On June 21st, 1911, there stood a wooden house by the riverbank.
As my father has forewarned, the initial period is fraught with difficulty, but we shall overcome. Every member of the household works tirelessly to improve our financial situation. Thena seizes every opportunity to write and earn a living from her pen. She has truly transformed since then. Now, she writes short stories about love and other topics she once detested. The heroines are no longer formidable women who disparage men, but love has become an essential thread in her stories. Thena's works have gradually gained recognition, and the literary circles in London have started to take notice of her.
Diana has become a drawing teacher for families in the surrounding area. Although the pay is meager, it provides the family with enough to get by. This job has also made her more open with people. David has dropped out of boarding school, and with Kevin's help, he has landed a job managing the flower garden in Lady Daphne's estate. As for me, in my spare time, I knit with my mother to sell in the village. For the most part, I learn how to be a wife and assist Enzo with the vegetable garden. At first, I was unaccustomed to manual labor, but circumstances forced us to adapt. Now, I realize that I love this "job." The best thing about it is being Enzo's "soon-to-be wife."
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Tonight, after all the work is done, the fields have been watered and look lush, twenty knitted sweaters have been completed and are ready to be sold at the market tomorrow, the courtyard has been swept clean, and Diana's paint jars have been put away, we gather together to listen to Thena's story.
Mother and Diana share one side of father's body, while Enzo's arms surround me. We all lament that David has to stay at Mrs. Daphne's house. We are all silent and focused on Thena's new story. According to Thena, this will be a very new and different story from what she has ever written. She has shifted to writing a novel, a story that, as she suggests, will be incredibly melancholy.
"The painter receives news that Roxanne is getting married tomorrow, his heart tightens as if he were under the spell of a Digan witch's heartache. His letter to her did not reach the hands of the beauty, and he must painfully end his love affair. Day by day, he draws Roxanne's portrait to satisfy his longing, but the more he draws, the more his heart aches. The day she rides the wedding carriage is the day the painter's true self dies on the wheel of the spinning horse and the flowers scattered all over the road. Without Roxanne, the painter's soul is like a deserted garden. In agony, bleeding, and remorse, he drinks all the bottles of paint, the last gift Roxanne gave him. His eyes close, and he carries the old images of Roxanne with him to the realm of despair."
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Thena tells the story with a slow, heavy voice, and I can tell we all have tears in our eyes. She puts the unfinished book down and sighs. Then she looks at us, and I'm sure we're all teary-eyed. She gently says:
"End of Act 1."
I abhor this tale. I abhor it for its excessive brilliance and its overwhelming pathos. The more I weep for the poor artist, the more I sympathize with Roxanne. Each person has their own reason. Each person has an invisible sorrow. What happens within a person cannot be evaluated by a smile or a tear. I bow my head into Enzo's chest and sob. Mother and Diana are also weeping, only my father appears stronger than ever. Perhaps, stories like this are ones he has encountered many times in his life. And maybe, his happy life has made these tragic stories less poignant. These things will never defeat my family because we always have each other.
But can one really commit suicide by drinking paint? That is the first time I have heard of it. Perhaps they did not want their death to become bloody and haunting for those left behind. I do not know anymore, and I do not wish to see that scene either. I truly hope Thena can finish her book soon. I wish the ending of the book will be a happy one, that those who truly love each other will be together. Death has taken away too many beautiful love stories in real life, and I cannot bear to see it happen even within the pages of a book.
The sky is adorned with weaving nets made of stars, and the moon rises bright and round. I bid goodnight to my fiancé with a deep kiss, and he returns it just as passionately. The moon tonight is so lovely that I feel compelled to say a prayer before I drift off to sleep. What should I pray for? Ah, yes, I hope that my family's troubles will soon come to an end. I long for a sense of peace. I pray for Thena's success with her novel. I hope that Enzo and I will soon be wed. And there are so many other prayers I hope will come true. But now I am too sleepy, and I must close my eyes at once. Let us leave everything for tomorrow. I have a presentiment that tomorrow will be a day full of hope and life. I am certain of it!