The Girl That Died

Diaries

Absentmindedly, Yvette stared up into the sky; it was already night, but only a few hours after falling asleep, she had been awoken by a dream that could only be described as strange rather than truly scary. Nonetheless, she couldn't manage to fall back asleep, which is why she started to look out the window and think about her family.

She was happily married and truly loved her husband and her two kids meant everything to her. The thought that she might never see them again seemed banal and out of reach and she really couldn't quite imagine it.

Because it was this very thought that made her feel the gloomiest; she doubted the Shinigami would let her into the human world often. To make things worse, she had been told that humans could not see Shinigami under normal circumstances, which would make for a rather monotonous visit. That was one of the many other things that made her sad, but it did not stop her from looking forward to seeing her family again. Alexandre had explained that Shinigami only went there for outside missions and otherwise stayed in the "Provence Headquarters" as the man had called them.

Another thought that would not let her go was that she actually wished to work there despite everything. After all, there was no use in wandering the earth without being noticed by anyone, invisible and forever alone.

Yvette yawned, rubbed her eyes, and pulled the blanket tighter around herself. She stretched and instantly regretted it; the entire length of her spine cracked loudly and her joints still hurt from the Rigor Mortis her body thought it should have. With quiet curses she sat up more comfortably and sighed; she knew the close future wouldn't be easy but she also knew that she couldn't change anything about it. She tried to see the positive aspects, like the chance to meet new people and that nobody cared about unnecessary gender roles.

With a small smile, she stood up, knowing that she wouldn't be able to fall asleep, and went to the bookshelf that had long attracted her attention; the row behind the first one was covered in dust and it seemed like only the ones on the edge were being read regularly. At closer inspection and a look at the title, it quickly became clear that Alexandre must have had a strong preference for romantic novels. Her grin grew wider and she kept rummaging until she found a title that did not fit in at all:

'Das Tagebuch des Gideon Daime, Band I'

Interested, she opened it, careful to avoid ruining the crumbling pages. The first thing she noticed was that all the entries were written in German and the spaces between the lines held some French words. It seemed like somebody had tried to translate the entries and done quite badly at it.

I doubt Alexandre speaks German...

Yvette thought and skimmed the first few entries, which, how it seemed, had been written by the father of the actual author.

"December 25th, 1795

To my very much loved son, Gideon,"

She read to herself,

"Your mother and I are so happy to have you with us at last. Despite some complications, you are both happy and healthy. To be honest, I don't quite know how to put my happiness and pride into words and I am truly sorry that I will not be able to play a big part in the first few days of your life. Your mother says that I overthink too much but I cannot quite grasp the thought of being a father now. Money will not be much of a problem and we have a place to live and sleep but sadly this part of town simply is not safe.

Anyway, when you read this please know and keep in mind that both your mother and I love you more than anything and will always be there for you.

~Philipp Daime"

Curiously the woman skipped a few pages, landing on one that completely pushed over the cheerful mood of the first entry she read:

"August 17th, 1823

It keeps getting worse. The disease is taking over the entire city and the number of unexplained deaths rises with each new day. I myself have not been spared and even my children are torturously bound to the bed by coughs and high fevers. Anna is the only one still feeling well enough to not fear for her life, but I am afraid she will not be able to get around it and the thought of it saddens me more than my own suffering.

~Gideon Daime"

"Poor man..."

Yvette whispered empathetically and wondered just what happened in that city 30 years ago. Maybe she had been too privileged to even hear about any of it. The more pages she skimmed over the more gruesomely detailed descriptions she found of the disease and its symptoms, her stomach feeling like a heavy knot. It really made her own death seem gentle and merciful.

The last lines of the book left room for even more questions and her curiosity, no matter how dark it was, made her look for the continuation. But her search was in vain; the one she just read was the only one of its sort on the shelf and she planned to ask Alexandre where to find the next one when he came back.

But until then, she had to keep reading through this available volume and hope that she would get even more answers. For example, she found out that the author had been born deaf and had had more difficulties than she had thought.

Time flew fast as Yvette read and pondered over the question of how she would tell Alexandre, who obviously burned to translate the book, what was described in it. And especially if she should inform him about all the details as it, without a doubt, seemed quite important to him.

"March 7th, 1807

The last years have passed so quickly and despite nothing worth mentioning happening, you really have developed well. Tobias still comes by regularly as you two are inseparable. Your mother has begun to teach you, at least the basic things you should know about Mathematics, History, and English, and I am kept busy teaching you to read and write.

You barely have any problems with communicating now, despite your deafness, and you have found quite a few friends who defend you against the kids who bully you for your pronunciation and inability to hear. They might not harm you and you cannot hear the things they call you but the others have got your back either way.

I think you will soon be good enough at writing to continue this diary yourself. Until then, I hope that no more unhappy things will overcome your life.

~Your father, Phillip Daime"