» Living Life And All That Jas, The Life And Times Of A Princess

[Jasminn of Castell]

7th of April
201 H.E.

Dear Diary Friend,

Well... hello. I really have no idea how I am supposed to begin this. I didn't particularly want to start a new journal anyway (all of mine either get lost or end up being used for scrap paper or filled with random notes) but I am determined to do better with you. Besides, there is something delicious about writing the first word on a blank page. I just couldn't resist.

You were an early name-day present. A very early present, for my birthday isn't for more than a month! Doubtless you're wondering who gave you to me. It was one of my ladies-in-waiting. Bré (that's my nickname for her, it's been so long I don't really remember her real name except that it was something horrid like Brézia and I didn't want to call her that forever) gave something to me while she was doing my hair.

"For you, Highness," she murmured, her eyes downcast. Bré really is a terribly shy girl and hardly looks anyone in the face. It is a pity for she has the most beautiful brown eyes I've ever seen; of course, when I tell her that she blushes and glues her eyes to the floor. Anyways, I was going to tell her that she was very sweet but my name day wasn't for another month yet... but once I looked at you I did not have the heart.

You are beautiful and I do not mind saying it. You have a hard cover which I much prefer to the soft ones. The color of the outside binding is a rich blue---my favorite color at present---and my name is engraved in the front. The lining on the inside is silver gray, like the feathers on a dove. Your pages are white and still have that crisp new smell about them. Did you know that each book has a different smell? They're like spices from some forgotten land. When I was little and before I could read well, I would wander into the library and pull the books at my level off the shelves. I would open them up and breathe in their scent, imagining that by smelling them I could smell their stories.

You understand, of course, why I could not even dream of giving you back to Bré. I do not like to think of what she paid for it, so I will be sure to do something especially nice for her. She really is a sweet girl.

Well, I suppose that when one writes in a diary one is supposed to record significant events that happen in one's life. I know I must write of this sometime or other and I'd rather get it over now, but I really would much rather put it off. But I know I shouldn't. I will try to make it as brief as possible.

Last month---my goodness, was it only last month?---my mother gave birth to my baby sister. Natalia. I never saw her. Don't think ill of me, but I couldn't stand to be there. You know the custom of Barzun regarding "excess children". And so then Mías had to... well... he had to "dispose" of Natalia. Oh, what an awful thing to say! But it is true. And it happened. And why--------do w---ave that----pid cust-----yway?

Oh dear. I'm not even on my second entry and already I'm making a mess. I moved too fast and the ink had not yet dried. I smeared the last line till it's almost illegible. Forgive me.

Well I---ah. I fear I must go. Bré has come to tell me that I must go and begin my music lessons. I will write later if I can, for already I enjoy your company.

Love,
Jasminn

This post has been edited by Jasminn of Castell on Oct 20 2009, 01:01 PM

[Jasminn of Castell]

8th of April
201 H.E.

Hello Friend,

Me again. I really have nothing very interesting to write at present. Life is dull here.

Oh! I made a new friend. Ambassador Zekeal of Dalaran. He happened upon me in the library and we fell to chatting. He seems a very nice young man; his sister just arrived in court. I have seen her once or twice in passing---she came to Mother's birthday party, how she construed an invitation I cannot even guess---but she does not seem at all like her brother. While his warmth and sincerity or genuine, I have no doubt that hers aren't. She seems to be the very person that I would not like at all. Conniving. I hope I do not have many occasions to run into her; I did not find her at all pleasant at the party. Too sickly sweet by half.

That is unkind of me. I'm sure that Elanani has many attributes and is well-liked by many. If I knew her better I might like her; I should not make judgments upon someone who I do not know.

I have started a new book. It is called More Essays by Elia by a Sir Elévsfar. It appears extremely old; it's pages are worn and dog-earned and the binding is starting to fall apart. The title is very dull and really, I don't think that I would have contrived to pick it up if it hadn't been for my history lesson early this morning. I am ashamed to say that I only picked up More Essays because I had just read about a man named Sir Elévsfar who had visited his friend Muerin Lenthí, in prison for libeling on of the couriters.

While there, Sir Elévsfar helped Lenthí paint the ceiling of his cell sky blue with white clouds. Next they painted a rose trellis up one wall. Then, I further discovered that Sir Elévsfar offered money to help Lenthí's family outside of prison---though he himself was tied up in various investments and really had no money to spare. Sir Elévsfar also taught Lenthí's youngest daughter to say the Black God's prayer backward. You naturally want to learn everything you can about a man like that.

That's what I love about reading: one tiny thing will interest you in a book, and that tiny thing will lead you onto another book, and that tiny thing will lead you onto another book, and another bit there will lead you onto a third book. It's geometrically progressive---all with no end in sight, and for no other reason than sheer enjoyment.

Bother, I must leave for my voice lesson. As much as I love it, I find it rather dull and dreary at times. Why can't I sing happier songs? My singing master tells me that my voice is suited to the laments, which I find downright depressing. He told me my performance of "The Shepherd Boy Sings In The Valley Of Humiliation" was absolutely electrifying. I only sang it because he demanded I do it. He can do the electrifying next time.

Love,
Jasminn

This post has been edited by Jasminn of Castell on Nov 8 2009, 03:00 PM

[Jasminn of Castell]

10th of April
201 H.E.

