1 January 1643

I should probably stop taking my medicine after Epiphany. It makes me feel better, but I know it's not good to take it for too long. I know what it's done to Gamzee, and I don't think I could be a good mother that way. I might have a few headaches, but I have to balance that with being able to handle my responsibilities. I can't plan events, be a good wife, be a good mother, when my head is as dull as it is on the medicine. I'm sure it'll be fine when I stop. Maybe I should start only taking it when I have a headache, when I need it. Then I can have my wits about me when I need to, but also keep the pain under control.

But I'll enjoy the rest of the holidays like this, without having to worry about the pain. I'm starting to think more and more that I'll always have these headaches, and I'll have to manage them for the rest of my life.

Epiphany will be nice, though. I've often thought about making a king's cake with an almond inside and everything (goodness knows I couldn't afford much more than that before I married). They won't have one here, but the food will be delicious nonetheless. Maybe after I have a child, I can go see my sister for some of these smaller holidays and we can make a king's cake together.

4 January 1643

I keep going back and forth, if I should tell my husband that I think I'm pregnant. He'd be so happy, of course, but it's so early and I don't want to get his hopes up. I'm not even positive, because my bleeding could come soon and then it'd just be the feeling from that. It's hard to be sure for the first couple of months, especially since you can't really predict when your bleeding will come. My mother thought that people who ate better got it more regularly, but still it's hard to tell.

I think I'll wait a little bit longer. I want to be sure before I tell him, so he can feel confident in his future. He has a lot on his plate, and I don't want to put this on him, too. When I know for sure, I'll tell him, and then it'll just make him happy. He'll be happy and everything will be better.

I'm excited for Epiphany. Magdalena has been keeping me up to date with the gossip. Another court is coming to visit for Epiphany, and apparently there are all sorts of scandals going on. I know it's not very noble of me, but I'm kind of looking forward to being a little bit nosy. My mother used to say curiosity runs in the family, and I remember once she scolded me gently to remember to be polite. I remember her laughing to herself and telling me that she was very nosy when she was my age.

Anyways, I think it'll be fun.

6 January 1643

Epiphany was such fun! My ladies were there, Magdalena especially, to point out the right people to me so I could keep an eye out for the scandals. It reminded me a little bit of festivals in the village, when my friends and I would giggle about who was seeing who and watching who danced with who. It was just fun.

The food was delicious, of course, too. I love the food here. I get to try so many different foods from far-off places, fruits I've never heard of and spices so strange they make my mouth hurt. The village food is nice, but it's all from this little country. These foods are so different and interesting.

And then I got to dance with my husband, like always. I love dancing with him. I love that smile he gives me when he holds me and we dance like that. I think in a couple of weeks I'll feel certain enough to tell him, and I can only imagine what his smile will look like then. I love him, and I love seeing him happy, and I love when I can make him happy. He was very sweet to me, too. He offered his arm to walk me to our room, and then he was very sweet in bed. Things have been so good lately. Maybe I really am fixing things.

9 January 1643

I feel terrible. I haven't taken my medicine in two days and I think I may be dying. I'm shaking so hard I can hardly stand up and my heart is beating out of my chest. Everything hurts. I had one of my headaches yesterday, and while I don't have one today, everything else hurts. But I went to court, because my husband insisted. He pressed his lips together and wrote, "Can you make it to court?"

"I'm not sure."

"This is why you need your medicine," he said. "If you're not well, can you take some?"

I didn't want to take it anymore, so I made myself stand and said, "I'm well enough."

I'm not sure. I do feel a lot better when I take my medicine, and when I stop taking it, I start feeling so terrible like this. But I can't think so clearly when I do take it, and I'm worried I'll get sick forever like Gamzee.

The last times this has happened, I felt better in a few days. It seems like things might be getting better, so maybe in a few days this will pass and I'll feel that again. I think I'm going to go lie down. I can't write much more anyways. Maybe I'll feel better tomorrow.

