FicWad

Dear Emilia,

I cannot sleep. I do not know why. Perhaps it is because of tomorrow’s exciting events. I do not know. However his face continues to pop in my mind. All I see is him. Why this is, I cannot understand.

Also, this scene keeps reoccurring: my wedding day. Yet this confuses me, for I have received no offer of marriage. The bridegroom’s face I cannot see. It is but a blur, yet I say his name in our exchanging of vows. How can this be?

I call on the wood elves to help me decipher this dream, but I have yet to receive a reply.

I have been away, from court, now almost two months. No doubt the courtiers are rejoicing my leave. They might even think me dead! How I would give to see their pug faces if I show up again, alive.

My spy tells me that my love is courting another. He says her hair is like fire, but her skin is the color of milk. How can this be? I have heard of no such person, but alas, I have no reason to doubt my spy’s words of peril.

How I envy her! She has no worry of war. She is able to stand by his side, whilst I am here, writing in the rain. She can hold his soft hand as they walk together through the gardens.

The day I hear of their union will be the day I leave this kingdom, this land, this earth!

Ha! At last I have given you extensive information, for, at swhich you can be in no doubt of knowing whom it is that I am so fond of. However, I still shall not say his name, in hopes that you are too naive. Nonetheless, no one shall ever see this, for this is my personal account of my life thus far. What do they call this type of writing in Kadmiel? Oh, yes, a diary, whatever that means.

Back to the matter, I toss and turn in my bed roll. I can acquire no sleep tonight either.

I know my love of this man should have stopped long ago—and believe me when I say I have tried—but I cannot, for some reason or another, seem to stop loving him. It is so hard. No one understands how I feel, or how I cannot stop this inexplicable love, save myself and Emilia—for she has also told me of her great sufferings of the same degree.

Why must I feel this way? Why must we go through this awful agony of knowing that we will never be with our loved ones? Why oh why, great mother earth? Is there someone out there who could tell me how to dress and act in order to capture his heart? Can there not be some guidelines, some book that has been hidden from all, of one who—in the past—has gone through this very same ordeal?

Oh, why can I not be wealthy? Oh, why can I not be beautiful? Oh, why can I not be the one he longs for? Why can I know be from a well-respected linage? Why?

Oh dear me! I have leaked onto the beautiful parchment, or perhaps the rain fell upon it. No, I can feel the tears upon my face.

How much longer can one live like this? Not knowing when, or if ever, he will look at me twice. Why can I not be perfect?

Is there some cruel god out there just having his bit of amusement by watching me suffer so?

I wish so much that he could just feel half f my pain, just so maybe her could see what he does to me. How he tortures me.

I must stop here. Duty calls. Hopefully, it will put me out of my misery forever.

Yours,

Kristine