The codex was new. Corinthia could not remember where she had hidden the previous one, it connected memories and events that marked her life. She had been told to take it with her or to leave it somewhere. Her journal had been precious to her, her true confidante. Most of the times, it had been her only one over the years. Ever reclusive, she sat and had a feeling that her mother would be busy flirting with a plant or whatever trifle had taken her interest. Her long fingertips moved over the surface of it, smiled softly and glanced down at the new pot of ink she had purchased.
"Dear journal," It began.
"When I find your predecessor I am looking forward to seeing the thoughts and fears I had as a child. At nights, some of these remain with me. Yet over time I have taken care to protect myself from those who would do me harm, and I will do so again. My mother is a fool and has never been able to protect us. It has always fallen on my shoulders. There have been so many ambitious men who saw only her wealth, connection to my father, and a desire to be well connected. How many of these men actually loved her? None. It is my job to make sure she remains safe. She is all I have left.
Now I have been getting requests or hints from my hand in marriage. Ever since my breasts swelled and my hips rounded to become more womanly. What kind of man would I end up being connected to? The thought of his hands.... any hands on my body makes me sick and angry. I will cut off any hands of any man who dares to touch me. One of the memories I have is of a nightmare when I was little, I can't remember how old I was, and I ran to find my mother. I don't remember seeing where Nahia was. Or whatever dim-witted, easily distracted nanny who was left to care for me. Mother was busy in coitus, a position she often finds herself in, and before I knew it. It was over. They smiled to her afterwards. All sweet and caring. I followed them, hid the whole time and listened to them. They talked about how much of a stupid slut she was. Among other less than favourable terms.
I did not understand the meaning of the words. Even as a child I knew the tone they were taking was cold and dismissive. I couldn't say anything. I couldn't do anything.
I need to stop now. I can hear my mother walking around and I despise when my thoughts are interrupted. I will try to add more as soon as I am able.
It is good to have you back with me, my old friend."
The journal was left unsigned. No name or other forms of identification was left behind.