(no subject)
I cannot understand what is wrong with me... I was feeling so well for so many days, and when I inspect the wound at my throat, I find it more healed than it has ever been, and yet the weakness has returned. My memories are cloudy and it is all too familiar, but I find myself wondering at the quick recoveries of the Count and Isabella, and the concerns I felt that my poor health is unrelated to the attacks, or at least worse than would be expected for reasons none of the others could take into consideration, has returned. I stayed in bed yesterday but was only visited by Isabella. At least she has not forgotten me.
One of my arms is tenderly sore, but that must be from sleeping upon it too heavily. If only this room were not so cold and dark and vastly empty, I think I would be content to never leave it--there I am allowing the gloom to descend upon me again. This is just when I know it is time for me to dress and venture down to join the others. And if no one else is about, I know at least the Count will be.
I dreamt of him again, a vivid dream that seemed not quite entirely subconscious in those flitting moments before waking completely. When I hear his voice in my mind, it is as if he is in the room and when I look I am surprised to be unable to find him there. I can hear so clearly the echo of his strange accent call my name, but it cannot be anything more than memories from dreams of nights past.
Heathcliff spent quite a bit of time speaking to Miss Murray the other night, apparently about our home. That she opted to choose his company over ours that night, and then after excusing herself so queerly from our company the night following had the Count, as well as myself, I admit, rather uncertain of her opinion of us. However I did all I could to convince our dear friend that he could have not possibly offended her. I fear that fault is mine for so randomly throwing away the lovely roses she had left for me, though I cannot at all understand why I did such a thing-I am not well at all. But the Count appeared as concerned over the thought of having been the cause of her upset as he had been of mine the other night-If only he knew! But it is not my place to think thoughts such as those. It is much more Miss Murray’s, I should say…
Why does that conclusion leave me feeling so suddenly drained and hollow? A drop of water would echo quite loudly if it were to fall within me just now. Perhaps it would be better after all if I spent less time alone with him. I only pray my mood does not become too black without him by me to lighten it. Perhaps the Sociable Master Heathcliff will grace me with his presence tonight instead of spending his time lingering in the kitchen with the charming Miss Murray or otherwise lurking about with goodness knows who else where he knows I cannot find him, even though the idea of me seeking him out on such an occasion is preposterous. There is always someone else to be found to keep me company…
One of my arms is tenderly sore, but that must be from sleeping upon it too heavily. If only this room were not so cold and dark and vastly empty, I think I would be content to never leave it--there I am allowing the gloom to descend upon me again. This is just when I know it is time for me to dress and venture down to join the others. And if no one else is about, I know at least the Count will be.
I dreamt of him again, a vivid dream that seemed not quite entirely subconscious in those flitting moments before waking completely. When I hear his voice in my mind, it is as if he is in the room and when I look I am surprised to be unable to find him there. I can hear so clearly the echo of his strange accent call my name, but it cannot be anything more than memories from dreams of nights past.
Heathcliff spent quite a bit of time speaking to Miss Murray the other night, apparently about our home. That she opted to choose his company over ours that night, and then after excusing herself so queerly from our company the night following had the Count, as well as myself, I admit, rather uncertain of her opinion of us. However I did all I could to convince our dear friend that he could have not possibly offended her. I fear that fault is mine for so randomly throwing away the lovely roses she had left for me, though I cannot at all understand why I did such a thing-I am not well at all. But the Count appeared as concerned over the thought of having been the cause of her upset as he had been of mine the other night-If only he knew! But it is not my place to think thoughts such as those. It is much more Miss Murray’s, I should say…
Why does that conclusion leave me feeling so suddenly drained and hollow? A drop of water would echo quite loudly if it were to fall within me just now. Perhaps it would be better after all if I spent less time alone with him. I only pray my mood does not become too black without him by me to lighten it. Perhaps the Sociable Master Heathcliff will grace me with his presence tonight instead of spending his time lingering in the kitchen with the charming Miss Murray or otherwise lurking about with goodness knows who else where he knows I cannot find him, even though the idea of me seeking him out on such an occasion is preposterous. There is always someone else to be found to keep me company…