THEME SONG
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
only fooling myself
^{KATE VOEGELE}

12 may, spring 1862,

Why must the heart be so blind?

Today started out completely ordinary, as any other day does. I woke up early, to check on my sisters who, thankfully, were sound asleep, and sleeping well for the first time in a few days. We had lost a bit of food to soiling, so we had to reduce the rations even more, but since my paycheck came in, we've gotten a bit more food to add to the stock, enough to fill bellies for a few weeks, at least. Then it was away from the family while my parents were still dormant, so they couldn't stop my attendance at my performance today. Not mine, technically; it is a ballet, after all, and naturally they put me as one of the "chorus girls." I wasn't upset, no, I just loathed the person they naturally picked for the lead.

She is a cheater, one who does not deserve any glory, but gets it because of looks. Class. Style. Not because her tryout was good, but because she swept into the "unthinkable" with a few of the men of the masquerade. I don't understand it, how she can be so desperate for a part that she can sell herself as she does, but no matter, I hold nothing for her but the deepest of sympathies.

Yet in an instant, I find I am put out, silenced completely, my words completely constricted at the mere thoughts of the events that unfolded. For despite the initial event of another vengeful worker stabbing me today, the only thing I can truly remember, the only thing that truly stands out, are those eyes, the pursuit of a man who remains nameless even now to me, and the blue eyes that set upon me in my last concious instants. He saved my life, and he is everything that I used to be: aristocratic, full of money, a place in society, a name for himself. He is the very thing I fell from, and yet I do not scorn him. How could I? His very voice makes my heart stutter, and I can not determine what to make of it, this strange new emotion.

It is betraying, and yet I find that I can not sever my connection to him, no matter how far I run. I am in his debt; to him, I was nothing but a poor peasant girl and he still spared my microspocially important life. And as if that isn't disturbing enough, I find that I...desire his presence. At all times. I think of him, even when I shouldn't. Why can it not just perspire? Leave my thoughts?

All I know is I guaranteed him a dance, and it will hopefully end my ceaseless lust for this man, this hopelessly untouchable man.

THEME SONG
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
damaged
^{DANITY KANE}

31 may, spring 1862,

I love him.

Never before have I even considered saying this words, particularly not about a man as wonderful and completely flawless as he, but it is true. To this diary, I hold no lies, no deviation from the truth, and I speak to you now as a girl who has deeply fallen for a man who can not return my love. It is impossible, the two of us. We are everything society scorns, everything that says we should stay from each other. Yet everywhere I look, every corner I turn to, I see him, and I know it is true. My complete devotion to him will always be there, and it can not leave as I so wish it to. Instead, I find I must part from him; perhaps it will help to clear this head of mine. Yet so deeply I desire him, and I kissed him.

I kissed those lips I'd been dreaming to one day kiss, and now there is nothing else more perfect than that forbidden moment I shared with him. It is wrong, so wrong of me, and yet I cannot help it. Even remembering it, recalling the memory makes this heart of mine slowly shatter, tearing at the seams as if it were nothing but a thin handkerchief. I love him so deeply, so passionately it is unfair, unrealistic. I need him now, not simply a thing of physical attraction, but something so much more than that. Something forbidden to me. How life can be as painful as it is for me now, I am not sure, but I know what I must do. I must leave the only man I will ever hold an attraction for, and he in turn cannot follow me.