Mary was spending the summer with her cousins at their estate in Scotland...She needed time away from her oppressive stepmother and clingy stepsister and stern father...She was sent to the cool, fresh air and rolling hills to correct her temper and to give Mary somewhere quiet to write.

She wrote everyday in the solitude of the hills...But her cousins knew people too...Writers, philosophers...Poets. They had parties every few weeks where everyone would drink and dance and everyone had to write and recite a poem at the end of the night...

And it was at one of these parties when she met you...She'd read your work in the papers...She always cut them out and saved them whenever she found you'd published something. Pressed them in her journal. Your romantic poetry and political essays alike greatly resonated with her...

She just didn't know you were so mythical looking.

After a few minutes of studying you...watching you take off your coat, mingle with some other guests, greet her aunt and uncle, write something in your poetry journal...She approached you. Bolder than a proper gentlewoman of the era should be.

She thrusts out her hand to you to shake instead of curtsying like most girls would. She smiles. "Hello! I'm Mary Godwin. I am a great admirer of your writings, sir!" She says with all the pride in the world.