The pointless musings of a young woman (+ Correspondence)

[Adelaide Sitai]

2nd Summer 514 AV Dear Anouk, The Summer is upon us. What used to be the bane of my childhood, too hot for comfort, now comes as a welcome relief. In Summer, Kenash is hot. It swelters, and the swelter can be seen on every red face, on every sweaty brow and in the shadows of homes with the curtains pulled across the windows, faltering the heat if not banishing it. In the fields, the slaves soak through their shirts in chimes and so the male ones take them off, use them to protect their heads from the heat, while the women tie theirs into a knot across their stomach. It's dreadful to say, but it's all rather enjoyable to watch - the sweat glistens over muscles hardened and chiselled by years of labour, highlighting them. I have never seen a dynasty member in that sort of state - at least, not properly. Many don't do anything to stay in shape and many, who do like to, pretend that that - the proof of their own humanity, their own fallibility - doesn't happen. Horses (and slaves) sweat, gentlemen perspire and ladies merely glisten. But now, during the day, the heat really does me good. It settles my mind. The streets are more peaceful as people seem more reluctant to make a fuss or start a ruckus. It's also less crowded. At night, on the other hand, the heat causes me no small amount of issues. Less eager to socialise in the day, when most people are working at any rate, Lantern Square fills up rather too fast in the Summer. The longer days and the warmer nights mean that it very soon becomes the place to go, and I can no longer count on finding a quiet spot on my own since it becomes likely that somebody will recognise me and wander over. If it's a friend, I have to say I'm happy to see them. If it's an acquaintance, they wander over, talking about their sister or brother or some other family member that introduced us to each other: incestuous petch that I don't want to hear (Only, without the actual incest) I mean, most of the time I get on well with people and I actually do really enjoy hearing about their lives, seeing if they've put on weight and making all the right noises if they say that their wife has just given birth to a bouncing baby boy. It's just that I can barely even bring myself to smile at somebody at times when I want to be alone and I am aware that I come across as wholly misanthropic. I just can't help myself. Finally, the heat means I have trouble sleeping. So I have to call in a slave to come with one of those large fans and keep me cool until I have fallen asleep. Sometimes, though, I still wake up in the middle of the night alone and have nightmares. Anouk, and I know you do not mind that I call you that, I am sure you felt the same way and got those nightmares. We never actually met, but I feel like we have much in common, other than that I would never have killed myself while I still had a ten year old child depending on me - I never knew my Mother so I was never able to ask her how it felt to lose her own Mother. And because that Mother (You.) chose to die, in so melodramatic a fashion. Maybe I do not understand you, but shame is not a good reason. Yesterday, of course, my Uncle was sworn in as Magistrate. This season is a Sitai season and I know that our rule shall surpass the others - to be the best is the Sitai way of being. I went to hear the new rules and regulations being read with my half-sisters, Flavia and Aria, wishing Zuleikha was with me. That said, somehow, when Zuleikha is present, the relations between us and the twins become even more strained. It is as though all of us were involved in a sort of sub-conscious battle, sisters against half-sisters. Flavia and Aria, athletic and manipulative, against Zuleikha and I, cultured and vivacious. In truth, we reflect our Mothers. My Mother (and Zuleikha's) was a creature of whim and passion, romantic and overly volatile. Theirs is a woman, charming but manipulative, with considerable social and political savvy. That does not, however, stop me from enjoying Jafara's company far more than that of her daughters. We all reflect our Father's realism, intelligence and love of the finer things in life. Flavia is the worst though... we had to fetch her from the Auction House, where she was pretending to be interested in buying some Kelvic slave or other while really making eyes at Uncle Marshal. While Aria only rolled her eyes, I explained (For what must have been the hundredth time) that what she wanted to happen could not happen. If she is in love with him then tough - he is our Uncle, not even a distant one: our father's brother. The word "incest" means nothing to her though - she just smiles and raises her eyebrows Petch. That makes her sound far more interesting than she is. Flavia is, to my mind, a bore. Aria is not but, then again, Aria is a sociopath. This morning, I was sifting my way through belongings which I had brought back with me from Zeltiva then promptly abandoned in the attic. I hadn't seen them since I got back to Kenash - old dresses, moth-eaten (only good as presents for the slaves and making ragdolls) and a quantity of pieces of paper, covered in essays written for University courses, doodles, drawings, badly-written poems and scripts. Then a script for the play I was never able to perform in, because Naolom died and I would not stay in Zeltiva. These... things. I did not think I ever wanted to touch them again. Love poems only serve to remind me of those people I wrote them for: some are here and some are missing. Good riddance, really. I never had much talent for anything but melodrama and perturbingly original tragic deaths. Anyway, I found a drawing I drew when I had still been able to draw: it was of Gideon's mother - Madam Joanna van Arken. She had been hoping that Gideon and I would get married but I knew her to be very pleased when she came over for his wedding to Zuleikha, considering her absolutely charming. Well, this drawing of Madam van Arken had been done one afternoon in mid-Summer while we were taking a picnic in one of the lower foothills around Zeltiva, by a little cove where Gideon went bathing (though I would not, because I could not swim) She looked so content with the world, calm as only a woman who had a comfortable house and grown children could be. I drew her from where I was sitting, just her face. I never really finished it. And now I cannot finish it, because my fingers are numb. It feels as though I were never able to draw in the first place. To pick up a pencil and take it to paper makes me feel clumsy. To hold a paintbrush is hell. That is what a) being assaulted by your Art Professor and b) not even attempting to draw or paint for three and a half years will do to you. Any meagre skill I had has left me and I know that, if I am ever to draw like this again, it will take a miracle. Maybe this Summer, I can try again and my fingers will start working again. There's enough around me to be inspired. Maybe I can finally decipher the meaning behind her eyes, the meaning beyond the simple contentment. Perhaps melancholy, perhaps wisdom. The drawing was a little crumpled, so I've stuck it in here - for safe keeping. I wonder if you looked anything like that? Prettier, I daresay. Everybody says how you were beautiful. In that regards, if no other, I envy you a little. With love, Adelaide Sitai

