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 Posted: Thu Feb 07, 2013 5:46 pm
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Posted: Fri Feb 08, 2013 8:45 pm
"From the Private Journal of Henri Francois Bellmont"
Henri Bellmont   x
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xxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxx ♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆♆ x
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x3 October, 2012
Today I spoke with my future fiancée for the first time. She called me Paris. I rather like that. The fact that we’ve already reached the endearing nicknames stage of our relationship so early brings me endless pleasure. I wonder what I should call her…Izzy, perhaps. Yes, I will try Izzy. Such a charming name.
8 October, 2012
I need a new nickname for my beloved. Izzy was a bad plan. An incredibly bad plan. No sooner had the name left my lips than her face twisted in annoyance. She spoke not a word to me, merely glared and walked away. I don’t understand. I used such a loving tone, and she was full of such good humor before. I will leave a rose on her pillow this night, as an apology. Perhaps a different name would suit her. I’ll have to ponder this carefully.
9 October, 2012
I dared not show my face at Mystic Fountain today, though I longed to engage in conversation with my fascinating future wife. It seems she suspects someone of sneaking into her room and leaving ‘disgusting shrubbery’ all over her pillow. I can only assume she speaks of the rose petals I picked so delicately from the stem and sprinkled over her pillowcase. I wouldn’t have wanted her to have picked up the rose and pricked her fingers, after all. I had thought the scent of the rose petals would give her good dreams. Instead, she appears to be on a manhunt for the ‘intruder’. Perhaps, when she has calmed down a bit, I will leave her a token of apology. We shall add roses to the list of things that do not please my darling girl.
22 October. 2012
It has been far, far too long since last I saw my dear Isadora. Business has kept me in Europe, and only just this morning was I finally able to fly back to see her. She was in drama practice when I arrived, dancing across the stage. She was in the spotlight, just as she should be, her beautiful face lit up with pleasure as she sang. Such a beautiful voice, my darling has. I eagerly await the day she sings for me and me alone. I did not approach her, but instead left a bouquet of lilies outside the room where she was changing. A small token of appreciation for her many talents. I do hope she enjoys these more than the roses. That was an unintended misstep.
31 October, 2012
I discovered the most fascinating thing today. My Isadora, darling, skinny girl that she is, has an untamed sweet tooth. On this Halloween night, I watched as, sprawled in the dormitory’s common room, she all but inhaled copious amounts of candy. I noticed she was also handing out posters with the picture of my lily bouquet on them, topped with the words, “Reward for Information” scrawled in bold letters across the top. This was…absolutely fantastic. I had no idea she’d be so eager to meet me. Perhaps I should name myself as the one who gifted her with the flowers. To see her face light up with joy would be the greatest of gifts.
3 November, 2012
The day is quickly approaching that I will be able to stand face-to-face with dear Isadora and let her know my true intentions. Her father assures me that she will understand the need for our…agreement. It does worry me a bit that he refuses to mention it to her beforehand. I pray it doesn’t make things awkward between us. I do believe we’re close to becoming fast friends. After admitting that it was I who had left the bouquet and explaining that I’d been moved by her performance, she’d looked so pleased. As a gesture of thanks, she pulled from her pocket what I’m told is a snack cake called a Twinkie. It tasted absolutely terrible, but I ate every bite. Anything to please the girl who will one day bear my precious children.
21 November, 2012
Things…did not go quite as planned this evening. Isadora was not, as her father had said, pleased to do her duty for the family. In fact, she flat out refused. I could see, however, that it pained her to refuse her father. Such a good girl she is. But still…I worry. There was quite a scene after Sylvester and I watched Isadora perform in her school musical. He chose to tell her of the marriage agreement in her dressing room. She dropped the flowers I gave her. I noticed the daisies I sent her last week were in a vase on the vanity table. Had the circumstances been different, I imagine my joy at the sight would have been triple what it was. And yet, seeing my beloved so torn and unhappy has left me distracted for hours. It’s not that I expected her to agree outright, of course. I’d even looked forward to arguing with her a bit. She’s so fierce, so spirited when her fury peaks. But this…She was not angry, and she did not argue. She simply said “I refuse” and, after a long moment, turned away. Unlike myself, Sylvester did not seem the least bit surprised. Perhaps I have not quite been told all there is to know about the relationship between Isadora and the rest of the family.
