Large, looped letters can be seen scrawled over poor quality pages, sewn into a portion of thin scrap leather. It is obvious that little thought was put into it's construction: it is more a craft of necessity than a work of artful binding. The third entry reads:
III.
Dear Journal, I am feeling robbed. Rather, I’ve been feeling robbed, and the more I push those feelings down, the stronger they are when they inevitably float back to the surface, and I know that it is my own fault—I cheated myself out of happiness—but a part of me hates Ford all the more for it.
I never got to fall in love. The second I voiced that I just might fancy Hudd, Ford made me tell him, and I did so willingly because I couldn’t bear seeing Hudd run off with someone else and leaving me behind, not again. But one doesn’t proclaim love at the drop of a hat, or at least they shouldn’t. I shouldn’t have. Love needs to be built, like trust. Affection needs to be earned, lest it end up feeling hollow.
But I told Hudd I loved him out of competition. I gave him everything before he even had a chance to earn it, and I feel robbed. I’ve robbed myself, because of Ford.
There was no courtship, no flirtation, no slow bloom of a love to last a lifetime. Perhaps if there had been, they’d let us get married. If things had been done properly. But my love feels lacking—hollow. It has no foundation to tether it to the ground, and at the slightest breath of wind I feel it could topple over, leaving my promises empty, and my words meaningless. Yet at the same time, did I not do what I had to do to secure his attention? His affections? I have proved right every foul rumor voiced about me, because of him, and because of Ford.
And it hurts. Already my family is ensuring our separation; they have made him move back home, for the first time since we were children. The house feels empty without him, but I would rather it feel empty than intruded on—my uncle is already looking for a new forge master to work the forge, and steal my business by right. Everything I’ve worked for is crumbling, from my inheritance to my home, to this farce of a love that I fear will never end with the happiness I wish it to. I do love Hudd. I do want to marry him. But he is too much of a boy to win the favor of my family, and I was too much of a whore to make him earn my favor.
It is not enough to have him in my bed, in my house, telling me he loves me and that we’ll be okay. We won’t. I am not the fool I was four years ago. I’m a woman grown, although I rarely show it, and I know a bad situation when I see one. I will persist as I always do, but the question is how. I feel like there is nowhere to go from here, like every door is locked and I can’t break free.
My deepest regret is the first time I told him I loved him, yet its also my greatest triumph.
Stars, what a mess I’ve made for myself.
— Ellie