13 January 1643

I feel a bit better today, but these past few days I've been miserable. I didn't know my body could feel so terrible and still manage to walk and talk. I just keep telling my husband that I'm fine and don't need any medicine, but I'm starting to wonder if I do. I didn't used to feel like this all the time. I was happy when I was a girl. My sister and I made flower crowns in front of the house and our mother took us to the creek to play, and I was happy and contented. I know that I was happy once.

I was sick to my stomach today. I threw up in the morning and I could hardly eat all day. I don't know if it's from the medicine, or stopping the medicine, or if I'm pregnant, or if I've just come down with something. I don't know what I'll do if I am pregnant. Part of me wants to tell my husband and just try one more time, and part of me is terrified of what might happen.

I'm not even that sure yet. I can wait a little longer, can't I? Maybe I'll write my friends and ask what they think. I can trust my sister at the very least to have my best interests at heart.

16 January 1643

I want so badly to take my medicine. My head ached today so much I could hardly look at the light. Maybe it's a blessing I can hardly hear, because I think any sound would've hurt like knives. I went to court anyways, though, because if I don't my husband will insist I take the medicine. He tells me he just wants the best for me, for me to not be in pain, for me to be happy. But he never asks what would make me happy, what I want from him.

I don't know what I want from him, really. I want him to love me. I want us to have a good life together. I don't know how to ask for that. I've tried before and he doesn't seem to understand. I don't know what else I can say. I feel like I've tried everything I know how to try, and I'm at the end of my rope. When do I decide that the sickness has set in too far and there's nothing more I can do? When do I switch from trying to cure to trying to comfort? When do I let go?

19 January 1643

I miss hearing the music in church. I never thought much about the hymns, but I miss them now. I can feel the organ, but I can't hear the choir anymore. I miss singing, too. I can't tell how loud I am or even if I'm singing the right notes. My husband says I sing too loudly, so I don't sing in church anymore. I just miss music.

I wish I could sing, still. If I were back home with my sister, would she mind? Would the people in the church I grew up in tell me to quiet down? Could I sing lullabies to my children someday, or will I be too loud to put them to sleep? Or will I have completely lost my singing voice from all this time being quiet?

It's moments like this I remember that this is wrong. My husband tells me not to sing, that I'm too loud. My mama and sister and I used to sing together, and they said my voice was lovely. My mother told me, years ago, never to quiet myself down for a man. She'd be so ashamed of me, watching me silence my singing for this man. What's wrong with me?

22 January 1643

I got a letter today from my sister. She said the same things she always says, that she loves me and misses me and wants to see me again soon, and I felt something inside me break. I couldn't stop crying. I was alone in my room, and my husband doesn't come to me when I'm crying anymore, so I was left by myself to cry as long as I needed.

I don't have a clock in my room, but it felt like hours, and my throat was burning when I was done. My sister misses me. My little sister, who I've known as long as I can remember, misses me and loves me and wants me home. I don't know what makes this letter feel so different, why it made me break down sobbing. My sister writes me often enough, and she always says she loves me and misses me, along with whatever news has happened in the village. I don't know why this one made my heart hurt so badly.

I feel like I'm being torn in two. Half of me wants to go home right now, just leave this castle and run back to my old home and throw myself on my sister's mercy. Half of me wants to stay here and keep trying, fix what's wrong in my marriage and make a happy life here for us. How am I supposed to decide? Not too long ago I was so sure I wanted to leave, and even more recently I wanted to stay.

I went back in my journal to the day I lost my hearing. He did that to me. He threw me against the wall and boxed my ears and hurt me, and he never said he was sorry. I put a ribbon on that page, so I can't forget it. I have to leave. The part of me that wants me to leave is the part I need to trust right now.

