Entry Seventeen

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I awoke this morning, filled with a calming serenity.

Without thinking much about it, I walked over to a window and peered out at the world below. In a tree on the grounds, I spied a family of birds tweeting excitedly, as their mother fed the eager mouths of her children. Not too soon after, they were in flight, off on their next adventure.

I have never felt further away from my life. The future I once dreamt of is becoming like a distant memory, receding into hopelessness. Will I never leave this godforsaken place? Not with Geroux around. What other reality is there?

There is a certain peace in surrender, in giving up. Handing the reigns of responsibility of one's life over to the universe, is a freeing experience. With a heavy sigh, I resigned myself to the fact that I must adapt to my current circumstances, as dismal as they may be.

It is rather late in the morning now and yet still no food has materialised at the bedroom door. It is quite possible I am being punished after my outburst last night. Before I began writing this morning, I had considered the possibility of apologising to Geroux for slapping him, as it would make life a lot easier, but I shan't. I am not sorry, thereby, I shall add no lie to this fortress of deception.

Hold on one moment... I can hear footsteps and the clang of the tray.


I really must brace myself whenever I open a door, because I can never accurately anticipate what I shall be met with on the other side. When I opened the door, Geroux was standing there with the tray. The appearance of his person caused me to jump and take a few steps back.

He apologised for the surprise and presented me with the tray of food. He apologised again for it being late today, but he was looking for something.

"What?" I asked, eagerly awaiting to end the conversation. He presented me with a silver hand mirror, heavy and cold. "As you may have been able to tell, things in this house are not always quite what they seem," Geroux said.

The image of the singing candelabra flashed through my mind.

"This mirror will allow you to see anyone you wish, just ask it," he explained, "I thought it would be a good way to see your father."

I offered him no thank you or any other indication of continuing the conversation. I just stared into the mirror and horrifyingly, I could barely recognise myself. Dark circles under my eyes, worry lines and patchy skin - this experience is taking a physical toll on my body, no doubt.

"Right, I'll leave you to it," he finally spoke, bookending the conversation. He closed the door and his footsteps trailed off up the hallway.

So here I sit, quill in one hand (or a piece of cheese, when I am not writing) and the mirror in the other. It really does look like nothing more than an ordinary mirror.

I will give this a try and report back shortly.


Oh my, oh my, oh my, oh my. Papa is not well, not well at all. Oh my.

The mirror most definitely works. I had my reservations, as I thought it could be another one of Geroux's tricks, but there is no denying it. The 'magic' mirror works and Papa is close to death.

With no clear instruction from Geroux, as to how to phrase my inquiry to the mirror, I took an educated guess and said aloud, "I wish to see my father."

With a puff of orange smoke the mirror turned from a reflective surface to show a clear view of Papa, as if I were peeping through a very large keyhole. He was sick, in his bed and Henrietta was tending to his needs.

His breathing laboured, he reached for some water. Henrietta quickly helped it to his mouth. He coughed and spluttered with an agonising wince.

Henrietta stroked his forehead with a damp cloth and said, "Let the day turn into night and let the night be your light, guiding you into tomorrow."

Henrietta would always say that when one of us was sick. There is no possible way Geroux would know that phrase. That is how I know this is not a trick.

But I cannot leave. Geroux said so himself. The final hours of my father's life and I am bound to this place.

I can no longer hold in my tears.


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