[Adelaide Sitai]

33rd Summer 514 AV Dear Anouk, I have horrid dreams. Often dreams that I cannot understand or, at the very least, do not wish to understand. Yesterday, I dreamt of a tall, dark-haired woman standing at the top of a flight of stairs, ringing a bell. I don't know why, but I felt that I needed to reach her, to run up to her. I was not able to. The more I ran, the further away she seemed to get, but yet she did not seem to have moved and neither did the staircase. It all seemed as long as it had always been, and she just kept ringing her bell. Ringing. Ringing. Ringing. All while I was running. Running. Running. It might not seem much, harmless enough, but it was torture. Not dark like something, well, dark. But the torture of the unknown and the unattainable. I felt completely lost and alone. And then, a couple of nights ago, I dreamt that I was alone in a very dark room and the only light in the room was coming from the water in a dark well. Glowing water. I was conscious of the need to drink the water, that I was very thirsty. There was a bucket, but it had holes in it. Still, I felt that if I went fast enough, I could reel the bucket back up before all the water completely came out. Only that didn't work. Time and time again, the water ran out just as the bucket came within reach. No matter how fast or how slowly the bucket came up, the water would only run out at the very last second, just before it was within reach. Yesterday was the 32nd, which made it exactly four years since Naolom proposed to me. I need not tell you how I felt. I did not work much and Father made eyes at me for the rest of the day. At least nothing seemed to be happening much at the Estate today and managing it was easy enough. Not like on the 16th when everything seemed to be happening at once. I went on a walk though and a number of very strange things happened. At one point, I was followed by a Sokki Cat. I don't know why, but if felt as if Naolom's soul was walking along with me. It's ridiculous, isn't it? It's as if I'm holding on to everything, anything I can, to prove he is still with me. When I got home last night, I cried over my own silliness. The second thing was that, earlier on, I had fallen asleep by a Willow Tree for absolutely no reason. Believe me when I say that I am not the type to fall asleep just like that, so suddenly and unguarded. I suspected that maybe there was some plant nearby that caused drowsiness or hallucinations, especially since, when I woke up, this was playing in my head: "The wind blow through the Willow Trees, Whispering, weeping, whooping, whimpering, Shaking its boughs and the rattling of leaves Echoes the rattling of cages - the song is ending Something charred and black is underfoot, Something white and ashen in the air, The bones of slaves who will never come home again. The bones of slaves wailing: Beware, beware!" It surprised me because, though I have tried my hand at poetry before, it is not the type of poem I would ever write. It does not accurately represent my sentiments. I wondered if I've heard it somewhere before? Then merely repeated it? Well, at least if I write here, then I can check back if anything springs to mind. With love, Adelaide Sitai

[Adelaide Sitai]

