The Private Journal of Genevieve

Subject: The Private Journal of Genevieve Mon Nov 09, 2009 5:40 am

Within the pages of the large heavy tome, are the daily written records of firstly Princess Eevastasa and later Queen Genevieve, her name changing due to her second marriage. Said book is hidden in a secret location. Only her most trusted lady-in-waiting is aware of its location and has sworn to burn it when Genevieve passes away.

In the first day of the month, in the mid spring of my youth, I begin this record of my short yet eventful life. I am Eevastasa, last and cursed daughter of Jahan III and his queen Kollaka of Kigona. In the time of this writing I am of seven years upon this earth.

Mystenia is the land of my birth and I pray shall not be the land of my death, though my parents would wish it. I am princess by blood and bearing, but in name I have none save "child". That which my master and his servants call me when I am needed.

I will not waste ink with tears and lamentations, begging myself of lesser worth than the paper would afford me. Who am I to write my terrors and fears? Shall they hold me within their arms and comfort me while I am tortured in my lightless box? Alas no... and I will not ask it of them. My destiny is to change, of this I am certain. But it will change through my cunning of mind and will.

One day, as it is prophesied, I shall crush the throne of Mystenia under my boot, by a were command. I shall rule over the green valleys of my forefathers and remove the head of the king, holding it aloft for my glory. It shall come to pass as the stars foretell. And I, a mere child mortal, shall not be able to fight fate, thus I shall welcome it.

Subject: Re: The Private Journal of Genevieve Mon Nov 23, 2009 5:16 am

It is the third day of the seventh month of my ninth year of life.

Today, once again I caused the wraith of my fellows to come down on my insolent head. It is rather difficult to write in the dark, which is where I sit now. I often fear that one day I shall be put into this box and never released, my flesh rotting from my bones to turn to the dust of my forefathers.

Princess Eevastasa shall be no more and not a tear shall be shed at my death. Oh such as my dreams of the future. What other hope shall I hold? I am not dear to my mother or father, they clasping their charms whenever I am mentioned or seen. My brothers spite me, calling me names I shall not repeat. My vain sister, she is too innocent to give me harm, but yet she too despises me.

My master knows not of my imprisonment, and I would wish he never knew. Else his servants should bind my hands and feet to sink me deep within the Avana. They would take my life before they dared anger my master.

Subject: Re: The Private Journal of Genevieve Tue Nov 24, 2009 2:53 am

Today is the fourth day of seventh month of my ninth year of life

Apparently, Moga is afraid of heights, something I am now fully aware of. He really should not have kicked me down the steps though, unless he desired the consequences of his learning to fly. Locked out of the tower for the night, I experience my first true day of freedom. The night air is cool and very frigid. Without my shawl, I walk along the lake and spy the water nymphs playing as the moon light affords them light by which to see.

They are free and so wild. No hand can tame them; no net hold them down. Splashing whilst laughing, unafraid of a leering face to silence their joy. Oh what would I give to be as them. What price would I pay to have their joy and laughter if but for a moment in time.

My master has called my name, curious as to why I "play" out in the cold. My tied tongue dares not utter the true reason, else I am flogged. To my master I smile and return to his tower, laying me down in my soft warm bed beside his. He protects me as best he can and I shall sleep until he does. His snores shall be my undoing as I shall be dragged from my slumber by my assailants. Their pleasure fulfilled I shall spend my night in my box, unable to see the dancing nymphs.

Subject: Re: The Private Journal of Genevieve Wed Nov 25, 2009 8:47 am

Again I take quill in hand, though it be bandaged, to write that it is the sixth day of the seventh month of the ninth year of my life.

I resisted their efforts to place me within the box yesterday and now hold a broken wrist with three broken fingers for my efforts. Foolish of me; foolish. As I grow I learn may things. The first of which is that there is nothing on this earth that cannot be taken and nothing worthy of being sought save life. Life is made of but two choices: taking and not taking. And oh how I long for wisdom...