25 January 1643

I wrote my sister back. I told her that I love her, that I will see her again soon. I realized I haven't told her about my hearing. I dithered about it for a long time, because part of me doesn't want her to know. It's hard to write, and I don't know why. It's hard to put pen to paper and tell someone else what happened, even my own sister. In the end, I did decide to tell her. I think she deserves to know if I'm going to be living with her again, making her life difficult. I just hope it's not too much, and she'll still let me come home again.

It needs to be an annulment. I feel terrible about it, but I've been spying on my own husband, trying to see what books he's been reading or figure out who he's been talking to. I need to know what he's thinking or doing so I can decide what to do next. I need my home back, for my sake and for my sister's sake. He does seem to be reading about marriage law, but I can't tell what parts he's been reading.

I hate how this feels. I hate spying on my husband, sneaking around, keeping secrets, lying to the man I love. I love him still, and I think I always will. I feel like I'm treating him worse than he has ever treated me, lying this way. It keeps me up at night. I can hardly sleep for the guilt and I can hardly stay awake for the headaches. I hate the nighttime.

28 January 1643

I was sick again today. I think I must be pregnant, and I can't keep it. I won't give it up yet, though. My body might give up on its own, or I might escape in time. And…the more often I have to do this, the worse it feels. I want children. I want these babies so badly and I can't keep them, can't hold them in my arms and tell them I love them. I want to believe that someday I can have a child to love and care for, but I'm starting to think that I don't deserve that. What sort of mother would I be now, after all of this? I'm too much of a sinner to raise a child well.

I miss my mother. She once told me that she'd lost children, too, and she still managed to raise us right. I feel like if I could just talk to her, for a moment, for a cup of tea together, I'd know what to do. I'd feel better and I'd have someone to talk to. I have no one to talk to here, and while I can write my friends and my sister, it's not the same. And none of them are my mother, who raised me and loved me and put up with me when I was fourteen and an absolute nightmare.

My head aches. I cannot take my medicine. I need to have a clear head and remember the truth.

30 January 1643

I wrote Porrim today. I think that she'll know what to say. I don't think she's always right about things like men, but I think she sometimes sees with clearer eyes than I do. I always try to believe that people are kind and caring, and that they're trying their best. Porrim has always wondered what people are hiding under a kind veneer. I don't know which of us is right, but I think right now I need her perspective.

I miss my friends so badly. When I was a girl I used to walk with Porrim and Latula and Damara and Aranea, and we'd talk and do each other's hair and sing little songs. We talked about boys and girls and nothing and everything. When I was upset or worried I could talk to them, and I always knew that they would support me, and my goodness, I would always be there for them. I'd do anything to help my friends. Can I lean back on them now? They were there for me when I was fifteen and the boy in the village didn't like me back. Can they be here for me now? Do I deserve that? I haven't been there for them since I was married. Do I deserve their support now?

I have no choice but to ask. They would be entirely right to turn me down and laugh in my face, but I have to ask, or else what am I going to do?

My husband's trying to hide his books now, but he's not doing it very well. He just turns the spines backwards in the shelves at his desk. I haven't worked up the bravery yet to open them. Is the simple fact that he's hiding them good or bad? Does he know what I'm doing, or is he just trying to keep it from me? What on Earth is he thinking?

4 February 1643

I worked on a tapestry with my ladies today. As strange as things are between my husband and myself, it's almost as strange with my ladies. I thought we might be friends, but I don't know what they'd tell my husband if asked. I don't know who else they talk to, and what those people might say. Words travels fast here; Magdalena seems to know news before even my husband, especially if it's scandalous. I don't distrust her, but if I told her I was unhappy in my marriage, who might it get back to? My goodness, it could even get back to my father-in-law, and I don't want to think about that.

The tapestry is beautiful. It's a scene of some men hunting a boar on horseback, the sort of thing my husband does for fun that strikes me as stupidly dangerous. I would've never hunted a boar when I hunted; you could shoot them right through the eye and they'd hardly notice. The tapestry is a boar being killed in a lush, beautiful forest, surrounded by a border of blooming flowers.

