Diaries Are For What, Exactly...?
I don’t exactly understand what these little books are for. How exactly did I get this, you might wonder? Oh, who am I kidding. You’re just a book, I’m talking to you like you’re another fairy.
Last week, during a visit with my friend Amethyst, I learned that writing in a secret book was common among us fairy folk. I was interested in the journal that adorned her headboard, and I asked her what it was. She became very protective of it, much to my surprise, and she informed me how rude it is to read someone’s diary. Why, I wondered, would anyone want to write down their secrets?
But I couldn’t combat the desire to make a book of my own. A book about me! And I could decorate it any way I liked. So I brewed myself an acorn cap of tea with sweet pumpkin spice, and fluttered down to the craft shop for materials. I chose a cover of birch skin and wrapped it in petrified frostleaves of pale, icy blue, my favorite color. Thanks to a fairy in the library, I learned the practice of bookbinding that night. I bound the pages of beautiful white parchment in butterfly’s lace and embellished the corners of the cover in mint leaves. I was so busy petting the fuzzy cover of the book that I forgot that I was supposed to write in it. Alas, pages are meant to be written on, not admired for their pristine cleanliness.
Year 2, 24th of the Dark Month
I hold this book to my chest sometimes, continuing to stroke its velvety surface, wishing it were warm as my fireplace, a cup of pumpkin tea, or the merprince’s voice... My secrets lie among these pages, as do the flowing pools of my heart: Taehyung, music, my dance, among other things. I regret that I withhold the dark chambers of my heart from these pages should someone break the covenant and read it. You don’t reflect my heart so much after all, diary.
Year 10, 24th of the Dark Month