Cursed life I lead, perhaps you would be better had I never had you. Why you had to choose me of all the other wretched life forms is too deep for me to fathom. Fate it would seem dislikes me. Pray I hope it deeply adores my wrist and fingers and thus enable them to heal, for they hurt awfully.

Subject: Re: The Private Journal of Genevieve Thu Nov 26, 2009 12:57 am

The seventh day of the seventh month of the ninth year of my life.

A robin, frozen and all but dead I found nestled in my master's window. Taking him from the glassy pane and wrapping him within my skirt, I hope to save him. In his feared beady eyes, I see such orphaned pain that I myself am familiar with.

Before a name crests his head, I shall wait two nights to see if he will live. My heart is heavy as it is without adding grief to it. Nothing without a name can harm me...nothing without a soul can rob me of more joy.

The eighth day of the seventh month of the ninth year of my life.

The bird still lives, nameless but no longer shivering. He fears my gentle hand and will attempt to harm it should I touch him. Foolish creature; he like the mortals of earth cannot see who doth attempt to harm him and to whom he owes his life. But in his ignorance he cannot be blamed, unlike we mortals, he has no sense, being without a true mind.

I hold him here in my hand- while he shivers and nips at my wrist. My other hand is yet broken and fate has yet to heal it. My master claims that time is fate's master and I cannot rule it. There is truth in this and I try to remain humble. Pride is a stone over which the weary man with his sins does trip upon, leading to his damnation and ruin.

The bird shall live I hope, for no other reason than that it might picture my own life.

Subject: Re: The Private Journal of Genevieve Fri Nov 27, 2009 3:29 am

The ninth day of the seventh month of the ninth year of my life.

It lives; and I have given it a name. It is of the male gender and thus, Elm has seemed appropriate. I secretly hide him within my pocket, wherever I find myself. Though my master would not frown of the tiny bird, I do not wish Them to kill it. Moga especially, as he seeks ways to harm me, after I nearly drowned him.

Bumbling fool... if ever I was given chance, I should enjoy the sensation of his life ending...

Subject: Re: The Private Journal of Genevieve Sat Nov 28, 2009 9:00 pm

The tenth day of the seventh month of the ninth year of my life.

Elm is trying to flap his tiny wings to escape me, but alas, if he could fly he would not need me, nor would I refuse to allow his passage. My finger against his pounding chest can feel his frantic heart, screaming within him. He is brave though... so terribly noble. His tiny eyes looking up at me in such wonderment and without fear. I wish he did fear me, as he had before. And that he would fight. I am human, and like my fellows, am meant to be feared by the animal kingdom, for their own protection. Without fear, there can be no freedom and no chance. We must in a way fear death, life and the chance of all those in between to live properly.

My master must away. No doubt to collect some needed spellus or other required item. I miss him and dread when he leaves me. His assistants will not go with him and neither shall I... thus the ensuing beatings and abuse upon my meek head shall be more so than usual. Oh gods of Mystenia... give me strength and if strength you shall not give me, I beg for death.

Subject: Re: The Private Journal of Genevieve Sun Nov 29, 2009 9:03 pm

The twentieth day of the seventh month of the ninth year of my life.

I have been kept occupied, in every capacity of the word, until only this lovely morning. I saw upon my standing at the cliff, the cold sun rise above the frigid hills. My master's horse appeared and I almost rejoiced as he dismounted to smile at me. No other being smiles at me. Alas if only I could return his smiles; it would make him happy, but I have no ability to be joyful, to smile.

Elm has stopped attempting to escape and my hand is finally beginning to heal. He is a odd bird, staring up at me and then closing his eyes to hum within himself. Perhaps he realizes he can never fly again, or that I supply his every need. The later I would assume, since he is fed by my hand and carried within my dress' hem.

Today, once again I engage in my training. I have been doing so since I was very young. I am strong in shadow, this I know. It lights my master's face and darkens his servants. They are not cursed as I am, but they have only meager power.

