Yvanne stood on the bridge near Skipton Manor, sunk in a miserable reverie, staring at her soft shoes. She’d been doing that a lot, lately. It had got to be a habit and she desperately wanted to move on. The pain of unrequited love had dulled to a faint background ache. She barely thought of it anymore, but it was there because…well, because she had nothing to take its place.
This is so undignified. I am a courtfolk lady. Courtfolk ladies do not mope over men who are betrothed to other ladies.She tore her mind away and tried to remember where she was going, and why.