Final Memoirs of Katherine Kearney - 10 Years of Questions

Day 2 of the diary business. 

Feels odd talking to no one. Or worse if it's someones. I'll never really know who, how or when this will all be read - or if at all. 
So I'll just pretend it's my dear circle of friends and continue calling you all loves. 

I'm an elf, by the way. A not very elfy elf. I'm very city-fied. I like to stay inside, work on my lack of tan. Enjoy good books, good wine and good food. I'm rather a little curvaceous which is often why people are shocked that I'm all pointy eared and fine boned. I have dedicated a lifetime to hiding my ears in my hair quite well. It works out to avoid any of the silly questions. Like if I can say rude words in Elven (I can) and whether I can shoot a bow (no sir). I do prefer a good dagger and a quick spell personally, it's just easier to carry those with me in my big skirts. 

So last night was good, it was alright. I was with a diplomatic group from a few different areas. I wasn't the only Lady present, which is sometimes fun, sometimes a bit of a dance. Do they want to work in cohesion, are they going to spend the whole time slot blocking me? I'm not always entirely sure. 

I did what I know always works. I drank on the job. Most others don't, I do. I feel like wine is my very best and maybe sometimes only friend. It makes me see the sky open up and the possibilities become endless. It worked, a sozzled lass is a popular one. 

It also meant I got some extra secrets I wouldn't normally get. You know, the assumption that a bottle is going to make me forget the world. Joke is on you bucko, I'm a sturdy girl and I remembered /everything/. Including that you tried to nick my knickers for a trophy. That's Glantrian lace, he didn't pay enough for that sort of gift. So I'm back, laying on my chaise and writing this with another good glass of sweet Ylari wine in my favourite malachite and quartz goblet, it feels heavy enough to brain a man so it's like an extra weapon that also brings me wine. I consider my options at all times, yes. 

What was I trying to say? Oh, don't let men steal your best knickers. Not unless they're worth it. If you think they might buy you new ones, well then it's just good business. 

That's my good advice for the day. 

KK. 

Days 4 to 6 - Redacted. 

Day 8 & 9. 

I've been on an overnight stay at a very elegant mansion in the district. I would normally be elated, whirling around my sunny living room with a glass of sweet white wine. However it was a perplexing event. 

I can't say much about it. I met.. a young Enforcer from the boat event who told me - that it's being taken care of. 
That should make me feel better, but somehow, book, it doesn't. 

I used to feel so frivolous and light in this city, I felt like it was at the tips of my toes all the glittering parties and happy accidents, but now it's darker. 

He said this PC culture has gone too far. That the city is too dangerous for me. Paid Companionship is the backbone of Mirros. 
It's the reason people live their lives and work and keep house. For some of them it's all they've got to look forward to because their lives don't allow for a conventional relationship. We argued a lot, after this situation. OH the situation.

On to the event with my companion, who paid for my company. I need to be clear, as clear as possible. I'm not ashamed of it. 

So after an agreed upon escorting of [Later Redacted] to an official reception. We drank and danced and walked to his lovely home. I serviced him in the way in which we have usually done, I know what most people need Book - I am very good at what I do. 

We lay, in the dim light and almost nose to nose. I asked if he had any secrets, I said it coquettishly. I didn't expect an answer Book. I really didn't. Especially not this one. 

This is what he told me. Many years earlier, when he had celebrated a milestone in his career - he had invited his extended family, all members including their children, wives, husbands and.. all of the trimmings. It was a beautiful Winter Solstice event, however he had done one very special thing - those were his words - very special thing for them. All the dining chairs, except for his were Mimics. He had made them and agreed with them this moment. 

As you may know these magical creatures eat whole people for the magic within them and the items they have. 

He gave a speech before they sat, about how they had never believed in him. That they deserved all that this bountiful table could give. 
Then he watched them get eaten. He just inducted them to sit and let them all die horribly. 

Then sat, and dragged the turkey over to his position and began eating it with his hands. He said it was the hungriest he ever felt. 

When he finished telling me, I had to breathe, I had to stay calm and stare directly into his eyes and say I was proud of him for standing up to them and for himself. That he was justified. I asked him if he'd planned any other get togethers like that and he said that he hadn't, as he's no longer allowed contact with his family. That was his punishment.

Book. That was all that his punishment was, don't do it again.

He's someone powerful, he's someone rich and important. He's [redacted]. 

This is the place I used to adore, I feel as if an ice pick has gone through my heart. 
The Enforcer assured me they were watching, that they were doing their best. 