Subject: Re: The Private Journal of Genevieve Tue Dec 01, 2009 2:18 am

The first day of the eighth month of the ninth year of my life.

My master took me to Ganfar, a small town but a days walk from the Alranian border. I sat upon my master's horse and looked out beyond my country into another's. No doubt there is another royal family there, with a young princess. I wonder if she dreams of death as I do... or if her dreams are made of princes and young children... crowns and gowns... laughter and music.

I have played the harp for his pleasure tonight, eating well of the figs and bread we brought for the journey. He says he desires to teach me all he can. I despair. For though he is a good man, I do not desire to be as him. But what are my desires? Next week I must go to visit my family in the capital... perhaps fate shall allow me to die before hand? But now I prepare myself. Elm will have to stay with my master, who loves him dearly.

My father and mother will burn everything I touch... so I must be careful to touch all I can. The devil is wicked... I am subtle.

Subject: Re: The Private Journal of Genevieve Sat Dec 05, 2009 1:38 am

The fourth day of the second month of the thirteenth year of my life.

Early this morning, while my master would normally have been eating his humble meal and while I would have been playing my harp, I was married.

He is an older man, kind with warm eyes and a white beard. He has no desire for heirs and thus my only purpose in my new home shall be as Mistress of the Manor. The servants shall be under my orders and I shall keep my husband content in foods and warmth. A more gentle man has never lived, and already I love him, although in much a same manner as I love my master.

Lord Alverian has been made a widower three times. His dogs, of which he has ten, are his nearly constant companions. They follow him, sit by him and even sing along with his lilting songs. He has a lovely voice, though age has faded it and his capacity for remembrance is dimmed. My harp accompanies his singing.

The servants adore me, calling me "Little Mistress", a title which I find both amusing and yet respectable. I am small of stature and young of age. But I am of those beyond my age, of this I am certain. For I am now a married woman, with the thought to keep a gentleman content in whatever way he deemed needed.

Alverian enjoys to walk, but his cane is hardly all he requires during the tedious journey. While we walk, he leans against his staff and against my shoulder. He is not heavy, and I rather enjoy our time together, despite his repeated conversations. For be in weather, gossip, poetry, or even memories, they are repeated again and again to me, as he forgets having said them.

Perhaps I shall learn to love him as a wife is meant to love her husband. That would please me and no doubt he as well. Sadly, he is venerable in years and my time with him may be cut short.

As a child I never saw myself as a married woman. I barely saw the sun rising on me the next morning due to the tortures inflicted upon my person. But today I am content as a sun shone cat, who has been fed and amply patted. Children may not bless my womb; but joy has finally in a heart's form been added to my soul.

Subject: Re: The Private Journal of Genevieve Sun Dec 06, 2009 9:46 pm

The first day of the third month of the thirteenth year of my life.

Alverian is ill today; he recognizes me not and believes me to be his granddaughter. The servants weep as though their master is dying, but I will not despair. He shall live as long as I nurture him.

By his side I sit now, writing with one hand as he holds the other. I am rather a caretaker and a companion than his wife, but this pleases me. My kisses on his brow light his eyes and my hand clasped in his brings him comfort.

Galva brings us our meal and I feed it to him. He is troubled with shaking hands and cannot feed himself properly without spilling and messing himself. He thanks me sometimes as himself as other times he merely smiles, patting my cheek as though I were a child. I return his smiles and allow his pats. A man of his dignity should be allowed in his old age the same respect as in his youth.

And I know of his youth. He was a valiant man; both solider and lord. Guardian of Mystenia's borders and champion of my grandfather, Jahan II. In his youth no doubt he was a dashing man with the strength I still see within him even today strong within his arms and brow. A spear master he was, tall and straight. Deep and mighty...

As the stars within the heavens fade, so does this champion. It suffers my heart to see him thusly, but I accept that which I cannot change. Perhaps tomorrow he will return to his usual self, though I doubt this. Perhaps the servants are right to mourn him. The man my lord once was is long since buried.