I miss the forest. I remember when I was eleven and getting strong enough to walk, after my mother helped me, and she took me for a walk in the forest. I remember the pine tree in the clearing and the cold waters of that little creek, and how alive and wonderful it all felt. I miss that feeling very badly. I wish I could walk in the forest again. I think if I could do that, I'd feel just a little bit better.

7 February 1643

I wrote my sister again today. I just miss her so badly. It's been more than a year since I've seen her face, and I miss her. I hope she isn't worrying. I didn't say anything all that important, but then I couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't make her more worried. I hope she's doing well. I remember she was overworking herself–it seems to run in the family. Our mother sometimes worked too hard, and I know I did too, and I hoped my sister wouldn't take after us, but I suppose she has.

I wonder how Equius is doing. Last I heard he was going to school to study architecture. I didn't get to talk to him at the wedding, or his father or brother for long, so I have no idea how that's been going for him. I don't know how Horuss's marriage is, or Mr. Zahhak's health–things I would've been so careful to keep track of before. I'm going to have a lot to catch up on when I'm back home.

My goodness, I've missed so much. Will I ever be able to make up for all the time I've lost with my family and friends, my village? Has too much time passed for things to ever be the same? And if things can't be the same, can they at least be alright? Or will I always feel this awful, even when I'm in my own home?

I'm so frightened I'll never feel better. I can't live the rest of my life this way. I'm so scared that this is it for me, and there's no light on the other side. What if this is all there is?

11 February 1643

Last night when I was certain my husband was asleep, I went to our study and opened the books he was reading. He's marked several sections, and one of them is annulment. I felt a bubble of hope in my chest as soon as I saw that he'd marked that page. But he also marked other sections on how to end marriages, and I'm scared that he'll pick one of those. If I don't get my home back, where will my sister and I live? I can't ruin her life by doing this.

Maybe I should write Horuss again and ask him for help. He's the only person my husband would listen to who will also listen to me. I need to know what my husband is planning, and I'm so frightened I can hardly think straight without help.

I haven't been eating much. I just haven't had the appetite. My husband has noticed; he tried to bring it up, to ask me kindly if I was feeling alright. He said he'd noticed I'd lost weight, and he was just a little worried. I can't blame him. He married a lovely woman with a round belly and wide hips, and now I'm so thin I look sick. I used to be beautiful. I could eat more, I know, but it's hard enough forcing enough food down my throat to keep me alive. I need my energy for other things. I can't spend it keeping up my figure.

14 February 1643

He tried today in a way he hasn't in a long time. My husband had the chefs cook my favorite foods and brought me flowers, and he told me I was lovely and he was so glad he'd married me. He took my hand and just held it, like he just wanted to be with me. It hurt so badly to see how hard he was trying to be kind to me, to show me he cares. He married an orphan girl with no money to her name–how could he not care? He had to fight his father so hard to marry me. How can I doubt him now, especially when it's his father who's upsetting him so much? Even I, with my ruined hearing, can hear their fights sometimes. I don't know what they're saying, but I know they're arguing. I've never fought with anyone like that, and certainly not my own mother. I know I mouthed off or she worried too much, but we never screamed at each other like that.

He hasn't had anyone the way I did. Even though our birth parents were not kind people, my sister and I had our mother to love us. His father is not the loving sort, and his mother died when he was young. He hasn't had someone to love him the way my mama loved me. How can I possibly blame him for that?

18 February 1643

I got a letter from Kitty today, and one from Porrim. Porrim said that I deserve better than a man who would hurt me. I don't know that I do, but it's kind of her to say. Nepeta told me that Mr. Vantas died, and so Karkat and Kankri are living with her in our home now. Of course she's grown up to become a kind, caring person who would open her home to friends in need. My sister was always a good person, and I'm not surprised she's doing something like this. I only hope it's not too much. I know she would overwork herself to help someone in need, and I don't want her to get sick. I know we talked about it when I visited her, but that was so long ago. Was it two years? I'm not sure. It's been a long time, certainly.

