Sleep eluded her, it shouldn't have given the eventful day it had been, not to mention the enjoyable eve she shared with the muscular, golden haired man who lay in her bed, a man oblivious to her having left him for some time and content in his slumber and her fine bed linen. As she sat at her writing desk, a warm posset of wine, spices and rich cream was close by, an indulgence as were many things in her life. The fine nib, wrought of silver and set upon a black swans feather, dipped into a silver inkwell, a bead of black was drawn up the silver nib like a line of poison into the vein, though her written words held less venom than those of late.
How strange the town has become, the people dour, the rats ever increasing in number, yet my business grows, annoyances seem to be simply that and the stars still enchant me. A particular little rat, one in a red dress, insists on trying to provoke me though I know not to what end. She has taken it upon herself to try and make me dislike her, perhaps to force my hand, really though, why ever would I wish to dirty my hands? I have others to do that for me, willing men who would do whatever I wish for the promise of a smile and a shared drink. Her brother, I hoped, would be a sensible sort, then again they seldom are and he too insisted on speaking to me in a tone I did not appreciate. No matter, she will be her own downfall.
Now the painter, there is a curiosity indeed. Quite mad I am certain of it, though it fascinates me. Egoldir and I have discussed possible treatment, including his nonconventional methods and it was agreed it better that she either consults solely with me, or with him, for only chaos would ensue should it be both of us. Her mind is fragile enough without his blood rituals or whatever strange magics he entertains, he has stated she might be broken beyond repair should something go wrong. He has offered to teach me, amusing, the student teaching his mistress, and I might satisfy my curiosity. I am glad the sage calms her sleep, though I still desire to know why she suffers hallucinations.
She turned in her chair as she sipped the posset, the rich, warm drink doing little to lull her to sleepiness. Watching the man, his legs and rear hanging out of the bed coverings whilst clinging them tightly to his chest, she thought of their conversation concerning the one from Wilderland and committed the details to her journal.
Murderers and barbarians he calls them, and I their queen? how amusing! How could I resist such an invitation to feast and frolic when that large brute put it to me so nicely? Geirdrifa claims it to be a high honour and has not refused to play the part of their king, after all he has what the wild man desired for the ceremony, golden hair and a strong body. He is wary of course, but I fear he worries too much. Forstrang might well be a brute, uncivilised, dirty and with a habit to address my bosom when he speaks to me, but murderer? A fanciful thought by an overzealous soldier no doubt. No, tis nothing more than large men wishing to be drunk in the woods in celebration of the winter and what not and with a pretty offering for their gods, which I am assured will not be a burnt offering of my body. By all accounts I am to dress in white, a fine excuse to visit the seamstress, silk I think, it slides over the body so perfectly.
I wonder where Gerlof is? Perhaps he has already set forth with his lady love on their journey. Perhaps it is for the best, I imagine he would find no end of amusement with my current affairs. His own concern me though. I am his friend, his business partner and perhaps something more. His dealings with his maid are troublesome, there is more to their arrangement than cleaning a home I am certain of it, especially given his reason for dismissing her from his service. I am no seer, but I foresee difficult times ahead.
Laying the quill down and leaving her book open, she sipped a little more of her drink before making her way to the bedchamber. Disrobing, she then gently tugged the bedcovers free of the sleeping mans arms and with an unconscious murmur of protest from his lips, climbed in with care beneath the linen sheet and blanket, her back nestled to his broad, warm chest. He murmured again, pulling her close in the darkness, not a breath between their bodies. Closing her eyes, she smiled, warm, content and with the promise of interesting days to come.