Subject: Re: The Private Journal of Genevieve Sun Dec 13, 2009 3:45 am

The thirteenth day of the fourth month of the thirteenth year of my life.

Now I walk alone along the lake near the manor. The servant's pity filled glances are more than I can bear. At thirteen, I shall be a young widow. My husband is fading away. He believes I am only his granddaughter, he can not remember my name or my face.

His eyes are clouded and his smile slack at the corner of his lips. His hand shakes and his skin is deathly pale. I attempt to tempt him into eating, but food has no taste for his tongue and wine itself only sends him off to sleep once again. I fear that in only a brief time I shall be forced to return to my father.

He will not be pleased to have me returned, but property does not pass from husband to childless wife in Mystenia. Alverian's brother, Shavast will receive his manor and monies. And although marital tradition left a Lord's widow to the man's brother or heir... Lord Shavast was already married.

I shiver as the cold wind blows over me. It is a whisper of what is to come. I shall be married to another man, who I dare beg of fate... shall be the same as Lord Alverian or better. I cannot take my youth into my future... I would rather destroy myself.

Subject: Re: The Private Journal of Genevieve Tue Dec 15, 2009 12:16 am

The second day of the fifth month of the thirteenth year of my life.

This morning, as I held his hand, my first husband passed the veil... I am now dressed in black, my pale hair bound tightly and covered in grey as is the tradition of a widow of Mystenia. I feel nothing, no grief for having lost him, no pain for having my possessions packed for a return to my father and mother. There has been no time to feel and I do not desire to mourn.

I have mourned enough through my childhood to have kept Rejoka far from my door. Indeed I have cursed the gods and they no longer smile on me.
There is only one hope in my life at this darker moment, I hear my sister is to be wed. Perhaps, there is a chance, I may beg of her to take me with her to her new court as a ladies maid. To protect myself from the wrath of my family and the desires of a new husband.

Subject: Re: The Private Journal of Genevieve Wed Feb 10, 2010 1:55 am

The twelfth day of the twelfth month of the fourteen year of my life.

I have done my best to show favour to Count Arnulf; who is a fine gentleman, despite his deficiencies, which I shall not record, for my mind has already played them all. He is to be my second husband; and I am to be his second wife. Already we have shared, if sharing is indeed depicted in this manner, a betrothal kiss. I shudder when I think of his arms gathering me against his chest. I have never before been embraced; nor do I enjoy it. The kiss was mercifully one without passion or depth... else I might have pushed him away.

Here I am on my room's balcony, looking down at the abyss the darkness gives the castle wall. My sister is indeed happy about her approaching marriage; but the king has refused my passage with her. Indeed my father will never allow me past the borders of this land. I long to weep; tears would help my aching heart.

I am perhaps doomed to a loveless joyless marriage... but I shall be a Countess to my fullest duty. The princess believes I may give him a child, but he already has children and they have their own offspring. No... I will not give Count Arnulf children. I would not be able to forgive myself for bringing life into a world so dark.

Subject: Re: The Private Journal of Genevieve Wed Feb 10, 2010 11:14 pm

The third day of the first month of the fifteenth year of my life

My sister is dead... It is a tragedy that has shaken the very walls of the capital. My parents weep openly over her still body and my brothers are all moved to say the least. It would be dishonest and cruel for me to write that I am not saddened by her death. She was a sweet creature; perhaps too much so for this world. But I am also uplifted by her death. She has given me my freedom.

Mystenia must make its pact with Alrania; for my father, the king, cannot break his blood oath to King Wodon. There is no other princess to make this pact save myself; for my sister and I were the only daughters of Jahan III.

How my heart rejoices as I hear my parents' weeping. They weep for a loss of a pact, of a child. But... it has been far too long since they wept for me. I no longer pity them; I do not love them.

King Wodon shall be my second husband and Mystenia I shall leave behind... until my final return. My prophecy shall be fulfilled... and I await the axe with bleeds with my king's blood. Revenge for my pain, my youth, my fear, my blood, my innocence...

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