I also hope that if–when–I go home, it doesn't mean the Vantases have to leave. I never liked Kankri much, but I don't want him or his brother to be hungry or cold! If they have nowhere to go, of course they're welcome in my home. But I'm worried they'll feel like they have to leave, or they'll decide it's too difficult living with me, and leave. I'm a nuisance to everyone I love. I don't know why friends from childhood I was never particularly close to would put up with me now.

I wrote my sister back, but I wasn't sure what to tell her. I used to write her every week and tell her everything, the court gossip and the colors in the tapestries and my time with my ladies. Now I can barely write a sentence. What's wrong with me that I can hardly talk to my own sister?

21 February 1643

I have been having the worst dreams lately. Last night I dreamed that someone had slit my throat. I've never had that happen to me (of course), but it was visceral and terrible in a way I can barely understand. I felt the blood dripping down my front, hot and sticky, but everything inside felt cold and horribly empty. The terror felt nearly as bad as the pain from the knife. I didn't know who had done it, or why, but I was certain in the dream that I was going to die and that it would never stop hurting.

I woke up breathing hard, hardly able to think, before I realized my throat was clear and it didn't hurt. I was trembling so hard I could hardly move. Part of me is frightened that it was an omen, that the only way to escape my marriage was death. Maybe it is. I don't know.

I wrote to Horuss today. It's the only other thing I can think to do. And besides that, I miss him terribly. He was one of my first friends when I was a child, and he's always been there for me. He's married and I hardly know his wife. I should be visiting their home every day, making tea and sharing gossip with them. I should be there to deliver their children! I hope he can still forgive me.

25 February 1642

I heard back from Horuss today. I've never heard back from someone so quickly before. He told me that he misses me, too, that Annes is pregnant, that my sister is well and so are his father and brother. And he told me that he hasn't seen much of my husband lately, but he does seem to be preoccupied. Apparently my husband asked Horuss if Horuss had ever considered leaving his wife. They've only been married a few months, so it's definitely an odd question. Horuss said he told my husband he'd only leave with an annulment, to guarantee his property rights and such. I could cry from gratitude. He really is, still, trying to help me. I don't know why, but I'm so grateful.

My head hurts. I need to go lie down.

27 February 1643

I had the strangest episode today while I was working with my ladies. We were working on a tapestry (another one, I don't even remember which one anymore), and I pricked my finger on the needle. All of a sudden my heart was racing and pounding and I couldn't catch my breath and my throat felt tight and I felt like I was going to shake out of my skin. I could barely move.

"Meulin?" Ellen asked.

"I–I don't feel well," I said, which was at least true.

"Have some water," Katherine said, placing a glass in front of me.

I nodded and took a sip, but even I could see that when I held the glass, the water trembled with my hand. It didn't help, anyways. I felt like the world was coming to rest squarely on my shoulders and the weight was unbearable.

Grace put down her needle and took my hand, and said, "Breathe." At least, I think she did. So I tried to, even though my chest was tight with fear. It helped, a little. In the end, it passed, and I was back to myself, but I've felt strange and tired all day since. My ladies could tell–Katherine kept trying to get me to drink water, and Magdalena went for some biscuits. I don't know what they think. I know they were kind to me, and that I can't tell them why I feel this way, but I don't know what they think of me. What must they think of a noblewoman falling to pieces like this?

1 March 1643

I don't know how much longer I can afford to let this pregnancy continue. I don't want to do it again, but I've lost so much weight that I'll be showing soon. Around everyone else I can hide it with my corset and many skirts, but my husband will know. He doesn't even seem to enjoy it himself half the time, but every night he reminds me we need a baby. It's just like one more chore to him, like giving charity and listening to the barons in court. I remember our first nights together–how wonderful it all felt, and how close to him I was. He held me and petted my hair and told me he loved me, and I told him the same, because we loved each other. We did.

