Eleanor Fontaine adjusted her grip on the hilt of her fencing sword, her eyes narrowing as she focused on the target ahead. The makeshift dummy, a burlap sack stuffed with hay, bore the marks of previous bouts, each slash and puncture a testament to her determination. With a swift, fluid motion, she lunged forward, the blade slicing through the air with precision.
Her father’s voice echoed in her mind, a reminder of the expectations she continuously defied. “A lady must be demure, Eleanor. Reserve your energies for more appropriate endeavors.” Yet, the thrill of the duel, even against an inanimate opponent, stirred her blood in ways embroidery never could.
As she caught her breath, Eleanor's thoughts wandered to the bustling streets of London, where she had overheard merchants discussing the latest philosophical treatises and scientific discoveries. The Enlightenment was sweeping through Europe, and Eleanor yearned to be a part of it, not merely a spectator.
The sound of hooves on gravel pulled her from her reverie and she sees you.