A JOURNAL ENTRY, 1844

[Axelu 4333]

 

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Spoiler

This post is meant to be a jarringly real representation of this character's reality, at present, and is meant to tie into a humanist cultural movement growing in Savoy. If you are easily discomforted, do not read further! Server rules regarding metagaming and powergaming apply when considering knowledge of Catherine's rp circumstances.

 

A JOURNAL ENTRY, 1844

 

Days after the birth of her child, the twenty-year old Catherine Johanna would often remain behind closed doors. Courtiers at the Royal Palazzo Aggrade whispered rumors of the state of their Crown Princess who, despite having already been a notoriously quiet and unimposing presence in the palace, had resigned to utter absence within those vibrant halls. Even her doting husband of six years, as present as he was, knew not to interfere with the detached spell he presumed would pass. 

 

Catherine herself frequented the great ornate window in her apartments, peering outward into the bustling city that loomed below. She made note of the illustrious Colosseum, the palatial gardens, and basilica. Often, too, did she make out the faded movements of the seemingly minuscule individuals, families, that lived in a manner she deemed carefree and wistful. Refusing her supper that day, as she had grown accustomed to while dealing with what her immediate family believed to be mere stomachaches, the woman’s eyes drifted towards her nightstand. A look of hesitance befell her, and then one of thoughtfulness. Catherine traipsed over, unlatched the uppermost drawer, and produced a notebook laden with dust. A gift from her mother, the Apostolic Queen of Sutica, the notebook had not been used since Catherine was a girl aged eleven. 

 

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Dearest Lina, 

 

It has been a while. When we last met, I could experience you in the flesh. Die Heimat: Sutica, our modest yet growing country of the South, had just recovered from war, and I was blessed with a doting father, Franz Nikolai, Count of Suffolk now, who I correspond with every once in a while as he travels with my youngest brother. All seemed to be well, as Corwin began preparing for his role as heir to the Commonwealth and I, it would seem, would apprentice with the Lord Envoy. I was very excited about all that. Then you left us. Ripped from us when we needed you the most, Lina. Your efforts to the Lord, as noble as they were, and influential as they make you now beyond your life, left you unable to remain for your children. 

 

 I followed your wishes for me, Lina, as you can see. I married the eldest son of the Duke of Corazon, who is now Prince of Savoy and Sovereign of the South, and I love him dearly. I sired an heir for him this year, Lina. Lucien is his name and he is to be baptized within these next seven months. He is named after Saint Lucien. Did I not fulfill all your wishes, Lina? Why then am I still sad? Why can I not look at him, touch him, embrace him? Why must I have Mahthildis suckle him? I am his mother, and yet, he seems to be a stranger’s child. He has not my hair, or my eyes. He is dark-featured and cold. Varicose veins puncture his forehead, and each time he wails, I ask him to be moved to the opposite end of the palace. I cannot take it! I know it is wrong of me to think this way, to act this way, but I cannot help it. 

 

I cannot yet recognize myself. My body, post-partum, is not my own. I am fuller, more womanly perhaps, and each time I peruse my looking glass I cannot help and shrivel back. I cannot help but think now, more than ever, I look like you and because of that I am consistently tormented by the greatest of pains: knowing I will never be like you. You inspired confidence, and you were kind and pious. When I lost you, I did not lose only a mother - I lost my faith. Guide me, Lina, send me any signal at all that you are listening. I do not wish to think like a stupid girl. I must be a model of excellence to the people of Savoy, and a leader. I am human but must pretend to be otherwise. I pray each day that, by the next, all of this will be over; the calm never comes.  

 

 

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Humbly, 

Katharina, Prinzessin königlich von Sutica
 

[LithiumSedai 5750]

In between directing the construction of his family's seat, Ulrich Lothar often withdrew to seclusion to mourn his late siblings. He never got to meet his role model, Ottomar, the boy who should have been King; yet his absence hurt equally as the untimely death of his sister and friend, the late Queen Lina Johanna. The Landgrave contemplated on the youth which was stolen from them all, the promise of leisurely walks across Merryweather Bay which turned to a bitter chore without his siblings. A knight such as him learned anyway and could wield a sword; a knight could don a suit of armor.

 

But no blade nor plate could stave off the regret of loss. 

[Nectorist 12869]

Prince Adolf, although too young to understand his sister's inner torment, holds her hand on the rare occasions he is able to see and speak to her.