As Far As I Know (A Re-Telling of Lives Lost to Time) By Maria de Rosius

[EmiliainWonderland 1526]

In my lifetime, I've been called so many names.

 

Maria de Rosius

Maria Othaman

Maria Romstun

 

No one really knew me as I was, not truly. Except one, a man that many recall with a disdain as they once did me. His name was Anton d’Amato-Orlov. A name many of you wouldn’t remember as all the ones who do are likely dead. One of many who lost to the cruelty of this world, who no one really remembers, but I remember. I’ll never forget him. The one good thing this world had to offer, beyond all of the drama, the heartache, the loss. He was a constant until he was nothing at all.

 

Then there was Elodie de Rosius, a woman of elegance and grace, one I had never truly given the credit she was due. Never loved like she deserved, never anyone’s first option. Elodie held herself with poise, even in her worst of times. Even when she hated me beyond belief for the things I had done to her. I can’t blame her, I was an awful niece but I hope one day when I meet her again in the Seven Skies, she can forgive me for all of that. 

 

I’ll tell you the story of these two and many more. The people lost to time, beyond our reach. 

 

It’s all I can do for the people who never got the chance to tell their stories, like myself, as I will never be known by the newer generations, even the current. I am all but a forgotten artifact, so I will do everything within my power to grace those who read this with the knowledge of a time long past. 

 

Anton d’Amato-Orlov was a mysterious man, one I could never quite pin down. A man full of secrets, a prisoner to his own mind. He married a woman he would never love, for reasons I couldn’t bear myself to say even now. He loved her in a way that no one could ever really put a label on. A pure love, not romantic in nature. Truth be told, I don’t think there was anyone Anton could ever say he loved romantically, for all of his relationships were fleeting, just like his life. Though we were close in age, I’d never say I loved Anton either. I loved him, dearly, deeply, but it was never romantic in nature either. He had a way about him, a charming way. He could tell you everything you needed to hear as it was, no sweet talk, no butchering his words. He was honest but at the same time, a liar. He didn’t lie to me, no. He lied to himself and he spent all of his life lying to himself, until I don’t know whether he truly believed it or he had given up on finding the truth. He knew all of my secrets, but I can’t say I really knew him. I knew he had a deep resentment for his father, the man he tried so hard not to be like that he lost his real identity. His most notable contribution was his time spent in MoJ, a relic of a time long ago, though that was overshadowed by the day he spited the entire organization for his wife, Adeline. Adeline was killed by the hands of her own family, the d’Azors as Anton said, and I believed him. I’d have no reason not to believe him, when I saw the look in his eyes as he held Cillian O’Rourke hostage, I knew that loss of identity, that lack of closure. Everything in his life had finally got to him. There were times I’d tell myself that’s not the Anton I knew, but that’s exactly the Anton I knew. A chaotic soul fighting against the world that wanted to chew him up and spit him out. 

 

Elodie de Rosius was one of the many children of Maria Darkwood and Philip O’Rourke, overshadowed entirely by her brothers Valent and Otis de Rosius. A wonderful woman, who did everything she could to keep others happy. She raised me to the best of her abilities; despite the fact I was just her niece. She lived most of her life in the shadows of others, whether by her own volition or not, I’ll never know. She seemed content with that for the most part, as long as it made those around her happy. Elodie was by no means a simple woman, and I think she hid a lot of her feelings behind a mask of happiness so that no one else had to feel the pain she bore on her shoulders. I was 15 when I met Geoff Turgon, the man who Elodie was seeing at the time. He seemed kind, but he left her as soon as he got the chance for another woman. I would be remiss to say that Geoff wasn’t a friend, but that’s another story. Elodie was smitten with the man, wholeheartedly invested in a relationship that would never bear fruit. I tried my best to warn her that it wasn’t worth going after, but she did anyway and she was hurt by it. Geoff rejected her and instead, pursued a married woman, our cousin, Jane O’Rourke. I could say many things about Elodie, for one she had a wonderful taste in fashion and was a dear friend to anyone who was lucky enough to have her in their life. There was a time though, that Elodie thought she’d found someone she truly could love. That man was Jacker Gendik, the supposed widow of my aunt Josephine who had not died until several years AFTER they married. Jacker had a tendency to declare himself single before confirming the deaths he claimed occurred. Josephine was certainly not the first he had “confused” as dead, in fact there was another woman who he had failed to annul his marriage with named Faux Amati, someone I’m happy to have called friend in her time on Almaris. Elodie was never given that chance at true happiness until she met a woman who would later become her secret lover until the end of her life. Those of you who remain who still remember the name de Rosius, or are descended from it, never forget this woman. She was everything de Rosius should’ve been, loving, graceful, and most importantly, genuine. 

 

Otis de Rosius was the elder brother of Elodie, a strange enigma of a man but ambitious nevertheless. He spent his entire adult years working to make something of his family name and in the process, he brought about a legacy that lasts to this day. He was a politician plagued by his own regrets and the loss of those around him. Though at times, he seemed heartless. He loved my family in his own way, by giving us everything we could’ve ever hoped for and more. Though he was by no means affectionate, he cared in a way that was never readily apparent. He married young, to a woman named Claude de Frand, sister of the notorious Aimee Carrion. Claude and Otis had Hera Claude, Leone, and Leander though there was another I simply cannot remember. After the tragic passing of his first wife, he remarried to a woman named Louise Halcourt, a woman much younger than he, who had 4 children. Some of which made names for themselves and carry on the family name to this day. Sylvie Elara Ruthern nee de Rosius, Giselle Chloe, Louis Alphonse, and Lucien Sylvestre. I’d be remiss not to mention the downfall of Otis de Rosius as the man slowly spiraled into madness until dying in the rose bushes at his beloved Chateau de Rosius in Redenford. 