42nd Summer 514 AV Dear Anouk, I thought that I might turn my hand to re-writing, perhaps improve on the play I started in Zeltiva. It needs improvement - I can see that, but there is a side of me that believes that I might not be capable of making those improvements. It's dreadful to have a vision in your head, to know what you want, but be incapable of producing it. My hands are incapable of reproducing that which I can visualise and words that sound good in my head do not look so good on paper. I also thought about developing a new term, or new form of Theatre, "Theatre of Excess" - I think that after minimalistic theatre, something grossly ostentatious with, perhaps, exaggerated storylines would be interesting as an artistic form. I have also decided that I need to go into more detail recognising and categorising different types of Theatre. It should be fun. Perhaps I'm being silly, taking these Theatricals too seriously, especially since they draw me away from my job, which is to manage the Sitai Household. It's enjoyable, to a certain extent, and challenging enough that I never need get bored, but sometimes my heart just isn't in it. I shall not write much tonight, but I did feel I should write. The wedding is soon and the dress is finally finished, not a day too soon. I have to wear silver and tried on my dress for the wedding. Oddly enough, it suited me better than I would have thought and looked better on my body than on certain other bridesmaids. This morning, breakfast was too hot. Grandmother did not notice, but made a fuss about the lack of whisky at breakfast. She also made a fuss about the lack of whisky at Lunch, which she's honestly been complaining about for the last year, and I made a mental note to finally do something about it (at Lunch, at any rate) and have someone provide her with a teacup during the Lunch meal, which would contain whisky. Thus, she would have what she wanted and stop disturbing everyone, but it would not look improper. With love, Adelaide Sitai

[Adelaide Sitai]

45th Summer 514 AV Lunchtime Dear Anouk, This morning I felt a little sick. Not physically, but mentally. I feel for Maya and I can't think what to say to her. She is putting on a brave face for, simple soul that she is, she informed me last night that there was nothing worst than an ugly bride. I suppose, in her place, I would want to look my best too for my wedding to a groom I barely know: one would want to impress and perhaps hope that real love comes from the union. My parents had an arranged marriage, and to hear father speak, there were no two souls more in love than they. It was practically love at first sight. And then, contrast this with you, Anouk, and your husband. You married for love and your union could not have been more disastrous. There is nothing wrong in an arranged marriage, as long as it is not a forced marriage, for those two things are nothing like the same. Sometimes, a marriage of convenience between two people with similar interests and backgrounds can only be good, for it tends to be a union further based on rational thought rather than emotions. One goes into an arranged marriage without silly illusions that things will always be good and love will last forever. That is what you did, Anouk, and when you realised it was not the case, you turned on my Grandfather. And he turned on you. That is what love can do. It can turn to hate and a hate built on the ruins of love is the most powerful in the world. On the other hand, it hurts me to think that she might never know true love... and the spectre of Aunt Rosamay, the living ghost as I sometimes consider her, hangs over her. For she was the latest example of a party in a marriage of convenience between the Radacke and the Sitai, and that hardly ended well. Now, my Aunt is shunned by such a large proportion of the family that she may not even come to the wedding tomorrow. And why would she want to? Such a thing can only evoke bad memories in a woman already possessed by the ghosts of her past, embracing them, made hateful and vengeful and bitter and vulgar and cruel by them. Last night I couldn't get to sleep and I wondered what Rosamay must have been like before it all went so terribly wrong... apparently she was a dancer. I would love to dance. Maya dances too. Dances because she has no patience for music, because she can't act and won't write, but she also dances because I think, to her, dancing is like a burst of joy from the soul. Last night, I prayed. I prayed to Lhex, god of fate, and Ovek, god of Luck, but also Cheva. Cheva, who won't appear at their wedding, but who I hope will eventually come to bless the union. Maya is a simple soul, not stupid but sweet and easy in her charms. To be disappointed in love and stuck with a man she could not abide would ruin her, for she does not have many hobbies to fall back on and immerse herself with as distraction. She simply wouldn't understand where it had gone wrong and why her father, of all people, would have sold her into this childbearing life as a subservient wife. That is what I fear. Finally, I prayed to Tanroa. Goddess of all. Sometimes I feel like she is watching over me - silently, neither warmly nor coldly, for I imagine Tanroa is master of her emotions. She has better things to do that worry about a little Dynast, sheltered all her life, but it made me feel better to know that I was worshipping her on Maya's behalf. This morning, breakfast was cold, warm-ish at best. Grandmother complained that there was no whisky available but didn't seem to notice. Neither Father nor Maya came down for breakfast, while Uncle merely grabbed something to eat and left the house, taking his carriage. I wanted to see how Maya was, it being the day before her wedding, but I had to attend to the breakfast issue, dull as it was then I had a few messages to send to certain people. Finally, I had to acknowledge that the whole upper floor of the house needs redecorating. There are five bedrooms which, I believe, have not been touched in close to a decade... or more, in a couple of cases. This afternoon, I shall check on Maya and the preparations for tomorrow. Thankfully, it is not my duty to organise this wedding for it shall take place at the Radacke plantation. This evening, I shall visit Lantern Square. I need to relax. With love, Adelaide Sitai