I’m rarely without an abundance of words, but something about her makes me want to articulate things flawlessly. So, after far too many discarded parchments bearing less than desirable drafts, I’m at least somewhat satisfied with my words upon the last one.
A missive to Witchfalls, carrying all the trappings of formality, for it is not only a personal agenda, but also one of business, profit and enterprise.
Do accept, I pine without you near.
Day 953: Evening, Plantation of Aviditas – Noble’s Office
Now this request is one that leaves me just as curious as it does likely to be swept into something dark and almost certainly illegal. I said I would, but now I’m wondering where in Kilogoth’s hell am I supposed to find blood wine? To even have this sort of thing commissioned?
Let’s think, V. Rules. We’re good at those, after all. A few rules, then, I would imagine, ought be set for ourselves:
- Don’t do it in Twilight. For reasons multifarious.
- Keep it off the books, quiet. It’s not an affair of Twilight’s, but a favor among old colleagues.
- Use trusted emissaries, but don’t be seen personally making inquiries.
- Use the clandestine trade routes.
At least we have something of a framework. Good start for now.
Torn edges of missing pages seem to suggest several have been removed.
Day 961: Mid-Morning, Plantation of Aviditas – Outer Grounds
I am compelled to describe this day, for there is such a thing as beauty in this world.
In an otherwise immaculate sea of blue sky does the sun sit this morning, cradled by two large clouds over which it effortlessly peeks. Its beams dance across the fields illuminating the western half of the grounds as far as vision goes, and shade’s relief nestles the eastern banks where the geography of one of our hillsides breaks into the small decline. Laughter chimes in the background, the scurry of footsteps and then several splashes—children announcing the river is warm enough for a swim this time of year. Yonder, where the sun and shadows intertwine behind high corn stalks yearning for harvest, the rooftop of the plantation house sprawls proudly over the acreage of well-tended farmland.
Whoever is decided on us being some wicked realm full of darkness and gloom ought to see this countryside as I do in the middle of Longing—splendid, rich with colors of many hues, picturesque. I feel blessed by the gods to behold this perfect vision.
I must revisit this entry in less happy times.