I miss my husband. I miss the man I married, the man who courted me so sweetly and promised me he'd marry me with a gorgeous ring. He went through so much to marry me, of all people. He picked me above dozens of eligible noblewomen. I miss the man who chose me.

I wonder why he did. I'm nothing special. I'm not particularly talented, intelligent, or beautiful. As of late, I've lost enough weight that I look sickly all the time. I don't have an education. Why on Earth did he pick me?

4 March 1643

I had a headache yesterday and I gave in and took the laudanum, and again today. I feel so much better with it, warm and happy and capable in a way I rarely do these days. I know I need a clear head, but it's not as if the headaches make it easy to think. Which is worse, the thought-scrambling pain of the headaches or the disorienting, soft sensation of the laudanum? Neither is helpful for clear thought, but one of them is much less painful than the other.

But whenever I take the medicine, my thoughts lean towards the dangerous and complacent. I start to think that this is the best things can get, and I might as well settle for the good parts of my life here–good food, nice clothes, a comfortable bed, money, education, books, plenty of everything I need. There are times when I think that taking my children from such a safe, comfortable life is the worst choice I could make as a mother. Any children I raise in the home I grew up in would have no formal education, and I would have to work for them to eat. How can I take that from a child, even when it's because I'm in pain? Shouldn't I be prepared to sacrifice for my children? What's wrong with me that I don't want to?

8 March 1643

We had church today, and I have no idea what the sermon was about, but the verses were the parable about the lost sheep. Would my village welcome me home like the lost sheep? I wasn't lost on accident; I left them. Does that still count?

I like church, though. I like it better than court. When the choir sings and the organs play, I can feel it. It's sometimes loud enough that I can make out the notes in my good ear, but even when it's not, the hum of the music still feels nice. I know the hymns by heart, so even with just the little I can hear, I can imagine the whole song in my head.

There's always a moment of silence in church for private prayer. Today I prayed for forgiveness. I often pray for that, but today especially, I know that I'll have to give up another baby, and I want so badly to be forgiven for what I'm about to do. I don't deserve it, but perhaps by the grace of God I will be forgiven. Isn't that supposed to be how grace works?

I don't know. My husband's religious beliefs are different from mine. Maybe he's right and I'm wrong.

10 March 1643

I did it again today. After I was sure my husband was asleep, I went to my bathroom and took the herbs and waited for the pain. It was excruciating. It was worse than any of my headaches, worse than when I lost my hearing. And I couldn't help but cry. Of course it hurt and I was crying from the hurt, but also from the ache inside of losing my child. The cramps went through my gut in waves, and with each one I had to bite my tongue to keep from crying out. I couldn't let anyone hear me, and I was alone. I miss my sister. I know she would've held my hand and told me I was going to be alright.

I know I won't feel like myself for the next few days, and more than anything I want to take the laudanum. It would ease the pain and it would make acting normal so much easier. It felt nice last week. Maybe just for a few days it'll be alright, so no one notices anything is wrong. No one can know what I've done. No one can know that anything has changed.

I used to be such a chatterbox. My mama used to gently remind me to let my sister talk, since she's quieter. When did I become so quiet?

13 March 1643

I told myself just a few days, until the bleeding stopped. The bottle tempts me. Is this what it's like for Gamzee? I know with just a swallow all this hurt would go away and I'd be contented and calm. My head wouldn't hurt and I could just pretend that everything is fine. The world would be softer and easier, and I'd just feel better. I want to feel better. If this is how it feels for Gamzee, I understand why he keeps taking it, even though we all know it's not good for you. I've lost weight, and sometimes I feel lightheaded and strange. I know it's not healthy for me. There's a reason I only ever kept a small amount on hand and only used it rarely (also, it's expensive).

