Putting my pencil down to write has proven to be more difficult with each passing day. The creativity and inspiration has been drawn out of me like a tub with the drain pulled. The Duchesses aren’t going to be pleased with me. My pleas aren’t going to convince them much longer. When they had offered me a position on their counsel, I had thought they meant a position of power and wealth; not a position that with each passing moment, drives me to insanity. When the Seven Duchesses had found me, I was face down in the shallow parts of the surrounding waters; broken, bloody, and bruised. The evidence of creativity that occupy every being, and presents itself through different color and swirls had almost completely left me. The usually dashing shades of purples and pinks were beginning to appear dull and lifeless. Only once they had brought me back to the fortress did my colors start returning. They told me they could heal my dying body if I would serve them for a time. I was shocked at receiving this offer. I had only heard stories about those who were lucky enough to receive a bout of kindness from the Duchesses. I agreed without even hearing them out. What they did explain to me was this; I would be healed immediately. Restored to my former glory, I would then be able to serve them at my highest performance. If I failed to please them, my injuries would begin to return, until I was brought back to pain, suffering, and death. All I had to do, was write. Write a story with an intriguing beginning, a captivating middle, and a twist ending. Something that when read, made you thirsty for more. I was born with the gift to write, and was told by my mistresses that the gods had given me this gift personally. I began to become prideful and boastful when I realized I truly was a unique being, quite unlike the rest.