[Bookish Note: Bookish Miss is writing a story on Twitter. Yep, one tweet per day ’til it’s complete. It’s been interesting to see the response, but it occurred to me it would be nice to see how it all fits together. So, each Sunday there will be a #storycontinues roundup here at Foolscap & Ink, with that week’s tweets all in one place. Fair warning — original tweets may have minor edits for better readability.]
Most old southern families have a few skeletons in the closet. We’ve got a goddamn graveyard behind the overcoats.
Metaphorically speaking, of course. The family graveyard is down below the lower forty. Secrets, on the other hand, well, secrets tend to pile up like manure, but unlike manure it’s no use spreading them around — so they turn into dust bunnies. Then the secrets turned dust bunnies accumulate over time and become skeletons in the closet.
Oops, sorry, tangent.
Like I said at the beginning, we’ve a graveyard’s worth of skeletons in our closet. Why that is, no one really knows. We Berengars aren’t the wealthiest family around, but we’re not poor white trash either. We’ve land a plenty, some money … Maybe it’s our longevity. We do tend to live a long time, you see, and we’ve held on to this land for over 300 years now. I suppose, after that much time, it’s inevitable that a family would have some secrets piled up somewhere.