The worst part is that I don't know how much longer this will be. If I knew it was a year, or a month, or a day, I think it'd be easier–the end would be in sight. Right now, it would be any second. The pain of not knowing is almost as bad as the pain in my head. I don't know how much longer I can hold out, and I don't know when it will be over.

Maybe just one more day.

16 March 1643

I tried to write to Kitty today, but it seemed impossible. I left the half-finished letter on my desk. I told her I love her and some nonsense about my watercolors, and then I stared at the paper and couldn't think what else to tell her. It's a strange feeling, not knowing what to say. I don't want her to worry, although it might be too late for that. She's a kind person, of course she'll worry.

Magdalena tried to cheer me up today with gossip, and it helped a little. She has a way of telling stories that makes even mundane things funny, and her laugh is infectious. She never says I look tired or ill, like Grace does sometimes, but the way she acts reveals she's thinking it. No one who thought I was well would try to hard to make me smile, maybe because I used to be so quick to smile that it wasn't much work. She touched my hand when I finally managed a grin and said, "I'm glad to see you smiling."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I said, "Thank you."

"Whenever you need a laugh, you know I'm good for it," she said. "I have many more stories about the people back home. You wouldn't believe how stupid someone who's been to university can be!"

"I'd like to hear those stories," I said. I could do with a laugh these days.

So she told one, about some baron in the castle she grew up in who insulted a count to his face because he didn't know what the man looked like. It did make me laugh. That must be worth something.

I didn't take the medicine today.

20 March 1643

He brought me roses today. He brought me a dozen red roses and touched the necklace he gave me that I always wear and told me I was wonderful and he loved me. I'm all tied up in knots over it. He's so sweet to me nearly all the time. Should I let a few bad days outweigh all the good ones?

"Is he mistreating you?" Porrim asked me. It feels like forever ago. He's hurt me. He's apologized for hurting me, too. But he's also lied to me and kept me from my sister. Does that count as mistreatment? He's only physically hurt me a handful of times. There are men who beat their wives at the slightest provocation, or for no reason at all. Why should I hold a few moments of temper against him, when other men are so much worse to their wives? I doubt I could do better than him. I certainly don't deserve better, not after what I've done.

I don't deserve him. I don't deserve a kind man bringing me flowers and telling me I'm beautiful when I've done such terrible things, when I've given up his babies and lied and snuck around. Is what he did to me any worse than what I've done to him? How can I know? How can I know anything, when I'm hysterical? Something's wrong with my mind. I forget things and lose things and I know I'm not in my right mind. How can I know anything for sure when I'm like this?

22 March 1643

My husband hasn't touched me in three days, and I don't know if that's good or bad. Is it because he doesn't want me anymore, or perhaps he's given up? I don't know. I hope it means that he's decided things are coming to an end. I'm afraid he's so furious with me he's going to do something terrible to me.

This is probably awful, but I think I'm glad. I'm so tired of letting him touch me. It used to be so wonderful, when he was so soft and gentle with me and he wanted me to feel good. I remember when he first touched my breasts, and I'd never realized something could feel so wonderful. It just doesn't feel like that anymore, and I don't like this new way. Sometimes it hurts and I want to tell him to stop, but if I do, he'll know something is wrong. I have to pretend nothing is wrong, and it hurts.

I'm so tired. I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this. My body aches and my head hurts and my mind moves like syrup. I won't give up, but I'm worried that I'll collapse before I have the chance to give up. I'm worried that my body will simply decide it's had too much, or that my mind will, and even if he does leave me I'll never get out. I'm so scared.

24 March 1643

I finished the letter to my sister and sent it today. I hope it reassures her. I know I can't make her feel that much better, because she is my sister and she loves me, but I want her to worry as little as possible. I'll make it out and see her again soon.

