the official army stuff and large-scale roads and anything that’s bigger than a single county.

I’m not really sure, but I think it’s a bit like how the United States was on a smaller scale.

Now, this is getting really boring. I mean, it was at the beginning as well, but I’m trying to distract myself. That’s because my older sister and mother have been celebrating that I am “becoming a woman” and it’s very… noisy.

I sort of hoped it wouldn’t happen, because it’s been so nice not worrying about periods. But I’m not embarrassed about it, really, just that it feels awkward having a maid wash my clothes and sheets. As Ellie, I’d been doing my own washing for years, so this kind of unwelcome surprise wasn’t a big deal.

Honestly, the biggest problem is a lack of ice cream.

The cramps aren’t too bad, probably, I think. Ellie was on birth control to help with hers, so I know mine could be a lot worse. As long as I stay still, it’s only uncomfortably painful and not, like, wincing and groaning painful.

It wouldn’t bother me at all, but the second biggest problem is not being able to escape my sister.

“Oh mother, she’ll be bringing home a boyfriend next, and then she’ll be married and have children of her own,” Clarice says.

She’s nearly thirteen and will heading to a boarding school next year, so she has made sure to take every opportunity possible to tease me. That said, she told me her first period came when she was eleven, which is a bit reassuring. I know ten is kinda early, but, if it’s genetic, then it should be fine.

Ellie was also an early bloomer, though, so I’ve been thinking a lot about those early teenage years. Well, I say teenage, but the horrible stuff started when she was twelve.

“I don’t want a boyfriend,” I grumble. Boys are too much trouble. Violet is still my only friend, and I’ve only seen her a few times since we met; I’d just hate it if a boy got between us.

“Do you hear that, mother? Isn’t she so sweet and pure? No wonder father dotes on her,” Clarice says, humour in her tone.

My mother softly laughs, hand over her mouth. “Clara, dear, you shouldn’t tease her too much. What is it I tell you?”

“If she becomes used to it, we shall lose our valuable entertainment,” Clarice says, as though reciting it.

My mother clicks her tongue, and she taps Clarice on the forehead as a mild reprimand. “I have never said such a thing,” she says, more to me than my sister.

“Of course, mother,” I say.

She sighs, her hand coming to gently stroke my head. “Who do I have to blame for such impertinent daughters?”

“Yourself,” Clarice and I say together, before looking at each other and giggling.

My mother shows nothing but a good-natured smile at our antics. “You really are growing up fast, my little snowdrop.”

I fidget at the nickname. It was really unpleasant at first, reminding me of the book, but she’s insisted on it over the years and I’ve nearly grown used to it.

“Poor father, every time he comes back from a trip he tells me how sad he is to see how much you’ve grown—both of you. However, do you know what I tell him?” my mother asks, looking between me and Clarice.

We both shake our heads.

She smiles, and it’s as sweet as ice cream. “Of course the flowers bloom when the tree is felled and sunshine falls upon them.” She loves literature, and especially poetry, so she says these sorts of flowery things a lot. They’re a little cheesy, but they always make me smile.

On that note, she ushers my sister out, telling me to get some rest.

I stew in the warm feelings for a bit, then comes the thinking. I remember all the things that went on with Ellie—that was why I said I didn’t want a boyfriend. It’s a little silly, I know, but I’ve decided on that. I mean, I probably can’t ever get a boyfriend because of the nobility stuff. (Never mind snogging, I’m not supposed to hold hands unless we’re engaged.) But what I really mean is that I, like, want nothing to do with them, at all. When I’m older, my mother can pick me out someone nice and I’ll get to know him and see how it goes, but, until then, I just want to make lots of friends.

The busy morning catching up with me, I slip off into a nap. By the time I wake up, I’m feeling mostly better; a little bloated and tender but it’s not sore when I move.

In careful steps, I go to the mirror and look at myself. Snowdrop. My light blonde hair seems to glitter silver in the light, and my pale blue eyes are much the same. Eleanor had skin as white as driven snow, but mine has a touch sun to it, but not really what you would call tanned.

