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Post by Joliette Thorne on Feb 3, 2009 10:24:24 GMT -5
-- A book covered with black fabric is here--
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Post by Joliette Thorne on Feb 3, 2009 10:30:24 GMT -5
Dear L,
If you ever find this book, don’t read it, okay? Promise me, on your life. No, really, promise me you won’t turn a single page, not even by ‘accident’.
PS: Dear anyone else,
If you are reading this, I am dead. Or you very shortly will be.
Bugger off,
- J
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Post by Joliette Thorne on Feb 3, 2009 10:32:42 GMT -5
I know you too well, you scoundrel. Don‘t you turn another page, or I’ll never forgive you.
--a little frowny face is drawn here--
-While a small, jagged tooth smiley is sketched in the corner.-
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Post by Joliette Thorne on Feb 3, 2009 11:25:01 GMT -5
--The Diary of Joliette Frances Xaviere Thorne-- Dear L, I had almost forgotten the whole of my real name. What in the nine hells were my parents thinking? Anyway, I started this just now, seeing as you’re still downstairs making chums with poor old Drargon and I've nothing else to do, and thought it might help to unburden my mind and heart in a more constructive way than getting hammered, or throwing legs of venison at you, or making Steadman scrub the toilet with a toothbrush (I won't say whose, and must admit that it was a terribly petulant thing to do, even if it did cheer me up). You’re the only person I would ever care to reveal my thoughts to, anyway, were I inclined to show anyone the babble that runs through my mind day to day, which I’m sure you are thankful I am not. Our room is all prepared and it’s lovely, warm as toast. I await you a little anxiously, because since you asked.. you know.. I’ve not been able to express myself well at all, for fear of sounding like one of those awful girls that mope about the tavern hoping somebody will ask how they're feeling. I hope this evening goes even a little way toward demonstrating what your question meant to me, since both my brain and tongue appear to have suffered frostbite, or been caught in a mangle, or something. What a time we've had in Frostmaw, love, though all has worked out for the best. And as if I am not deliriously happy enough--- we have Jack! Oh, and those darling little ones, I can hardly wait for you to see them. It’s almost overwhelming, so much going right for us all at once. I steadfastly refuse to look for gloomy horizons where there are none, though, and am preferring to think that maybe Fate’s grown tired of pulling my proverbial wings off and has slithered away, looking for someone else to bother for a change. I’m quite looking forward to getting back to Vailkrin, but I won't tell you that in case you misunderstand me. I don't miss all the paperwork and meetings and running about at all, but I do miss the Corpse, and even cranky old Steadman. I miss our 'nights out' together and of course, the ship. Our clan, too-- what will they will make of us, I wonder? Though I shall not breath a word of it to anyone, knowing how you prefer to keep things quiet. Haha, and speak of the devil, here you are on the stairs. How many drinks did you have down there, that even I can hear you coming? Must dash, - J
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Post by Joliette Thorne on Feb 7, 2009 9:09:06 GMT -5
Dearest L,
You are sleeping. Now and then you twitch, and once you threw an arm across your face as though fending off some horrendous blow. You mutter things, terrible things, nothing I can make out clearly enough that I could swear my interpretation faultless. Still, I dare not repeat what I think I heard, even here.
You are sleeping, love, and now and then fall - thank the gods- into a fit of peace so deep I can only sit and stare at you. Remember that day, in our secret garden, when I said you looked like an angel and you laughed at me? It is funny, but I meant it at the time. And I mean it now.
What would you have been, I wonder, had your feet not trodden the paths they have travelled; if whatever nightmares that perch on your chest in the dark to peck out the eyes of your dreams had never winged their way into this world?
I once imagined your heart as a great furnace, fierce as the sun and as relentless, spilling over with fire and molten gold. You might -- no, definitely, you would-- think me mad for saying it, but I believe that if Fate had not chosen you for Her whipping-boy, you would have walked the path of some great, shining hero, a just and noble king or, at the very least, a good and honest man.
What if you had never met me? Sometimes I think you’d have been better off, for all the trouble I cause you. But who's to say? Fate’s webs are vast and tangled, and I sincerely doubt even She knows where each thread begins and ends, or where they knot together.
Truth is I’m a bit scared, because tomorrow we go to free the Lich and once more I must face the horror infesting that ship.
You know how things have changed with me, but what I have not told you is that the shadows have abandoned me altogether and no longer come to my summons. Nor do I hold that sense I've had, through all my living memory, of eyes looking through the back of my own at a world they despise and scorn in equal measure. I cannot explain it further except to say that I feel both suddenly free and rather like a puppet with its strings cut.
Listen to me, rabbiting on. I sound like the village hag scaring up her tuppence worth of ale.
And there, you have mumbled my name and fallen quiet. Perhaps I should rest too-- tomorrow will be the start of our hardest journey yet and I don’t mean our foray into the Labyrinth. Things are changing for all of us. I see it, sense it in every moment of every day, the way you can smell a storm coming over the sea. But whatever storm may come to us, I promise you this-- I will never let your sun burn out, or allow any cloud to cover its light and leave me to wander in the dark alone, ever again.
Hold me, in your sleep. Dream of our victories and treasures, our islands in the sun.
Your,
- J
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Post by Joliette Thorne on Feb 11, 2009 5:11:14 GMT -5
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Post by Leoxander on Nov 9, 2009 16:27:36 GMT -5
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Post by Joliette Thorne on Dec 11, 2009 9:56:01 GMT -5
Dear L,
DON’T YOU DARE READ THIS AGAIN. OR ELSE.
