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Date Posted: 12:48:19 11/10/09 Tue
Author: 
dea
Subject: come inside
In reply to:
dea
's message, "inspired by an awaken dream" on 12:46:06 11/10/09 Tue
all i know is, there'll be no happy ending this time, according to Diana, that makes a novel, right? ;-)
The Secret Journal of Victor Ruidh
By Dea Vianna - 2009 - for critique purposes only, does not constitute publication
Edinburgh, the 5th day of May, 1822
My name is not Victor Ruidh. Due to the delicate nature of the peculiar – at least as far as I am concerned – intricacy I might find myself irrevocably entangled in the near future, I shall never reveal my real name. If I endeavour now to expel these hesitant yet resolute words from my disturbed heart onto the soft cold surface of paper, I do so because my poor heart is not big enough for the amount of emotion it is now supposed to bear. In clear mind I do declare the sole purpose of shielding the identities of those otherwise unaware of their roles in this wicked piece the great puppeteer of the Universe has written for me. For I must confess, I am aware of the gravity of my sin. Yet, on one side I cannot bring myself to cast shame and pain on my beloved ones; on the other, I cannot confide with any of my dearest friends. Not because of lack of trust; in fact, I trust those I have come to the point of considering friends with my own life. The truth is I cannot in sane conscience lay such a burden on their trustworthy shoulders. This journal will be my inadvertent confidant. It will be secret, kept in a hidden chamber in the Tower. I reveal too much, perhaps? Well, if it’s never found, it’s never read; if found and read, the secret of its concealment will be then irrefragably unveiled.
But I digress. My fingers tremble and the colour rises to my face as I write that today I made the acquaintance of the woman I, in utter shock, realise is my perdition. I, the published author, find myself on the verge of being completely immersed in a melancholic “feuilleton” of questionable literary value. The irony…
She arrived this morning, accompanying my dearest friend, to whom I shall refer as Mrs K, in a visit of a fortnight to the City. I have the habit of scrutinising the eyes of the people I meet for the first time. A bad habit, some may say; one that has come in my assistance numerous times. The truth and the deceit we can perceive in that first look…
She kept her eyes low. Soon enough I was delighted to realise that her so composed attitude was less one of timidity or ignorance in the matters of co fraternisation than one of respect toward my dear friend Mrs K., her protector, and toward me, as I welcomed them into my home. For when I pierced her eyes with the straightest of mine, they received me with a wall of fire! Och, what a vision!
But I explain. It was not aggression, abundant in the face of ignorance. It was not the foolish defiance of the youth, especially that hollow air of coquettish silliness so common among the ladies in the so called society these days. For she is in her early-forties, and a widow – though that’s not any guarantee of matureness de per se; many a matron I have the misfortune of knowing seem to be able to retain “that hollow air of coquettish silliness” I mention above through the years, impervious to the valuable lessons life never ceases to teach.
So, I say, it was not aggression or defiance, and certainly not ignorance. On the contrary, it was the brightest light, comparable to the “electrical force” that John Robinson has measured almost twenty years ago. The movement and velocity of her thoughts as they crossed her mind could almost be seen in those eyes. I was lost in those eyes for one second that lasted millions of years, mesmerised.
‘I am delighted to finally meet you,’ she said with remarkable simplicity. I wondered if she could sing with that sweet, warm, low voice. She pronounced my name perfectly. That’s not often the case.
‘My dear Sir Victor, my lovely A___ – I shall not write her name. I shall not think it. I shall refer to her as… Aveline. – Aveline is a true admirer of your work, poetry and prose. And she is a very accomplished authoress herself!’ Mrs K. is evidently proud of her protégé.
An authoress! Somehow I knew. Such force of nature had to find a way to express itself; otherwise it might gather pressure and just explode, like a volcano.
The rest of the day remains in my memory as if involved in mist. The other guests arrived and we dined, drank. I read a little. One of the guests sang traditional songs. I felt like a man divided in two, one speaking and singing and laughing, the other that looked at her, eager to see the fire again, surprised by the sweet smile, the warm voice. Right after the last guest left, she ran to her chambers. It pleases my heart to think that she feels as disturbed as I do.
* * *
Last edited by author: Wed November 18, 2009 10:07:17
Edited 3 times.
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-- dea, 12:49:20 11/10/09 Tue
Last edited by author: Tue November 10, 2009 12:50:54
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This is cool! -- Debi, 21:18:08 11/10/09 Tue
I love the flavor of the period language and the journal as this man's 'confessional'. Aveline seems like an intriguing character in her own right, one that has quite captured the author's attention. I really think this one has a lot of potential.
Excellent first glimpse.
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thanks, Debi! let's see if they keep talking to me. -- dea, 11:15:41 11/11/09 Wed
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Oh, goody! A new story to love! >>>> -- Page, 23:12:28 11/13/09 Fri
That first sentence is brilliant! I love it!
It did take me a bit to get into the way Victor writes/speaks, although you nailed the period language perfectly. But once my mind caught up to it, I had no problems at all. The story is captivating right from the start, and I was sucked right into it. What a great start!
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