I haven't had one of my headaches in a couple of weeks. I hope that means they're fading for good, and I won't be stuck with them for the rest of my life. I don't know, though. Maybe when I get home, I can use my mother's pain medicine. The one in the blue jar worked for a lot of aches and pains, although it wasn't always good against something more serious–a broken bone or what have you. I don't know if it will help me, or how much. I suppose I'll have to try.

I hope my voice doesn't hurt Kitty. She can be sensitive to sounds, and I don't want to upset her by talking too loud. I don't know what I'll do if my voice is too loud for her–I can't tell how loud I am anymore. All I can do right now is hope that it isn't too much, and that we can still talk like we used to. Or, as close to that as possible. It will never be the same again, but maybe we can make something new. I've known her nearly all my life. Surely we can still communicate, even though I can't hear. We'll make it work. I'll make it work.

27 March 1643

I've hardly seen my husband these past few days. In public he takes my arm and sits by my side, but if I'm in our study he goes straight to his bedroom, or glares at me until I go to mine. Something is building inside of him, I know it. It's the same thing that was building in him before he threw me against the wall, or the first times he yelled at me, and I'm frightened. He could be planning how he'll end our marriage, or he could be stewing in anger he'll take out on me. I don't think I can take one more hit.

I feel like I'm walking on eggshells. If I say or do the wrong thing, he might explode and take it out on me. I don't know what might make him angrier, and I certainly don't know how to calm him down. I've tried everything I can think of to make him feel better throughout our whole marriage and nothing has worked. Maybe it's best if I just leave him be. I don't know what else I can do.

30 March 1643

It's over.

Kurloz stormed into our room today and handed me a piece of paper.

"What's this?" I asked.

He pointed to the word at the top, and it said "Annulment".

"I-what?"

He pointed again, then grabbed a pen off his desk. "Our marriage is over."

"Why?"

"Because you were infertile when we married and you knew it, but didn't tell me. That's deception and it renders our whole marriage null and void. Just be glad I'm letting you go with your dignity. It's done."

"Can I…can I just have a moment?" I asked.

"Fine."

I went to my room and I was trembling as I changed into my old dress, the one I sewed for our wedding, and packed up the few things I brought from home. I thought about keeping my rings, but I couldn't risk taking anything he might want back. I wanted this, but it still hurt to take them off and know I'd never wear those rings again. He gave me the most beautiful ring when we were engaged, and told me it wasn't even half as beautiful as me. He loved me when he gave me that, and I loved him. Where did it all go wrong?

When I was done, I went back to our main room and put my rings on his desk, looking him right in the eye. "I'm leaving."

"Good," he wrote. "Don't expect a carriage to take you back."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Just go."

So I did. I went the back ways where only the servants would see me and slipped out a side door, and then I walked home. I couldn't stop shaking and when I got there and my sister opened the door, I collapsed on the floor.

"Linny?"

"It's over, Kitty," I said. "He left me. It's finally over."

I couldn't stop myself. I started crying right there in the doorway, on my knees, trying so hard to stop but I couldn't.

"Oh, Linny," my sister said, and she took my hand gently and squeezed. "Linny, Linny, it's alright, Linny."

"Kitty, I-I-"

"Come in, Linny," she said, moving her lips overmuch so I can read them. "I made dinner."

She brought me inside and got me on the couch in our library and brought me a bowl of stew. I ate it through my tears and when I had no more tears left, I said, "Kitty, it's over. Finally over. I'm-I'm not going to-he won't-"

She said something, but I couldn't hear her.

"I-He-I can't hear, very well," I said. "Speak loudly, to my left ear."

She nodded. "He's never going to hurt you again," Nepeta said. "Never ever. And no one's going to keep us apart, either."

I nodded and then I just sat there, not thinking or feeling much of anything.

"Go to bed, Linny," my sister said. "You look so tired. Your room's all the same."

"I am tired."

"I love you," she said.

"I love you too."

And so I went to bed.

It's over. I don't know what to do.