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Bag of Holding

Flipping and skimming through the pages you see...

The year stamped in cursive atop the journal was dated 250 odd so years back. Rounded down in some mental math. The letters were delicate and feminine, pages looked to yellow and be cracking with light folds from use again and again over the lifetime, or rather un-lifetime of Asami. The writings and journal entries, when skimmed upon looked to be boasting about summer love, true love. Passionate kind. Restless nights and excited mornings. Secretly bound to one another because a difference in class would not beholden their love to take a full bloom. Not in their lifetime. Then a pregnancy. Mentioned only a million times over several months. This woman within the pages was so in love. So happy. But woefully lacked a mention of marriage. The man whom she was courting was not her husband but a Lord. One Lord Dubois, a winged facet under the house of Haillenarte. Lower but still nobility. Pierre Dubois, a name scribbled with hearts and wings.
Asami describes her life as one in love with this man, and she no better than a middle-class citizen. Not grimy or dirty like the brume but not rich. She worked the jewelry stalls while her family made such things. Met the man as he bought his current wife a necklace. A secret affair launched from a single meeting. Love at first sight.
Promises made by the Lord that he would leave her, promises made by her that she would wait. Then the pregnancy, the one that had the man hesitant. He seemed to go a week or more before seeing Asami again. Then when he met her, he offered her a gift. In its finality he promised an eternity with her, as he did before, he just needed help. Her help specifically.
Flipping forward you get scrambled and crazed writings of a woman in distress. She killed the lord’s wife under his advisement but now was terrified. Scared of what kind of woman and mother she would be for her child. Why she listened to him, she did not understand why she did that.
A resolve. A later date that she felt better, comforted by Pierre. Him confirming his promise and engaging himself to her in private. Now living a lavished life protected by her husband for their forever.
The journal then skips forward almost a year later. Whereas the journal was written in nearly daily its odd that it suddenly changed. The words no longer cursive. The beautiful elegance of it gone. Anger, pressed pens into the pages blotting the ink in some spots.

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The journal directly reads..

“Pierre came to me one year ago. He offered a way to protect our life, our wealth forever. Knew of a way out for us so they we can be together, publicly. Eternal life he said. Through marriage of course I thought. I thought him a noble and honorable man. Finally I can put her murder behind me.Pierre and I took a picnic to the top edge of the Ishgardian courtyard. Where the view was one of a kind. You could see so much from up there and there was not a better sight in the city. He mentioned that its steep edge was something of a symbolism for how far he had climbed, WE climbed to be together, forever. With my family’s jewelry market and mines, and his connection to the skysteel manufactory, we could very likely be the next Lord and Lady of substantial name in this city.He rested out blankets and the basket, placed the wine and bread out for us to celebrate one another. We sat and swooned. Kissed one another and engaged in our love. I only thought this change, this eternity, was that of our wedding planned a fortnight later. It was not.As I looked onward at the sunsetting before me, he placed a ruby necklace around my neck. Its beautiful gem as large as my hand. A kiss upon my neck. 'You look beautiful Marie.' His words hot on my skin made me blush. 'I promise an eternity for you.' Then I was pushed. All I remember was the feeling... of falling, then blackness.A turn of the page...."I felt pain. As if I should be dead but was not. As if my body was but a splatter on the stone, cold ground but somehow, I was me. Thinking, alive me. Then with my consciousness now awake, beyond the pain of my shattered bones, I felt something else too. A Stillness. Emptiness inside me. I sat up, and as I moved my body forced itself back to normal with just as much pain as it had splitting. Now upright I would see, I no longer was pregnant, no longer had my son. And I was low at the bottom looking up from where I fell. So far, so quiet. I need to go home...I walked for miles in the snow, but I was not cold. My toes did not freeze. I could not understand by but believed it might have been my perseverance, or a god protecting me. When I arrived at our home, the manor I nearly burst in the door, accidentally. I did not know I was so strong when I felt so weak. I looked at my hands bloody and white. I looked up to the foray. My Pierre was there.'Marie, you are... you are alive.' He sounded surprised but relieved. I told him about my walk, the pain. Our son. It must have been a terrible accident. I was happy he was alive. When I ran to him, I ran fast, so fast I pushed him over, but he caught me. And he laughed his same, normal warm laugh I have always known. 'And as radiant as ever.' He smiled. I was confused. Scared. I didn’t understand what had happened or why I was alive.Pierre brought me to the bedroom, carried me in my sorrow. He made a bath and put me inside. Then he brushed my hair and doted more upon me. It was then when he left to gather a robe thats when I saw myself. In the mirror I saw me. But I was not me anymore. My skin was so pale, I looked ill, sick.((TO BE CONTINUTED ITS STILL A WIP BY WRITER))

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