24 November, 2012
Today, I changed my strategy. For three days, I left my beloved, as much as it pained me, to her own devices. For three days, I said nothing as I watched her mope about, taking out her frustration on that little dragon friend of hers and the one with the big hair. Now, I have decided that, rather than avoidance, constant interaction will be the key to winning Isadora’s heart. But I should call her Danni now, however unusual the name is. It is the one she prefers. Using it will surely help me get back in her good graces. I must work quickly, however. Her father seems quite insistent that this deal be struck before Isadora turns eighteen.
28 November, 2012
This strategy is working splendidly. I wonder why I did not think of this before. Every day Danni’s rejecting punches grow just a bit weaker. I like to think of them as love taps. Each one helps strengthen our relationship. I try to involve myself in all aspects of Danni’s daily life. I eat all meals with her, suggesting proper nutrition rather than these so-called chicken nuggets she seems to be unhealthily fond of. It’s so cute, the way she hoards the little nuggets, hiding them beneath salads as though I won’t notice. I never knew a pout could be so attractive on a woman’s face. Of course, there is more to life than eating –though one would hardly know it given how many times a day Danni finds herself in the cafeteria. I help her study, as her grades contradict her claims that she’s perfectly capable of doing it herself. I attend her practices for her spring musical, and bring her a flower after each rehearsal. I found a few of them stuffed in the pocket of her jeans when I washed them for her. So cute, the way she carries a bit of me around with her. I try to make sure I am there to greet her when she returns home each afternoon from classes. She always stops in the doorway when she sees me sitting on her bed. These days, her expression has changed from mild disgust to resignation. This is promising progress indeed. I dare say, I never expected to find so many adorable sides to this otherwise rebellious, rough-edged teenager. I have four more days to convince her I can make her happy. All the time in the world.
1 December, 2012
Tragedy has struck the family. Even as I write this, my pen all but refuses to put down the words. Ophelia Rinaldi is dead. Killed, by means unknown. Last night, I sensed Danni’s magic return to the campus early. Much too early, when I know she’d been working. It was the first time I’d seen blind fear on her face. When I found her, she ran right past me, down into the shadows of the basement. When she returned, more than an hour later, she carried the body of her older sister. I know not what happened in the labyrinth of the basement. No one will speak of it. Certainly not my girl. I don’t know where she is now. She wouldn’t let me hold her, nor did she weep. She simply stared at me with dead, broken eyes, and told me she had a job to do. I worry for her. I weep for her, and for the young Lia who was lost to us.
5 December, 2012
I am torn. Never have I been pulled in so many directions, never like this. Isadora, the girl I am to marry, has become more than precious to me. She has become my world. I want only for her to have happiness. But I also want her. To keep her, I took her, this young, beautiful creature, and clipped her wings, without ever meaning to. She has signed the marriage contract. The date of the signature reads December first, the morning her sister died. I know, have always known, that she’d planned to separate from the Rinaldi family upon her eighteenth birthday, to abandon duty. I, in my arrogance, sought to change that. But not like this. Never like this. But I shall make it up to her. I shall make her happy, so happy. She will never want for anything. She will never have need to feel sadness, or grief. Never again do I wish to see her looking so broken, so resigned. God as my witness, she will be happy.
 15 January, 2013
It has been some time since I’ve taken the time to sit and write. I felt it more important to focus on my fiancée. Chérie and I…Never have I felt clumsier around a woman, but she does bring out the worst in me. But all is not unwell. I got her a puppy for Christmas, a German shepherd she calls Samson. We made cookies during the holidays, and survived a dinner at her parents’ house. Every day I learn more about her, and every day she seems to open up just a bit more. Perhaps she has resigned herself to her ‘fate’. Though I pray that isn’t the case, I would not hold it against her. I know I, an old man by her standards, a relation to her mother, would never have been her first choice for a life partner. But she does not hate me. For this I am eternally grateful. She has started singing again. Not often, and never for long, but it is progress. Sometimes, if I am particularly blessed, she even smiles. I bring her flowers every week, sometimes every day if the mood strikes. She likes to sit in front of the fire, on the floor rather than a proper chair, and talk about battles in strange lands I’ve never heard of, her hands gesturing in the air and announcing to all who see it her Italian heritage. She is so expressive when she allows herself to be. She will return to school soon, after nearly a month here with me. I will be sorry to see her go. Of course, I’ll be visiting her as often as possible. We are, after all, to be wed soon enough.
16 January, 2013
My chérie is ticklish behind her knees. Gaining this information cost me a bruised eye and a bloody lip. Worth it. More on this tomorrow. I must see if Bertram has any cold compresses handy.
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