Belinda's Letters from Barovia (and other random places in the Core)

[DM Tarokka]

*Sipping a coffee with honey, as she had seen miss Daciana do, Belinda smiles happily and starts writing a letter, not nervously, with a very elegant handwriting. In Elvish.

Chéz Leon, Port-à-Lucine, Dementlieu.

Dear Yvonne, Dear Xery,

I found again my inspiration and managed to write a full script, an original one, all by myself. Now there will be the time of the second and third draft and eventually deciding some minor changes. But the plot is there, the rhymed lines too, and the routine movements as well. I am so happy about it. I will have Armand checking it as soon as possible and then I will start to look for performers to be hired. The White Day is still some months away, but I will need professionals and costumes and some stage devices. I need tryouts and rehearsals to be done. Oh my, I am really happy to have come back to my real passion.

Being deep in writing allowed me not to think about all the unfortunate things which have happened also in this recent period. Nothing particularly grave, as a matter of fact, as I have heard and witnessed, my brothers and sisters in Vallaki are all okay. The story is dark, and sad, but of that kind I am pretty sure the Dementlieuse will love.I thought about what happened to me in the Keep, I have just changed some things to make them fit for the Masque.

And I remember Lorea in there. Her memory comes to me more often than it used to be. I had removed her from my mind after that bad accident.

*A castle resembling the Von Zeklos Keep is drawn here, in a stylized way.*

I think I know why I remember her so much. That waitress at the Broken Bell resembles Lorea a lot, like a sort of carbon-copy of her. The fact Cata is about to start her work for Eliza and all this speaking of the Keep probably inspired me, but this time I think I reacted better than other times. Of course I am safer here in Port. Safer does not mean safe, since I have heard that notices of the Fifth Heresy has arrived also to the Bastion of the Dementlieuse church. The fact I can walk in most parts of the town at night, and breathing the sea breeze, and staring at the moon, that is what I mean for safer. I am aware that bad things can always happen wherever I go.

But I feel really fine, for once, after a long. Writing this script made me feel better. It has proved to be cathartic as it should have been in my intentions. It is a tragic love story. It deals with vampires. Dementlieuses will think it is just fancy and partly they would be right, I have invented the story. At the same time it is a story very likely to happen in Barovia, and they would not believe that. The suspension of incredulity. I am looking forward for some effect to make the show more realistic.

*She sips some more coffee, a brown drop seems to have fallen here.*

And then there will be the stage of the invitations. I think I am inviting for sure Cata, Lilith and Falon here. I would like having Falon helping me with the show. I still remember when she had a tryout with me at the Broken Bell and I gave her some advices. She is somehow like me, at least for the fact she is a feyborn too. I am sure she would do a great work here. I would like also all my Ezrite brothers and sisters coming, and Rose, and Zack, and all the others. I need to write a list. And then having Armand checking it. He will invite people as well. And there will be some locals of course, the White Day is a holiday of theirs.

I need to go back to work now. I will write you soon anyway.

I love you.

Bel.

*She envelops the letter, then she packs it with the other ones, she opens a booklet, she sips the last drops of her coffee, and smiling she resumes writing notes about her show.*

[DM Tarokka]

*Belinda quietly re-reads her first poem, sips some coffee and the starts walking in the room, speaking it aloud, trying to figure out which notes are more fit for it.*

“The Meeting”.

It is hard, too hard, to love when others fade,
Being alone is easier than looking for trouble:
Of love trouble can be a part, a simple shade,
Gambling can pay back in happiness the double.
He’s alone, in the dark, a shadow, still he’s a man,
Around him several other men dancing and flirting
With sweet women, warmth kept cool with a fan,
But love is in the air, as the autumn birds sing.
There she appears, shining like a summer star,
She shoots glances, he collects them and stares,
A fight of fiery eyes which mingle, still too far,
The approach, the dance, he finally dares.
And the room suddenly gets on fire,
The beautiful lady has found her sire.