And am I going to see the man again? Of course. I don't want to die like that. 
I will treat him just the same as before I knew. For my life. 


KK. 

[Several pages have been redacted due to Crown content and explicit nature]

Day 15

One of my favourite clients this afternoon. We were met by somewhat of a complication. I'll explain as best as I can. 

The door is painted pale yellow, and the numbers are flanked by hammered copper swirls. That's all I can tell you about this pretty villa. I'm dressed in bright red and pale pink cotton, no sleeves for the warm weather, I must wear an ankle length skirt and it has to swish. Short heels that click on the tiled stairs as I skip up. Before I can knock, it's opened by a young man. He seems slightly familiar and I thought perhaps he was a caretaker of some kind. He was very cold to me, but let me in. I didn't really think twice of it. I really should have. 

My Client, lets call him Mister Viola was waiting for me in the parlor. Dressed dapper, he really scrubs up nice for an older gentleman. Boy he would have been a catch and a half. He had already started the self playing piano with an incantation, so I quickly hot footed it right to him and gave him my hands so we could dance.

I mean dance, people, actually dance. We have a routine for every song, I learned them off by heart. It's middling then fast, twirling, whirling, spinning, laughing and joy. I feel like my heart might burst because I feel so adored when he spins me outwards and curls me back in. Exhilaration leads to reflection and softness and they go all the way to a beautiful slow melody and we sway cheek to cheek. Sometimes Mister Viola leaves a little mist of tears on my sleeve puff. I pretend I don't notice and he pretends it didn't happen. 

We bow and he tells me thank you, he goes and sits in his high backed chair. We don't talk after this. It's not right. Because Mister Viola is in his memories. I'm not Katherine. I'm a lass from times past, I'm someone he misses with all his soft gnarled hands. I watch him for just a moment, because I never know which dance will be our last. 

My gold is on the hall stand, after a good two hours of twirling. I feel I've earned it. It's not all about the sheets to sheets. 

As I put my hand on it. I hear a voice say:
"I think I'd have preferred it if you were rutting with him." Masculine, ugly. I'm used to that sound. It's the one where you're not right. Not human enough, not high class enough, not acceptable. It's the one that says 'You are garbage and you will never be anything more.' 

I look up and realise that's not a caretaker or cook or cleaner. That's his son. It helps that he's standing amongst family lithographs and paintings.
"I don't rightly care what you'd prefer. He's paying me. Not you." I finally reply. Tis lucky I had the gold pouch in my left hand, because he went for the slap.

I'm a big girl, Book. I caught his puny little wrist and felt it give a little under my strength. He turned white. Shock, pain, fear. 
I considered an accident. I considered my blades. I thought about his ribs and the space in between. I stared at his chest under the expensive satin vest, watching that air go in and out and how I knew I could absolutely make it stop. Forever.

He backed up and let me past. 

I don't know how something so poisonous can come from someone so wonderful as Mister Viola. I don't know where people go wrong. 
Can only hope we'll get to dance again. I promised him, we'll dance til he's dead. He made me promise. So I'll keep it.  


KK. 

//The reproduction states that there appear to be tear splotches on this page. 

Day 17

Two busy morning appointments, a skip hop home to bathe and change for requirements. You see, each client has a list of preferences, lip paints, hairstyle, clothing, underclothing. It's part of being a higher paid Companion when you offer to be exactly what's required. Whether it's fantastical or simply attraction based. 

My only stipulations are no violence and no childplay of any kind. No pretending to be underage, no fake pregnancy, no weird weird weird weirdness of that kind. None.

Something about all that makes me think that a client has mental instability. I can't make a habit of accidentally leaning my knives into them too often. I'll get a reputation and become too dangerous for well paid work. It can happen, I've seen it. You have to draw the line somewhere. You really really do.
Which is what I'm thinking as I dress for my time off. Loose linen pants, soft slipper shoes, a low neck buttoned blouse in pink satin and my long hair in a braid. I dally on earrings, I have a big velvet tray of them, in the end I choose some cheap yellow enamel flowers that are tiny with a green tassel like a tuft of grass. 

Stepping back, I see myself finally. Scrubbed clean, boring and basic. It makes me feel good to grab any old mismatching cloak and skip out the door with my daggers in my sleeves and a big bag of gold to deposit. 

It seemed I was in doubled luck after a productive morning, because on my way back from the bank I ran into Danijel and we went to a nice cafe to catch up. 
I know we spoke recently, but it's nice to have company that wants to hear what I have to say. 
Sitting in the Spring sunshine at spindly black wrought iron tables and sparkling glass tops. The bone china cups are edged with gold and the coffee is perfectly brewed. I feel like a fizzy champagne glass, bubbling from my silk slippered toes to the top of my head as I watch him juggle talking and eating custard bread. 