I want to look boring. I’m not going to try to overeat, or let my hair get all knotty, but I’ll wear dull clothes and keep my head down and things like that. If I don’t stand out, the boys won’t look at me. If I don’t stand out, maybe the girls won’t look away from me. It’s scary, thinking things might not change, but I’m not the kind of person to give up before I’ve started.

I chuckle, hugging myself.

Everything was so much easier. I used to think I could do anything. Every year, I get better at thinking I can’t do anything.

A knock on the door distracts me from my thoughts. I shuffle back to my bed and sit on the edge, and I say, “Yes?”

My little brother comes in. “Are you feeling better?”

He’s five, so he has a bit of a lisp and such, but it’s nearly gone. A cute little thing that has been the guest of honour to many of my tea parties in the past few years. I’m not sure what everyone told him, but he probably thinks I’m just sick. “I am now you’re here,” I say.

He giggles.

I don’t really feel like playing, so I tell him to pick out a book and he races to the bookshelf, carefully looking over all the books. Half of them are schoolbooks. Well, what would be schoolbooks if I went to school. The governess is, quite possibly, evil. She has me mostly read for our lessons and then asks me questions about what I read and quickly becomes very annoyed I can’t remember much. However, I do think her complaints are getting through to my parents, so they’ll hopefully lower their expectations.

Joshua eventually brings over an old book of faery tales. They’re a little different to the ones Ellie grew up with, since there’s actual faeries, but it’s the same sort of thing to do with princesses and wicked stepmothers and naughty children dying horrible deaths.

I choose his favourite story: little red riding hood, but it’s a crazy old man instead of a wolf. (There’s only herbivores in this world, so wolves don’t exist.) This change really does make the story a lot more unsettling—at least, for me.

We read together for the hour or so until lunch. Rosie comes to fetch him, and Beth brings me my meal on a tray. A year ago, it would have been Lottie instead of Rosie, but she’s married now and expecting her first child in a few months time. I still miss her, sometimes. I know that’s what happens with maids, but, still, she played the most with me. Every time I see Beth, I think to myself that she’ll probably leave next. Rosie is very pretty, though, so she might beat her to it. Sarah also left two years ago, but she mostly attended to my sister and mother. I’ve not really spent time with the new maids since I’m too old to be babied and I spend half the days with the governess.

That said, Lottie sent a knitted scarf for my last birthday, so I like to think it’s not a one-sided loneliness.

I spend the afternoon lost in thought. My father comes to check on me a little after supper. He doesn’t say anything about my condition or becoming a woman or anything like that, which I very much appreciate. Instead, he strokes my head and mumbly asks me what I’d like to eat for the next couple of days. I ask if ice cream has been invented yet; he says no, but he promises to check when he visits Lundein in a week.

He kisses me on the forehead before he goes, then I’m left to relax for a while.

When the door opens next, I half-expect Lottie to walk through, chiding myself for it right after. It’s Rosie and she has with her a bucket of warm water and a cloth. There are baths, with hot water, but I guess they don’t know I’m feeling better, or maybe I’m not supposed to bath when I’m on my period. (Ellie always showered.) As much as I know about some things, I also hardly know anything. Until they gave me a set of sanitary pad things, I’d completely forgotten that of course there wouldn’t be a box of tampons in the cupboard under the sink.

Rather than cause a fuss, I wipe down most of my body myself, only asking her for help with my back. I wasn’t feverish, but I did get a bit sweaty from lying under the duvet all day.

While I get dressed, she quickly changes the bedding. She then checks if I need anything and subtly inquires how my uterus is doing and then leaves.

It’s strange. As I get older, I feel lonelier. While I have “lost” some people, that has happened before—like the nanny who cared for me when I was a baby. Maybe I was just too childish to feel it back then. Maybe loneliness means different things at different ages. I’m not really good with this sort of thinking to begin with, so it’s hard for me to answer.

All I do know is that, right now, I feel lonely.