*She smiles, re-reads it aloud, then sits and starts scribbling some notes.*

[DM Tarokka]

*Belinda sits at the usual Cafè, sipping her favourite drink, and re-reads another part of her show, rubs her arm, bites her lips, reads it aloud, nods, and finally decides it is okay.*

“The Passion”

Fast as dreams are, that is love, that is passion,
Attracted and linked as if they were just one being,
Breaths and hearts fade and beat at the unison,
Among the flowers every bee hides its sting.
And he has her, he bites her, and lets her see,
And naively she allows, drained, too weak:
She is his, like the wave belongs to the sea,
He looks into her eyes, no need to speak.
Pain is so close to pleasure and she faints,
Pleasure becomes lust, and he owns her,
A cloud in the sunny sky, a taint it paints,
Silence is broken by noises becoming louder.
She would resist but she is not able,
She is for him, a cherry upon a table.

*Then she begins writing several letters which are sent to Vallaki.*

[DM Tarokka]

*Sitting on a chair, leaning her head and touching her belly, Belinda starts writing a letter in Elvish, the language in which she is able to express herself better*

La Bilbiothèque Ombragèe, Port-à-Lucine, Dementlieu.

Dear Xery and Dear Yvonne,

I have met Rose recently, she was with a friend of hers, Asta. This one comes from Mystara as well, though her country, Ostland, is very far from Specularum. The little girls were happy to finally meet their mother again after some weeks she had been away. I am happy with them. Little Alice and Anica. It seems they have become my only reason to live, teaching them the sweet language they speak here, and some tricks, and eating together all the delicious sweets they have here. I have them often mingle with local children, like Pierre, Marie and Thèrese. Where I am living people are less snob than where I used to live before my holidays in Barovia. I feel more at ease. I play with them. I tell them tales with my dolls.

*A draft of a big house with several people around is drawn. The drawing has a willing childish style.*

Rose asked me about Cata. There are many things still untold. I feel lonely, and she is not coming to visit me. Next time Rose is staying longer I am planning to go and see if she is still alive. She did not even reply to my letters.

*A teardrop, with some attempts of being dried which has made a mess worse than it would have been, a wet, longitudinal taint in this side of the paper.*

Rose says I do not have to give up with love. I am still scared. And lonely. And my condition is not an easy one to speak about with people, especially of the Church. I am still waiting for the ceremony to have my conversion and new baptism. Also work is not going really fine. I have written a first draft of the show I had planned. But none of the people I contacted is replying and Armand has not given me a proper feedback. I know Rose’s partner Joey is in town. When she was going to arrive, I went for a walk to allow them some intimacy. The fact I am alone and not properly happy does not mean I should have people put up with my own sadness.

*In elegant hand-writing, this time in the trade-language, a small poem is written*

He gave her his gift, she received and was drained,
Love is also filling the other one’s hollow,
As a barren soil upon which it has just rained,
And one by one, days pass, and seasons follow.
Every beginning has an end, and things change,
The greatest love can become the greatest hate:
In the far sky a loud thunder bursts with rage,
And yet she’s aware, she knows what will be her fate.
In her heart she has ready for him her only gift,
Freedom and  salvation, pain and pleasure,
She cannot help, she owes him a final rift,
And she lifts her hand, the wood, the closure.
Sinner to saint, saint to sinner, blood is spilled,
But in a swift movement the hollow is filled.

*The writing keeps on in Elvish*

Tomorrow is another day. I will eat some codfish. And caviar. And then jogging, some coffee and a cake. And finally sleeping with my godchildren if Rose has departed already. I miss you both.

*In common language the last part.*

I... don’t know if erm... I will be able to endure... but I know St.Mere will cry for me and erm I’m trying not to cry too much to make other people happy... but I feel bad... and I don’t like it...

I hope you uhm both are okay wherever you are... someday we’ll erm be together again... the three... maybe... who knows...

Loves.

Bel.

[DM Tarokka]

She left Anica and Alice to Annette for a night walk. She giggled while “jogging” with the bandits she met. And then she saw some Mists. They were not as usual, they were thicker. She frowned and she started running, but it seemed the Mists were after her. She mumbles some prayers to Ezra while running, and panting, and sweating, her breath became heavy, weirdly she was too tired to run. When she realized that, she was completely wrapped by the thick Mists. And at some point, Belinda Pope was no more in Port-à-Lucine. Belinda Pope had vanished. For good?

[DM Tarokka]

*bump for future*