We discuss book ideas, as he's been contracted to do at least two more. Which is going to be helpful for he and his family.
You see, Book, he's taking care of his younger siblings - his parents are on a diplomatic journey over the sea. I think in a way he thought it wouldn't be this hard when he said yes. I know he's too strong to ever ask for any sort of help, I know he'll never tell them how hard it is - or how hard it was in the future when they're grown and married. 

I've offered him some side work and sometimes he helps at the temple. It's just not enough. I'm always thinking of ways to slip him money and make sure they come across something else. I need to find a dignified way to do so. 

We talk about romance for his novel and I tell him about the man who blends custom tea for the high class ladies. He's handsome enough but always alone. We imagine a scenario where he meets a woman who understands him, she has exceptional smell sense and they bond over it. Though he's usually perfect every time, he keeps getting her blend wrong. One day he's unwell, and the assistant says that she's glad the girl is there to pick up her blend as it's been on the back shelf for weeks. 

"And then she realises he was just trying to keep her coming back!" and the light comes into his eyes and he begins to scribble in his notebook, saying things like Selenican cabin, snowed in. Winter brides. I know it'll be a best seller, because he knows his stuff. He's talented and wonderful. 

There's a strong tug in my middle and I glance at my cup, checking the bottom of the coffee dregs for any residue of poison and then it really hits me, why I'm feeling that coy curling of curiosity in the center of my stomach.

I look up and The Enforcer is standing nearby, beside some gate guards. I can feel the weight of his stare, I refill my coffee and raise my small cup and smile slightly. 
That's when I notice Danijel has turned, looked at him and then looked back at me. There's an expression I can't possibly fathom that goes as quickly as it has come. 
"Interesting." he says, and I hope hope hope - he means his outline for the next book. 

While he's busy, I hail the waiter and pay our bill and get a paper box of pastries for Dani to take home to the boys. If he notices, he doesn't show it. I watch him scribble until the air gets cold and the lamps come on. I don't notice the Enforcer leave. 

Katherine. 

Day 20

Sorry Book, I was a rude person. I didn't write yesterday, it was boring. A quick regular appointment, shopping for fresh produce and I picked up some new catalogues for cosmetics, slippers, boots, bags and gowns. New season, new styles. Gotta keep up or I'll be a laughing stock - you know. 

It's raining. It rarely rains in Mirros. I think the rich pay the Magisters to control the weather. I guess if you can, why wouldn't you? Right?

Book you can already tell I'm in a bit of a mood. It's early. I had an urgent telegram that got me out of bed and now I'm writing this in the conservatory, among the plants and flowers. A client, one of my first when I was properly licensed has passed away. Actually it was a few days ago, but his mistress has asked me to attend and support her if possible. Last moment. She seems beside herself. 

A complex request really, as his surviving family - his children and grandchildren would probably rather we both took a long walk off the short docks. 
He was a good man, a generous man. In their opinion too much of their inheritance went to women like me, and like... um, Orchid. Terribly clever of me as I'm sitting next to a pot of them. However it's a good fit, she needs careful keeping and is always beautiful and appreciated. 

I digress again, because I'm conflicted. I want to farewell a man who was sweet and kind and who was gentle and appreciative of my work. Someone who helped me become as successful as I am today. I want to support his favourite girl Orchid. I don't want to hurt his family. I want to respect their time of grief. 

Where do we walk the line. Orchid spent the most time with him out of everyone. Yes, his family loved him. Did they visit him? No. Did they know his favourite afternoon tipple or what fruit he wished was always in season? No. They waited like fluffy baby vultures for him to have his final death so they could count his gold. 
Is it my place to judge? Probably not, but I am a very judgmental sort. 

Even now just thinking if he could see the way they're picking through his things. Throwing away the beautiful sketches of his best girls. His collection of garters from famous dancers. How they're sanitising the history of a wonderful, warm and vivacious soul. I guess the best I can do is go and tell him once more with my presence that I will stand for him. 

---

Day 20 - Part 2

Reading over my foreshadowing. It did not go well. 

I arrived at the Ixion Chapel a little later than expected. Knowing the family would be sitting up front as is their right, thought I could sneak in. I wore conservative dark blue and wound my hair up into a matching cap hat with veil. As I arrived, I saw that Orchid was waiting for me. I knew immediately I was going to have to really try hard here to sneak /anything at all/. 