I mean it. In fact, I’m looking for a better hiding spot when I’m done writing this. A much better one. One you’ll never, ever find in a million, million years.
But if you do,
DON’T read past this point.
I should be furious at you, you know. And I probably would be, if you weren’t so sweet and I wasn’t missing you so very much, even though it’s only been six days, four and a half hours since you left our bed. But it’s storming out there and you are what you are, love, and I know you have your needs. It’s not that I don’t trust you to come back, it’s just, well, things can go wrong (if anyone knows that, it's me), and I can’t help worry gnawing at my stomach when I don’t know where you are or whether you’re alright.
And I hate to pen these words, it makes it all the worse somehow, but Lucien is missing, too.
He’s probably taken off looking for you, and if so, gods only know what bother he’s in. You wouldn’t have had any trouble sniffing him out as it seems he took that smelly old goat with him. I can't begin to imagine why, it probably followed after (for which I am almost grateful) you know how the foul thing dotes on him.
But if Luc isn't looking for you... where could he have gone, so suddenly? The only thing of his that’s not here is that damn goat; his pack and sled are exactly where he left them. Rascal‘s here, too, which makes me think he’s with you; I can’t imagine him leaving Ras behind for any other reason than he barks at you so much when you‘re fully... indisposed.
My head spins, with fears. I could honestly skin you both. Come home safely, won’t you?
The storm has worsened even as I write. As much as I have come to love these snowfields, I am sorely craving a warm salt breeze across the open sea, and the feel of the sun on my skin again. How strange for me to want those things so very badly.
I shall try to sleep now, despite the shriek of the wind and the chill place at my side where you should be.
All my love, always.
- J
PS: And if you did read this, I’m very glad you came home. I shan’t, therefore, be putting any scorpions in your boots.
This time.
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Post by Joliette Thorne on Dec 15, 2009 7:28:03 GMT -5
Dear L,
In the morning I am leaving camp, and will set arrows of stone out and my scent upon the trees, in case you find your way back and that I am gone. The storm has finally ended, and I cannot bear another day nor live through another night, without knowing where you are or a least doing my best to find you.
My heart tells me your absence from me cannot be deliberate, and by the hour sinks deeper into a mire of worry. What dreams I have had.. I will not write of them here, such things have no place in our minds, in either our past or our future.
I have never been one for saying prayers, half-damned as I must be, but tonight I lit a new candle and said one for you, love; prayed that I would find you and our son, and I will -- if it takes a year. If it takes forever.
So tired. See you soon, gods willing.
All my love,
J.
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Post by Joliette Thorne on Jan 30, 2010 0:22:14 GMT -5
*this page has been roughly torn from the journal, leaving only a few small scraps at the left-hand margin*
Dear L,
Last night on the beach I
all but useless after, and I suspect my mortal body
blood on the sand, the silver
we are, and always will be.
is a secret garden in which I keep
among sheep, feasting
to the midnight shore
was a wolf’s. It sought
like prey, screaming for
from my chest and eaten it
enough. You must have
why I cried out so
sick in your bed, cursing
-- in case the answer was, “No.”
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Post by Joliette Thorne on Feb 13, 2010 12:00:43 GMT -5
*the book has been left in plain sight. A sheet of paper rests atop it, on the back of which is written a poem* 10Dear L, You. Me. Eternity. Love, - J
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Post by Joliette Thorne on Mar 3, 2010 22:01:16 GMT -5
L.
I'm scared.
- J
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Post by Joliette Thorne on Oct 13, 2010 3:18:38 GMT -5
L,
I'd almost forgotten this little book, found it in the trunk you brought down from the ship.
It's quiet this evening, you're snoring in our bed and I am on the porch watching the sea and trying to keep my candle from blowing out. Must remember to go shopping for some nice lamps.
So peaceful here... I know have told you how much I love our new home, but I wish you could feel the joy it brings me, words don't seem to be able to convey it with any accurate depth. I love it, and I love you.
Lucien will be home from the pearl markets on the weekend. I'm pleased you promised to speak with him... this obsession is a worry, though I am sure it's just his youth and desire to please you behind it. Still, he had a ruthless look in his eye I have not seen before. And while I do not, cannot, never will regret what either of us are nor anything we have done in our lives, I just... I enjoy that he is different from us, that way. Has his own spirit, his own path, one neither of us ever got to walk. But as I have said, it's probably just me, fussing as I do over my menfolk.
Another thing I do not regret is giving up on Vailkrin. What freedom, to leave it all behind, the treacheries, the idiocies of politics. But love, our people.. they are all gone, or scattered. I am happy with our little family, more than I have ever been, but I still care for those who stood with us all those years. I thought perhaps to ask you tomorrow if we could invite a few round for dinner, now and then.
Sitting here, with great sea before me and you behind me, our son on his way home and the dogs chasing night crabs on the sand, I find it easy to believe that Fate may have finally forgiven us our transgressions against Her, and allowed us a proper measure of peace. It is a belief I shall hold onto, treasure and defend.
Ah well, to bed, I suppose. I really must find a polite way of asking you to trim your toenails...
- J
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Post by Joliette Thorne on May 24, 2011 19:25:09 GMT -5
*stuffed in the vault, Den of Thieves, The Hanging Corpse Tavern, Vailkrin*
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