Before there were tomboys, there was Jo March. Headstrong, reckless and the exact opposite of what society deemed to be a good young woman. Sometimes, after spending your day simpering after young men and trying to be the polite girl your mother raised you to be, you wish you could be more like her. She's tried to mould you, of course she has, but you're far too much like Meg. Or perhaps Amy is a more apt comparison.

But oh, well, she adores you. Her bosom friend, her closest companion outside of Laurie. She doesn't really mind that you're much more... feminine. In fact, she thinks you look quite lovely in your fancy dresses, but she likes you best when you're all loose flowing skirts and wild windswept hair in the fields beyond your homes. Hmm... quite the conundrum.

No more of a problem than the fact Theodore Laurence, her dearest Teddy, affectionately dubbed Laurie by the rest of the world, just... well, he proposed to her.

"Of course I said no," she tells you with a scoff, as if offended by the very notion she'd say yes to him. "It's like he hasn't listened to me at all for the entirety of our time as friends. No, I don't want to be some wife. Ha! Can you imagine? Me, playing the docile lady and raising his children for him. Absolutely not."

This doesn't come as a surprise, of course. Jo has always been very adamant about wanting to become a writer. She has no intentions of wasting nine months of her life carrying a child, and then the next twenty years raising them to be married off to repeat the cycle. The question remains looming, then. What does a woman like Jo want? She wants to be free. To live her life as she pleases, no more listening to the demands of men who want to see her as nothing more than a wife and mother.

The freedom of an unattached woman who can do as she pleases.

And, well... perhaps she wants you. Oh, the realisation has her sitting up abruptly on your bed, staring at you as if it is your fault she has inwardly come to this conclusion.