Dear immortals, She was wearing a floor length white gown and a veil. Like a bride. She had cried off all her eye paint and was heaving sobs on the stairs. It appears the Chapel Assistants had already removed her for making a scene. 

She had arrived early and tried to tie herself to his casket with a handfasting rope. Her bridal bouquet had been snatched by his eldest daughter and thrown into a nearby brazier. This was all told to me between hiccuping hysteria. 

I removed my cloak, wrapped her up and took the veil off her long sleek black hair. As I tossed it aside, she must have seen the murder in my eyes - her half hearted grab stopped quickly. Blotting away her spider eyes, I told her firmly that she was making an ass of herself and Himself would have been amused, but also sad for her. 
The quick transformation was enough to get us back in. 

Standing by the far wall, I must have looked like a nursemaid with a child. Orchid the tiny thing with her soft crying into my gown. I am often referred to as twice for the price. Tall and.. well, I like my cake, Book. A good corset fixes all that ails me, so I did notice some admiring glances. At a funeral! I should have brought cards. 
I guess I had been in my thoughts too much, after saying my private prayers for Orchid's Lost Mister - because I didn't see the family noticing us as the final hymns were being said. Standing to sing, they then turn to sit, and I guess they were prepared to find her there somewhere. Perhaps myself as well. 

It was too late to escape. It would have caused far too much of a scene and I couldn't get Orchid to budge her ornery little mistress butt. She may have even been hanging onto the wall at one point. So I just decided to try honesty and make a final stand. 

The Mister's eldest son came directly up to us as the service ended. In a way he may have been attractive, if you didn't mind a weak chin and a colourless featured face. Moneyed garments, good silk, pearl buttons. Though his expression was that of one who had seen less disgusting things in a midden. 
"How very dare you two whores-" he started. 

And by Valerias, I don't frigging know how. My fist was in his face. The heat in my stomach was a black rage I'd never felt. Don't get me wrong, I'm no celestial. I've scrapped, I've stabbed, I've killed. However that strength was something I didn't think I truly had. He flew. Back and back, knocking into pews. Cold cocked, completely unresponsive, blood running down his face. 

There was... silence, really stunned ugly silence. Then chaos and pandemonium, I thought we'd be crushed in the ensuing situation.

Then the metallic and disguised voice of an Enforcer: "SHE'S ON THE JOB, STAND BACK OR BE ARRESTED." 
It stopped everything. 

I'm ashamed to say I just dropped Orchid like a hot rock and went to him. The Enforcer. Capitals. 
When I did it, when I reached his side I realised the anger wasn't mine. It was his.

"Hello Kit." he says. 

Furthermore when I stood beside him, I felt something else. A heat of another kind, and triumph... and pride. 
Fuck.



Katherine 'On the job' Kearney 

Day 22

Working Confession at the Cathedral, all day in the bright light of the stained glass windows and fragrant rose candles is the break I didn't know I needed. My brain was still musing over the facts of the Groom case and the current complications with the Enforcer. Once I'd taken my mandated break from Confessing after lunch I was arranging flowers in the main halls. 

It's more complicated than it looks. You need to clip the extraneous leaves and also cut the stem at a sharp angle so it gets more water. Every few days you should really re cut them. So that's what I was doing, and marking the stems with my thumbnail, a crescent to remind me which I'd done. Yes, this is relevant. Everyone should be aware of these important facts. 

An Acolyte came to me then, putting her hand on my lower back. I almost didn't feel it through my thick padded gown and corset, but she also coughed gently.
"Tomislav is here to see you, Confessor. I said you were on break, but it seems urgent." She says with almost a sly smile. It fades as she sees my concern. I tuck the floral shears in my apron pocket, grab my bag and begin to run. He wouldn't come to me unless it were particularly bad. It means something's happened to Dani. 

I skid to a stop at his booted feet. He is almost as tall as Danijel, but dark haired with light eyes. He draws many admiring glances, but his eyes are for me and they are welling with concern. 
"It's Lucas." he says with a hitch in his voice. I think right then I will watch a grown man cry and tell me of final death, but he holds an edge of hope. 

"I'm out, cover my Confessional. Maybe for a few days." I shout to no one in particular. Maybe everyone. My voice too, wavers. We run hand in hand out and into the street. Speeding up as we approach the gates. My terror builds and I don't wait for them to open them, I barrel into them with my shoulder and I feel the hinges protest as they swing open.

