Into the Past II

by Aidan Boyle
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Partial Journal Entry of A. Boyle
Dated 19 May 1724

I am free to state without reservation or restraint that tonight’s dinner party was the single most excruciatingly painful thing of which I’ve had the pleasure of experiencing since my death. Making polite conversation with Mr and Mrs Frankel over dinner with their sinfully delicious daughter beside me was a test of will. Never to say that there should have been cause for concern, I am far more the master of myself control these days than in years past. Catalina took great pains to ensure that I would learn control and restraint, just as she assured my lessons in betrayal and deceit would also be well learned, if not quite so well taken.

I daresay that in spite of the enduring and timeless torture of the evening, speaking of the local nonsense that passes for politics among the humans — (The notions and discussions of which are quite amusing when these dimwitted chattel do not even realize that we are in their midst and that the unrest which stirs in our numbers against Stuttgart’s Master is far more volatile and dangerous than anything the human rabble could even conjure in their darkest nightmares.) — I have won over Mrs Frankel and Birgitte’s sisters with my charm, wit and sophistication. As well, I must also pay a service of gratitude to my dear younger brother: his presence there this evening only served to help my cause, with his attempts at wit which fell rather harshly on the sacrosanct ears of our hosts.

(I do pause often and wonder what it is that Seamus wants and why he has made himself the lice like biting and itching presence in my life again? He has changed since we last parted and I fear it is not for the better. Centuries of immortality laid out before him and he now decides to follow the roads I tried to lead him on when were alive. Too, he is far more crass than I ever was or had need to be and he does not know a manner of respectable restraint. Our welcome here, and indeed our very existence is under the auspices of the Master of Stuttgart. Carelessly revealing what we are is certain to be grounds for banishment, if not permanent death. Neither of which do I have any pressing desire to explore at this time in my unlife.)

Sadly, Mr Frankel remains wary of the gentleman who could very well woo his daughter into dangerous whims of temptation and the forbidden fruits of carnal knowledge. I imagine that if he should ever learn that his worries are quite well placed but that is far too late to worry about the chastity of his eldest daughter, he would not find the situation as amusing as I do or look upon it in the same ironic fashion…

… Birgitte tells me that her father seeks a suitor for her in whom a “proper” marriage match would be made. He has doubts that an alien Irishman with business dealings which keep him away for days at a time (and I might add allow me to only return at night) is the marriage match for his dearest Birgitte. I think that it sings loudly to how deeply I have drawn the sweet Birgitte into the depths of corruption that we have these conversations buried within her bedding or mine, when the taste of her honeyed blood lingers on my tongue. She is a minx and a most mischievous one at that…

… Undoubtably, Mr Frankel is correct in his assertions. I am not by any source of creative imaginings marriageable material. Nor do I ever intend to become so, debasing myself to be defined the mores and expectations of humanity. For all that she is somewhat of the shrewish bane of my existence, Catalina did give me a gift. She made me more than I was before and more than I could have ever imagined becoming. I’m no longer constrained by the weakness and smallness of being human. When this place no longer suits or amuses me, I shall move on… I remain undecided if I shall bring Birgitte into the embrace of my world or send her gently into the night …


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