|
Post by Vianne Giry on Jul 28, 2006 15:05:31 GMT -5
March 18th, 18--
I can find no comfort, of late, in stringent practice and the utter discipline which has formerly made me content and proud, if not happy with my life. In this twilight of realization, the darkness of despair threatens me to the point of being overwhelmed, almost. I am not so far gone yet. I was sober and calm once. I can be so again.
A snatch of poetry from one of the books my father left to me when he died:
Longing is the core of mystery. Longing itself brings the cure. The only rule is, Suffer the pain.
Your desire must be disciplined, and what your want to happen in time, sacrificed.
In time. All will be as it was before. I can suffer the pain, bear up, live on, and all will be as it was before.
|
|
|
Post by Vianne Giry on Jul 28, 2006 20:22:39 GMT -5
March 18th, 18--
Evening.
I cannot escape from Percy, it seems. This would all be much easier to bear if we would both pretend nothing happened. But the man will be inexorable enough to make one scream! I despise myself for being so weak as to cry over this when I know it does me no good to be such a helpless wretch. How can I move on when so much is holding me back?
|
|
|
Post by Vianne Giry on Aug 2, 2006 11:36:28 GMT -5
March 19th, 18--
Chauvelin has come for me, it seems. I must go into hiding.
|
|