Dear Friend,

I spent the afternoon with little Bidane today. I haven't seen her since mother's party, and I wonder sometimes if she is lonely. I know that I would be, for I am slightly lonely myself. Though not quite so much, now that I have you.

Today she came in while I was finishing up my history lesson. I only had a chapter left and some notes to take, so she sat quietly---well, moderately quietly---on the floor till I was done. When I finished, we had an early lunch---picnic style---on the floor. After that we had a game of Dead Bride.

Dead Bride is not a complicated game; it's quite simple. The bride veils herself in one of my bed curtains and stuffs herself either under my bed or in a rather large basket, where she lies as though dead while the anguished bridegroom hunts for her. When he finally discovers her entombed in the basket or under my bed, he breaks into loud wails. Then and only then does the bride jump up, yell "Surprise!" and clutch him to her. Then it is all joy and smiles and kisses. Just between you and me, diary, I don't give that marriage much of a chance.

I knew that all children were somewhat gruesome, little Bidane is no exception; but I don't know whether I'm supposed to encourage them in it. I'm afraid to ask mother if Dead Bride is too morbid a game for one so young as Bidane. If she says yes, we'll have to stop playing, and I don't want to stop. I love Dead Bride.

So many questions arise when you are spending your time with a child. For instance, if one likes to cross one's eyes a lot, might they get stuck that way forever---or is that a rumor? Mother always told 'Mias and I that they would, and I believed her, but Bidane is made of sterner stuff and doubts it.

... I suppose I shall have to ask. Maybe I shall ask mother, it seems like ages since I was last able to talk with her. I miss her dearly, and 'Mías too. He seems to have locked himself in his rooms these days and I haven't been able to speak with him at all. His brute of a bodyguard won't let me inside because he's afraid I'll "upset His Highness". Typical.

Well, I must run. I am growing fonder than ever of your company, diary. I shall talk with you soon.

Love,
Jasminn

This post has been edited by Jasminn of Castell on Oct 21 2009, 12:58 AM

[Jasminn of Castell]

11th of April,
201 H.E.

Hello Diary,

Oh, how I wish you were a real person. A real person whom I was writing letters to and who I'd have an excuse to visit. Life at the Makai Palace has been so dull lately. Mayhap that is not true. Mayhap life is going on the way it always is but for some reason I am not taking enjoyment interest in it. I have been frightfully melancholy lately, and I really have no idea why. That is why I wish that you were real, so that I could come and visit you. I would just lay in bed and let you coddle me. Perhaps you'd tuck the blankets around me and make me tea. That would make me feel better, I'm sure. You're not married, are you? If you're married, would your husband mind a permanent resident in the guest chamber? I'm sure he's very patient, but perhaps he would find it annoying.

Why am I so melancholy? Diary, I really have no idea. It probably is a horrid aftereffect of the dinner I had to attend last night. I was feeling tired and wasn't hungry and wanted nothing more than to just go to bed and read. But I had to attend. Mother made me. So I went and I truly did try to enjoy myself, but I just wasn't in the mood. The food tasted ghastly (probably because I wasn't hungry but I swear that everything I ate was either burned or raw). It was the guests and courtiers who unnerved me---they were the most demoralizing collection of individuals I'd ever encountered. The talk was all about the war. All blood and death and starvation. The only person I really talked to was this woman who claimed to be one of my old nursemaids, before she become a lady-in-waiting to one of the noblewomen. In my mind, I remember her as pretty. But she was there in bones and gooseflesh and bright red pain on her lips and cheeks. And I recall her mad for one of the young soldiers who was always off riding that wretched stallion of his. The soldier is nowhere in sight; instead she is married to a plant mage (and what on earth is that?) with grey skin who clicks his tongue before he speaks. And he was a figure of wild romance compared to my dinner partner, who just happened to be a single man, presumably the last one on earth and---oh, gods, how mean I sound!

I swear, Diary, I do believe there is something wrong with me. Every man I meet is practically intolerable (with the exception of father, 'Mías, and Zekeal). I have such a high standard for them and none of them seem to ever match it. Perhaps I should set my ideals lower---not as low as the gray mage who clicks, but a bit lower... I think I'm doomed to be the spinster princess for the rest of my life. Either that or married to some fiend whom I hate with a passion and will try to have unrequited love affairs but fail miserably and thus be the laughing stock of wherever I end up. Perhaps I shall go crazy. Yes, go crazy and sit in a chair all day mumbling to myself and drawing pictures on the walls. That wouldn't be so bad.

But oh, what's the matter with me? Am I too particular? I know I am rather young to be thinking of this, but really. I'm going to end up married sometime. And it's going to happen quicker than I will like, I'm sure. I don't want to be married just to be married and to give someone a better title. I can't think of anything lonelier than spending the rest of my life with someone I can't talk to, or worse, someone I can't be silent with.

What a dreadful, complaining entry this turned out to be. You see? I've made you glad that you aren't real, after all. I am glad I have you, though, Diary. There really has been no one to talk to and I get lonely with just my studies and my books to keep my company.

I shall write again soon, hopefully with some cheerful things to say.

Love,
Jasminn

This post has been edited by Jasminn of Castell on Nov 5 2009, 02:29 PM