Wolf's Bane

Dear Eleanor

The box of journals Desiree had been gifted were all written in the nineteenth century. As such, she found herself spending a great deal of time looking up words such as "daddles" and "mafficking" to allow her to understand them.

The first book largely consisted of him talking about how much he missed Eleanor and how he couldn't wait to see her again. Peter was mentioned several times as having been there for him. It seemed this was before Peter's personality went rotten, so he was still a good friend to Andrew.

She stayed up late into the night, reading. It wasn't the most interesting story, though. Mostly, it was just his day-to-day life, which wasn't often exciting. He'd work, come home and miss Eleanor. Desiree couldn't help feeling sympathetic towards him. Under different circumstances, that sympathy might be greater. Whatever his story, she couldn't forget that he'd made arrangements to bring Eleanor back. He still believed he had done that. He wanted her to play the part of his lost love. She couldn't easily dismiss that.

"How far did you get in my journals?" he asked as they ate dinner together the following night.

"About halfway through one," she replied. "It's a bit of a slow read and I had my lessons."

"A slow read?"

Desiree paused as she realized how that might have sounded. "I was tired when I started reading, so it was slower."

"I see."

"You wrote about Peter."

"He was my friend. I'm sorry if that offends you."

"The person you wrote about doesn't resemble the person I've met."

"I would agree with that."

"When did he change?" she wondered. "Something must have caused it, right?"

"I told you his parents were killed," he reminded her. "That's enough to change a person, don't you think?"

"That's it?"

"As far as I can tell."

If it were anyone else, she might have been sympathetic, but she couldn't muster up such kind feelings for Peter. "How many books are there?"

"I've never counted."

"You have them for every year since Eleanor died?"

"Yes."

"And how many years did you give me last night?"

"About twenty."

"So there are several of those boxes?" she surmised.

"Yes."

"And you just wrote down whatever occurred to you at the time?"

"Pretty much." He paused. "Was that bad? Is that why it's slow?"

"I mean...it doesn't help."

"I told Eleanor everything," he explained. "She didn't get to do much a lot of the time, so I would give her every detail of my day. She always said it made her feel like she was included. When she was gone...I guess the habit stuck. Sorry if it's too much."

"It's not," she rushed to assure him. "It's a good way for me to get to know you."

"We could make things even by having you tell me every thought that pops into your head," he suggested. "I'd be happy to hear anything you wanted to tell me."

"My thoughts aren't that interesting," she replied.

"I disagree."

"I'm not in the habit of sharing them, so don't expect much."