maidservant without a place, of Kuttenberg
“I just want to lie quietly in the dark. Let the world carry on without me, I have no use for it anymore.”
Things Mandelina had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the eve of St George, at None
Ottilie keeps fussing over me, wanting someone to look in three times a day. I wish she would just bring me a jug of ale instead of water. But it's somewhat kind of her, I suppose. I just want to slip away and find my mother Margaret.
Nota scribaeShe coughed wetly throughout, and was swaying where she sat on her straw mattress.
the Monday of Easter week, at Terce
My ribs feel shattered. I stumbled on those rotten cellar steps yesterday in the pitch black and fell hard. My skin is burning up and I cannot keep any food down. Kunz is to blame, he never fixes the thatch and the rain makes those stairs slick as ice.
the Friday before Palm Sunday, at Vespers
Ellen Brook keeps pestering me to carry a letter out of town for her. I can barely walk across the room without my chest rattling, let alone march down the road. I wish she would find some strong lad to run her errands and leave me in peace.
I only asked because you used to be on your feet all day at the tavern! I'll find someone else if you're truly that ill.
She's sick, Ellen. Let the poor girl rest.
Nota scribaeThe woman was shivering so badly she could barely dictate the words.
the third Sunday of Lent, at Compline
My head is throbbing worse than ever today. Clemence and Ursel have been fighting endlessly over a bone needle. The noise bounces right off these damp cellar walls. I tried to drink to silence it, but the dregs only made me sick again.
the Tuesday after Ash Wednesday, at Prime
They let me go from the tavern. Said I kept dropping the jugs. My hands just wouldn't stop shaking, and sweeping the floor felt like moving mountains. I have no groschen left, so I suppose I will just lie here until the end. Up in heaven my mother Margaret is waiting.
Don't speak like that. We can share my bread today.
Your mother was a good woman who worked hard. She wouldn't want you giving up so easily.
Nota scribaeDictated in the cellar. The air smelled of sour ale and sickness.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You need water and broth, Mandelina, not more ale to rot your gut. I'll be back at Vespers.
Tell her to bring another blanket while she's at it, the draft from Kunz's roof is freezing us all.