Daughter, Disappeared - Musings of Adelina des Ayvelles

[GothicProtagonist]

20th of November.

The nightmares have returned.

I can’t decide what could be the cause - stress? Lack of proper nourishment? Whatever the reason, I am losing more sleep than I can afford in these circumstances. Perhaps a change in accommodation will bring me some comfort.

How much I miss my musicbox... I couldn’t take it with me - obviously, considering the manner in which I “left” - yet the knowledge does not make its absence any easier. As a young girl I believed its tune is what keeps the monsters creeping along the walls at bay. Though now I realize how ridiculous such thoughts were, a small voice in the back of my head cannot help but wonder…what if?

The music box belonged to my mother, that I am sure of. My tiny hands handled it enough to make sure that, while far from being a cheap toy, it was perfectly ordinary. Mother’s last connection to her dead family - a few pieces of mahogany with a mechanism inside. How pathetic is that?

I find myself clinging to the memories of my childhood - the music box, my dollhouse and its inhabitants, Balthazar and Cyprien's games - but for what purpose? As much as I try to analyze my mind, the answers scurry away like rats, into the darkness of obviousness. 

So here I lie awake, kept company by the light of the cheap tallow candle and creaking of the floor in the room next to mine. My eyelids are getting heavier and heavier, yet I fear to let them fall. The moment my consciousness fades, I’m going to feel the warmth of hands or the roughness of rope on my neck. And the eyes I’ll gaze into, as breath is squeezed out of my lungs…

… will be the same as mine.

“Sleeping mind is the mother of monsters.”
- Augustus Bataille, Poèmes Recueillis.

[GothicProtagonist]

25th of November:

Today I was supposed to meet my fiancé.

The thought put me in a bad mood, which is why I am wasting time on wine and my journal, instead of engaging in more productive activities.

“Engaging”. Seems this cheap wine is quite strong indeed...

There was precious little Father revealed about my future husband. All I know is that he’s the oldest son of the Artois family, a young man by the name Killian. I was not surprised to learn the location of the Artois estate  - just a few miles away from our own. Could he not stand the thought of letting go of his little girl? Or was it another way the mighty Donatien des Ayvelles would show his disdain for the good society of Dementlieu - by refusing to make his daughter a part of it?

Once again, the current of thoughts takes me to my mother, a common occurrence these days. Did she ever regret falling for Father? The memories he shared with us sound like a fairytale - a handsome knight saving his beloved princess from vicious assassins, with a happy ever after looming in the horizon. What if the truth is different? Perhaps she only saw him as a useful pawn, unwittingly allowing the situation to spiral out of control.

Or, perhaps, it is me who’s slowly turning into a cynical hag. Nowadays nothing seems set in stone.


Tonight, I shall raise a glass for what will never be - Adelina Artois. Let the sour wine wash away any regrets from my mind.

Repose en paix, dear friend.

Maybe in another life.

May love be the fatal crack in the walls of our indifference.
- Augustus Bataille, Poèmes Recueillis.

[GothicProtagonist]

5th of December

If I had the choice, would I still be born as des Ayvelles?

The life I had was safe. Comfortable. There were no expectations on my shoulders, nobody to please, and the emptiness of my existence was strangely… comforting. There is no shame in mediocrity - just look at the good society of Dementlieu. So many of them were elevated where they are solely thanks to their connections, nothing more than a parade of fools… What would happen if all of it was suddenly taken away?

I can tell you what - they would be devoured. Lambs fattened by blood and sweat, now left alone among the wolves. Who would I be in this scenario? A lamb? Or perhaps… perhaps one of the wolves. In the past life I would be more assured in my answer, but these days I can barely even recognize myself.

Is that what adulthood is?

All of this could be blamed on Adrian. Poor old Adrian, with his honor and duty, shame and regrets. Strangely enough, I look to this man up more than to my own father. Can you imagine? Admiring a highwayman more than a respectable knight! Ridiculous... yet all Donatien des Ayvelles taught me was contempt and anger. Now his teachings are holding me back, and I desire to be free of them... Free of everything.

Last night nightmares woke me up again - it’s a miracle the owner won’t kick me out, considering the number of times I disturbed other guests by screaming. This time it wasn’t just a pair of hands trying to squeeze the life out of me - it was thousands of hands, tugging at my limbs, tearing into my flesh. I was being pulled apart and I had no idea why.

Why, why, why?

Why can’t I sleep? Why is my mind so hellbent on punishing me? Have I not suffered enough, with all the filth running in my veins? What does it want me to do?
I considered suicide countless times already, and every sleepless night pushes me more towards it. Only the thought of the wrongs I need to right is what keeps the rope away from my neck. If not for that… I don't know. Do I even have it in me to die?

The time I spent in Barovia was brief, but it came to an end. The hounds are hot on my heels, I can feel it. Too many people saw me already, too many remember my face.

I’m sorry, Adrian.

Sickness of mind is the rot that toils the soul.
- Augustus Bataille, Poèmes Recueillis.