A Found Journal

[Penelope]

A soft leather bound book buried in a pile of rubble at an auction. It holds the story of one ripped from the land of the living at a young age.


Dance lessons are progressing quite swimmingly. I do so enjoy the dances we are learning. Papa says I am his graceful angel. How he flatters me so. The grand balls and parties that we host will be ever so much more glorious now that I am familiar with the dances. Perhaps I will soon find a proper mate who will make Papa proud!

There is a ball this weekend to announce my coming of age to woo and be wed. It is rather exciting to think of such a grand party. I can hardly wait to see all the lovely decorations and my finished dress that will be delivered just in time from the tailor. I was told that the lovely lavender contrasts nicely with my eyes and hair color. Perhaps I will meet someone wonderful!

[Penelope]

Well, I have met someone. More like he met me. I am unsettled by the whole experience. He seems a bit overly attentive. There are wandering eyes and low whispers from others in the room. There must be something about this individual that perhaps should bring a pause. He seems to be warmed up to Papa well enough, I do wonder about what will happen.

We danced most of the evening; at first he seemed rather gracious and quite charming. As the night grew long he became more and more irritated with everything I did. I would dance and he would scowl as if I moved too quickly for him. He was not happy at the choice of dress color and said my hair just would not do at all. Papa knows nothing of the wicked glances this man has shown me.

[Penelope]

The day after the Ball Papa and I sat at breakfast to discuss the happenings of the night before. I was going to tell him of the negative attentions I was given, but Papa delivered news that caught me rather off guard. I am stunned to hear the words from his lips. It must be a mistake, I am certain he would never say these things!

It was told Papa that the man was a “Duke” from another land far from our home in Nujelm. He was in these lands seeking a bride in which to open trade negotiations with his country. He found Papa and came to the party seeking a relationship. Papa was so taken with the Duke’s charms that he willingly and quickly offered my hand in exchange for the trade diplomacy. I am utterly undone and there is no way for me to mention my reservations of this man.

[Penelope]

We are to be married at the end of the next week. Are not brides meant to be happy and excited about their upcoming nuptials? Why then am I so heavy hearted? It feels as if my doom has been signed by a single stroke from my father whom I adore. How can he not see the true nature of this man? I am frightened of what may be.

The ceremony was short and with such a lack of pomp and circumstance it seemed more of a non event than the most important day of a young woman’s life. The reception had barely begun when I was whisked away from my home and family with barely a moment to say good bye. We sailed from the Docks in Nujelm towards a land I knew nothing. All I had known was now drifting into the darkness of the horizon. I was not even allowed my hope chest in which to begin a new home and life.

The other thing I have found odd is that my new husband has barely spoken or even looked at me since the ceremony. There were papers signed in secret which I know nothing, and then the rapid retreat to the ship that is less than ideal for a honeymoon vessel. And the other women who have come aboard are rather of questionable origin. He seems more interested in them than of me. I am undone to be sure! Will I ever find love or happiness? I dare say that my life is now subjected to misery and heartache. I miss home!

[Penelope]

There was a noise down the hall from my small room. I did not even get a suite for the honeymoon night. The women who came aboard are “women of ill repute” and they are spending the night where I should have been, in the bedchamber of my husband. I am bitterly heartbroken at this turn of events. There is no love or even passion to be found in this man.

I have taken to walk the decks. I carry a candle to light my way and have found some solace in the ability to read and write. If nothing more my journal will keep me sane. I doubt very much my “husband” can even read the words I scribe. He is no Duke, yet he is a fraud! It is far too late for me to know this now. My Father will be furious.

*The ink is suddenly dragged across the page and the words seem smeared a bit as if something sudden took her away from her writing.*

*It was discovered long later that the woman who penned the words was murdered on her wedding night by her husband. On the pretense of taking her to his bedchamber he stabbed her 7 times. She died grasping a candle in her hand, and his final injustice was to “allow” her to keep the candle to light her way to the after world. His jeering laugh as he threw her body overboard was the last her empty eyes ever saw.*

[Elvira]

I am glad the journal has been found. Perhaps my story will one day be heard. I do not wish to be forgotten. It seems so long ago since anyone has uttered my name.
Please do not forget me.