merchant's daughter and bookkeeper, of Kuttenberg
“I am a prisoner to groschen and fine linen, weeping for a love I am denied.”
Things Adela Gold had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the eve of Saint Urban, at Vespers
Aunt Matilda followed me to the well today, two paces behind me like a hound. I whispered to the other women to take a message to Casper, but they are all too frightened of my mother. My heart is a bird in a cage, and I fear he will forget me and marry a dyer's daughter.
Nota scribaeShe sighed three times while saying this.
the Thursday after Easter, at None
I saw Isabel hiding something beneath her floorboards today. Coin, I wager. She is planning to run away, and oh, how I envy her courage! If only I had the nerve to walk out that door and find my journeyman. But I am too weak.
You saw nothing of the sort, Adela. Keep your dramatic tales to yourself.
the Tuesday before Palm Sunday, at Terce
Barbara and Anna are squabbling over garden dirt again. How can anyone care about property and mud when there is so much true suffering in the world? Groschen are just chains that bind us. I would trade every heavy chest in this room for one hour at the manufactory gates.
It is my dirt, and she took it. You would care too if you ever worked a garden instead of just staring out a window.
Let her weep over her weaver, Barbara. She knows nothing of real work.
the feast of Saint Gregory, at Prime
My mother caught me speaking to Casper by the gates. She did not even shout. She only said that one more word to him and I will be thrown into the street in my shift to freeze. My life is a tragedy written in ledgers. I am utterly undone.
The ledgers are not yet tallied, Adela. Wipe your eyes and finish the columns.
They lock the doors here from dawn till curfew anyway. I am sorry, Adela.
Nota scribaeThe girl was weeping so hard she ruined my ink.
Candlemas, at Compline
I sit here mending my mother's fine linen until my eyes cross, dreaming of the weaver who holds my heart. The whole town thinks I am the luckiest girl in Kuttenberg because of my dress. They do not know the sorrow of a noble soul trapped by iron and wealth.
If you do not want the dress, I will gladly take it. I need brass thimbles, not tears.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I know how it feels to have a jailer in your own home. Stay strong, Adela.
I heard every word you whispered at that well. Do not test your mother's patience.