* February 07, 1864 - Sunday *
* Sometimes I don't understand the humans. They say they are doing something good for the people, that they would free those who are imprisoned in a system without justice. They tell you all those things and more, but what are they doing? They make war. Simple, efficient, bloody and totally useless war. Where lies the good in killing your brothers? Where is justice when you have to watch your sisters die? *
* I can't understand why they are doing it. I just don't get it into my head why they believe it would make freeing the slaves so much easier if they killed the masters. The only thing they accomplish with that behaviour is that thousands of good people lose their home. *
* Do they really think about what they are doing to our dark-skinned servants? Obviously not. Oh, I understand that in war everything is fair. I understand that white are hurt as well, lose their homes and watch their children be slaughtered on the battlefield. I understand, but what most of those so-called generals from the North don't seem to get into their thick heads is that the 'White Masters' go to war voluntarily. They go because there is something to fight for, because they have to protect their ways of living. Stupid nonsense in my opinion, but it's what they say. *
* The slaves are going because they trust their master's judgement. They don't go because they believe in what they read in the papers. They don't go because they want to stay in servitude. No, they leave their homes and families, go to the bloody battlefield where they are used as nothing else but simply cannon fodder, because they trust. *
* It's that simple. They trust in doing the right thing for their people. They do it to protect. And that is going to kill them all. *
* It's time to leave the sinking ship. Time to go on a nice long journey. Maybe to France. My servants bought a nice mansion in Paris, they told me. Most of my things are already on their way to my new home, three-quarters of my house staff went with the furniture. It is good to know that I was asked if I wanted to go. Really nice. When I'm in Paris I'll have to thank them. *
* It would have been nice to know before they knocked me out. But you can't change the past. You can maybe live till the end of time, but you can never change the past. *
* And now I sit here on this damn ship in a first class suite. They got through with it. I paid for eight suites. Eight, can you imagine that? Because of my staff's inability to live in any other condition than I live myself in, they see it as a necessity to have their own hot water baths and... you know the rest. Room service. And I do it gladly. *
The clock chimes eight times Time for an amusing evening meal. Time to shock the other passengers, I think with a smile. The little black book I wrote in wanders in the same box that houses all my past diaries. Nearly thirty years are safely hidden in that box. Some day I'll have to burn them all. But not now.
Now I'm going to the first banquet of my involuntary journey to the old continent. Now I'm going to walk into the dining room, a beautiful woman on my arm. I'm going to create a nice little scandal. And a scandal it will be because it is a black orchid at my side, not a white.
I refuse with all my heart to acknowledge the thought that it could be my person that makes the other passengers stare open mouthed at us. I refuse to think about it. They are staring at charming Lillian beside me because she is a Nubian beauty and not at me. They are not staring at me. They are not.
I hate it when people don't act according to the rules. The rules say you don't stare at other people's faces. The rules say you don't whisper behind your hands about said people's faces.
The rules say you stay calm and wait. Revenge will come soon enough. You can't kill them all while on the ship. They would realize it was you and put you into a cold, damp prison cell. They put you into a dark cage and throw the key away.
"Stop daydreaming, Master." Her voice sounds a bit disconcerted. Is she worrying about my welfare? I really should tell her that there is nothing to worry about. I am already past the point of no return.
I look at her and know that it hurts her to see the black void that is the sight of my eyes. She can look at my face without flinching. She can watch me take care of those who dare to annoy me with a smile on her face. She can look at the Devil's spawn without batting an eye, but she can't look me straight in the eyes. I never asked her why. I don't need to. I know what she sees.
I am dead. Not dead in the literal sense of the word. I don't think I could die if I wanted to. My heart is dead. There is no reason for me to keep living. That is what scares her. That is what makes my dear Lillian look at me with this terribly sad look on her face.
"Don't call me 'Master'. I'm nobody's master." I whisper. I am quite sure she didn't hear it. I don't want to worry her more than I am already doing. I don't want to be cause for her nightmares. Hell help me, I caused enough nightmares only by simply existing.
* Dinner was as I expected. Dozens of stupid rich men with their stupid, fat wives and their wailing children. And all of them were gaping openly at me and my princess. It was as if they've had never seen a sixteen year old girl. *
* I didn't create a scandal. Pity. I really wanted a little scandal. Well, you can't have everything, right? *
The night is a screaming goddess. She wants you to see. She wants you to feel. She wants you to live. Whenever a lost soul seeks a bit of silence she is there. Whenever a being of old mind wishes to see youth long lost and forgotten, she shows us her stars. The night is protecting those who need darkness.
The night is for predators.
The night is my time.