In the back of my painful brain, I hear the shouts and complaints, but it doesn't compare with the look I saw in Tom's eyes. This could really be the end. This could really be it. We enter the Working Corner of the Garden Quarter. Apartments stacked upon one another with rickety front and back stairs. Not even the flower boxes on the street can pretty up the tired and poor buildings that really should have been rebuilt by now. Sagging straw roofs seem to tire under the weight of the sadness and detritus. 

As I fling the front door open. I can smell a diseased wound and I can feel the sorrow in the air. Striding through the threadbare kitchen and dusty hallway. I open the door to Lucas' bedroom and see Danijel standing in the corner, wild eyed and helpless. The room is small, but it contains a bed, chest and cabinet. Lucas lays, sweating and feverish, there's a wooden bucket of bile on the floor. A local woman sponges his forehead with a bunch of rosemary and holy water, dripping down and soaking the pillow around him. As she sees me, her eyes change from soft and welcoming to hard and fierce. Ready to protect her place. 

My eyes review Lucas quickly, I've seen this before. He'll hold for a few hours before it gets worse. If I can clear the room, strip the bed, get him in a bath and feed him potions to purge it, he'll be just fine. Just tired. Now, how to push out interlopers. I look at Tom, he's looking at the woman with distrust, anger. Ah. 

I immediately wonder what she wants here, what she's already asked of them. I then see a ratty physicians / church holdall case of leather, with a metal clasp and short handles - hers. I hold a much more expensive and well kept version in my hand and it has the Valerias crest on it. However, I don't pack herbs. 

"Danijel my love, you said you would struggle to afford a cleric.. who is this?" the woman says with a possessive air as she strokes Lucas' sweaty hands. 
My jaw clenches and I look at him, motion to her and then touch my brow. Our code for 'tae fuck out now'. 

"Let's step outside, us three and not speak over the patient." Dani finally says politely, leaving Tom and Lucas together. I walk first and ensure they follow me around to the rear of the house. I make them stand next to the communal dock and the midden heap. My arms folded, I keep my back to the water, so my front is at the witch. I see now, she stands closer to him than she should. Ever the optimist, he thinks she's just being helpful and doing good. I'd eat my best stockings if the bitch had a single cantrip prepared for herself or any other. 

"I'm Greta, by the way.." the curvy black haired woman finally says, after I stare at them both silently for a good long time offering me her hand eventually. She sways a bit as she comes at me, she thinks she's something special clearly. Having to look up almost craning her neck. There are advantages to being six feet tall, I thought. I grasped it and squeezed hard, I felt the bones give. I knew my blue eyes were slightly off. Danijel looked away so he couldn't see my face as I did it. He knew my moods well enough to turn his back.

"You need to go now. You've done what you needed to do. I will take over from here." I said firmly, as she nursed her hand and looked at me venomously. I suppose some people might have thought Greta pretty, after all. Green eyes, dark hair, big breasts, but they missed the conniving aura around her. The quick glances and expressions when she thought no one was watching. Sly, a fox in the form of a female.

I was watching, and I'd only just got there. 
"Well I'll need to get my things." she said loudly, holding the cheap beads at her neck. Trying to get Danijel's attention. 
From nearby there was a splat. Tom, up in the window at Lucas' room. Having heard and seen every damn thing dropped it from the second storey. His eyes were as cold as mine. This is why I was summoned. Fucking chicanery at foot. 

"Ah, how fortuitous, your things. Now you can go." I said politely as can be. Waving one hand at the bag. The other tucked into my apron gently. 
Quick as a snake, Greta lashes out and tries to simultaneously slap and push me into the water. I pivot, pull the pointed floral cutters from my apron and stick them into her thigh, holding her over the water. Her screams aren't out of place in this side of town. 
In fact you can hear windows and doors closing all around. I think she hears them too.

"The Nemorivaya family belongs to me. Always has, always will. I'm going to go inside and cure Lucas with my potions that work, that were extremely expensive. You're going to stay away. Or next time I'll stab the intersection of your leg that'll kill you and drop you in this fucking waterway. Do you understand me?"
Greta nods so hard she almost topples in. I pull the clippers out and flick the blood onto her little dress and then put them back in my apron. 
Danijel does not look at her. Simply wraps his arms around my narrow waist and rests his face in my long red hair. I know he's smelling the heady Valerias roses I've been touching all day. 

She takes her bag and fucks off. Good thing too, I didn't bring a change of clothes at all. That's not like me. 

Katherine.

P.S: It was a Wight bite, he needed a restoration and a disease curative. Since he's so young, he also needed bedrest.