 

Charlotte Othaman is a name I didn’t think I'd ever speak again. The mistakes I made that lead up to her passing, I don’t think I could ever truly forgive myself for. I remember the day like it was yesterday, when young Charlotte returned home from her schooling on some Auvergnian continent I can hardly remember the name of. When the eldest of my children were but babes in their cradle, I say this as if Charlotte was never my child, but she was. The true eldest of Maria de Rosius’ spawn, many as there are. I was with my husband at the time, Darius Romstun, taking care of the infants. Every time I looked at her, I saw my ex-husband, Erik Tarcell and I truly couldn’t have felt worse. I would’ve never married that dreadful man if it weren’t for Charlotte, but I can no longer be mad at her for that. The only one I have to blame for any of this is myself. Charlotte was meeting the babes for the first time when she drew a knife from her dress, ready to attack them. I suppose she had inherited the madness of de Rosius that many of us suffered from. Instead of allowing them to die so defenseless, my husband was swift, cutting her arms from her body until there was nothing but spurts of blood in their wake. Truth be told, I should’ve been horrified, but I was suffering with an affliction. I was what they called a vampire, well and truly lost to bloodlust. Instead of performing my duties as a medic, I was overtaken by my hunger and devoured my one and only child. That day, Darius and I took her body to the Old Providence lake connected to the sewers and dumped her there with the rug she died upon. If I ever meet you again, Charlotte. I am deeply sorry for the pain I allowed Darius to inflict upon you, and I am even more sorry I took your life away at such a young age. You deserved better than a mother like me. 

 

Erik Tarcell Othaman was a man I could never really say I loved, perhaps I used him for validation or for some other unknown reason. Perhaps I wanted what others had, that feeling of love that I never really found except in friends and frenemies alike. To say his life was meaningless would certainly be a lie as he contributed almost nothing to society, the most fun I think I’d ever had with him was robbing people’s houses and the ISA barracks when I was a recruit for a short time. He was an overgrown child to say the least and perhaps this is one that’s best forgotten, along with the rest of the Othaman family of old.

 

Vladrick Erik Ruthern was a man I couldn’t say I really knew well, but the parts that I did know of him, I liked. After my second husband declared me dead to him and remarried to a dear friend of mine, Faux Amati, (though it is still a question I ask myself if they ever even married at all), I met up with an old friend and the man who taught me how to kill a human being without batting an eye, Vladrick. At first, it was simple conversations before it turned into much more than that. Though I would never say our relationship resembled anything remotely affectionate, I reared twins, Viktoryia and Sigmar Barrow, who to this day I still do not know well enough to write much about here.

 

Geoff Turgon is the only man I can ever say that I truly loved in the romantic sense, despite our fights. Elodie’s lover and eventual best friend. When Erik first disappeared, I went to him and what started as a fight became an affair. Geoff never returned those feelings for me, not truly. I wonder if to him I was little more than to pass time, but now I’ll never know. Geoff was a judge, the eventual husband of Jane O’Rourke, my cousin. He was a wonderful man who I despised since our first meeting, but little did I know that I was hiding my true feelings for him. Though I imagine none of you reading care, or know who he is. He was a wonderful man and it’s a shame you did not know him for he treated my aunt in her later years with all the friendship she could’ve ever wished for. 

 

Anne de Rosius, the woman I never really knew. I’ll never forget when she was courting Arthur Komenos and I decided to hide in the bushes to watch their interaction. Anne was a happy and kind woman and a wonderful Aunt. I truthfully wish I knew more so I could share her story, but what I do know is you would’ve been lucky to meet her. 

 

Elizavetta de Rosius is the most headstrong person I had ever met besides Anton and that’s what made the three of us such good friends. She made the mistake of falling for Anton despite her confusion about her sexuality. I suppose that’s one thing the both of them had in common, among many others. Her life was cut short due to suicide in the old elven town of Ando Alur, which I was a witness to on one of my visits there to begin writing my very first book under my alias Alice Thorn. Elizavetta had a heart of gold and cared deeply for the people she held close to her. 

 

Maria de Rosius, me. My achievements were many and yet all of them feel utterly useless now. 

Back then, being the Mayor of Providence was an accomplishment, mothering many children was an accomplishment, but all of it I grew to resent deeply. Every marriage, every child, every moment. 

 

And for all of the people of the past, lost to time. I remember you and I hope this will encourage the ones who read it to explore their family history, their pasts, and the lives that suffered to bring them to where they are today. I cannot go very far with this book as it is one of the last things I will ever write and I am getting weaker by the day, but if you have the time, please look into the families of old Oren, of Haense, everywhere you go. Do not let them be forgotten as I have been. Do not let their stories go untold. If you have the chance, continue where I left off and add your own lives, your own families. Let this be a reminder that not all who are gone are forgotten. For I will always remember, even now that I am almost gone. 

Spoiler

As you all know, I don't format my posts 'cause it's too much work. I did what I could! Hope you enjoyed the story