(no subject)
It's been some days now since I've been downstairs and having the maid deliver trays to my room three times a day has begun to grow tiresome on me, but I do think this self-imposed exile has been necessary.
I think it has been quite long enough that I have let the story breed in their minds--the ladies Linton and Murray...and the ears of the good detective--that I can now venture downstairs again. By now, with my absence, they have begun to think that I am in the lowest of moods, in the depths of despair, as it were, and I see no reason to let them think otherwise.
That knife was taken from me and I am sorely vexed over its loss. Those--who I know to be that knob of a detective and his posturing friend--that have taken it will be sorry. Most sorry. But I, for one, see no reason that I cannot take this event and turn it to my own advantage. The ladies are most offended that my person has been so grieviously injured with the theft. Even the imcomparable Miss Murray had pity in her lovely dark eyes. And Catherine...
Catherine...
I know that I should not continue in this attraction for her, knowing that she is a married woman, and yet...as long as the next fall she takes is with me, then...all will be forgiven. Women are weak creatures, damned to ruin the male of the species, pollute our beds with their foul diseases, desecrate our bodies with the remnants of their many lovers. But I have done what needed to be done. I have cleansed the streets of London with their blood. I have purified the future generations by removing at least a small number of those decaying whores, rotting from the inside out. And through my touch...perhaps I can save Catherine. Not every whore must die by the sword, as it were. Some can be sanctified.
I have just paused and looked at what I have written above.
So it has returned...
Sometimes I can just feel the need shifting below the surface. I look into the mirror and the aqua depths grow dark, just for a fleeting moment, something rises, moves, then submerges once again.
It exalts my soul...and yet it feels me with a horrible terror.
How long, I ask myself, how long before they will see beyond one of my many faces and see what truly lies beneath?
I cannot risk hiding up here any longer, lest they grow suspicious.
I think it has been quite long enough that I have let the story breed in their minds--the ladies Linton and Murray...and the ears of the good detective--that I can now venture downstairs again. By now, with my absence, they have begun to think that I am in the lowest of moods, in the depths of despair, as it were, and I see no reason to let them think otherwise.
That knife was taken from me and I am sorely vexed over its loss. Those--who I know to be that knob of a detective and his posturing friend--that have taken it will be sorry. Most sorry. But I, for one, see no reason that I cannot take this event and turn it to my own advantage. The ladies are most offended that my person has been so grieviously injured with the theft. Even the imcomparable Miss Murray had pity in her lovely dark eyes. And Catherine...
Catherine...
I know that I should not continue in this attraction for her, knowing that she is a married woman, and yet...as long as the next fall she takes is with me, then...all will be forgiven. Women are weak creatures, damned to ruin the male of the species, pollute our beds with their foul diseases, desecrate our bodies with the remnants of their many lovers. But I have done what needed to be done. I have cleansed the streets of London with their blood. I have purified the future generations by removing at least a small number of those decaying whores, rotting from the inside out. And through my touch...perhaps I can save Catherine. Not every whore must die by the sword, as it were. Some can be sanctified.
I have just paused and looked at what I have written above.
So it has returned...
Sometimes I can just feel the need shifting below the surface. I look into the mirror and the aqua depths grow dark, just for a fleeting moment, something rises, moves, then submerges once again.
It exalts my soul...and yet it feels me with a horrible terror.
How long, I ask myself, how long before they will see beyond one of my many faces and see what truly lies beneath?
I cannot risk hiding up here any longer, lest they grow suspicious.