Entry #1

Life, Milestone

Dear Diary,


  Today, I turned sixteen.


  Grandmother Theresa, the marchioness of L'evelle, gifted me with this lovely diary. Its cover is decorated with the cutest, little moonstones—it’s like holding a sliver of the night sky in my hands! Grandmother called it a token to confide my innermost thoughts. It isn't a an overly grand little book, Grandmother Theresa knows I like simple things, but it will always be infinitely precious to me. I think she means the moonstones are supposed to reflect the quiet strength she always says resides within me. I love her so much.


  For my party, Mother, in all her wisdom, saw fit to have me swathed in silks and satins, my hair twisted into coiffures that would befit a princess of his majesty's high court. But I felt silly under all those fineries. I don't like dressing up as much as Cynthia does. My sister is tall, pretty, and elegant. Everything I'm not. I love my sister. We're best friends. Yet, I can't help but harbor a jealousy that hurts me so badly. Perhaps it's not jealousy. I don't want to be Cynthia; I just want to be seen like she is. The attendants mother sent to prepare me for the day floated around me; it was too much activity. I wondered if it were Cynthia sitting there, it probably wouldn't have taken her so long to get ready.


  I started to get upset but Grandmother Theresa calmed me down. She placed me in front of the mirror, took my hand and smiled. I said I that looked like a little girl's doll. I hate always being the smallest person in the room, but Grandmother said I looked very grown up and that she was proud of me. She told me I looked beautiful.


  She took my hand, I held my breath and we walked into my reception in the solarium, now brimming with the high society's finest and the scions of many noble families. Mother and Father watched me from the far side of the room. I was so scared I couldn't take my focus from them. They looked happy, but I felt stupid. I was surrounded by all their friends and clients. I didn't really know any of them. I squeezed my eyes shut for only a second, preparing to look around. When I did.


  Oh! When I did!


  Everyone looked positively enchanted. I finally saw some of my friends, they waved to me, I think Satine and Elaine were crying a little. Even our house servants looked at me with wide eyes. I don't know why, but I suddenly felt better. I wanted to have fun. With Grandmother's help, I was the center of attention in my blue silk gown, and for brief a moment, feeling every bit the lady Mother insists I am becoming.


  In my joy, I was foolish enough to look about the room. I wanted to see if any of the boys were looking at me, but my heart sunk when I saw that none spared a glance towards me. It became apparent that the boys were ensnared by my sister's charm. I understand. I'm small, more so than other girls my age, and I think that makes me seem more a child than a maiden. I could feel myself starting to cry. I wanted to run out of the room, but Grandmother just squeezed my hand and walked me through the crowd. With her beside me, I felt stronger. As the night's festivities unfurled, and the party was well underway, the focus had shifted away from me, and I was able to have fun. My heart swelled with joy as I danced in the great hall, under the shimmering chandeliers, amongst my friends and family who had come from far and wide to share in my milestone.


  Yet, amidst the soirée, an odd incident shadowed my spirits briefly. When I stood before my grand cake—a confectioner's masterpiece adorned with sixteen glowing candles. With all the breath I had, I extinguished fifteen flames. But the sixteenth, the one perched highest, atop the sugared roses... I just couldn't blow it out. Every time I blew it out, it would instantly ignite again, over, and over. A murmur arose amongst the onlookers, and my cheeks flamed hotter with each failed attempt.


  It was that drunkard, Uncle Edmond, who decided to start quoting children's fables in the middle of my birthday! "A defiant candle foretells a light that will always struggle against the dark." The room erupted in laughter, dismissing his account of a silly story. Yet, for a fleeting moment, I felt a cold shiver dance upon my spine. I tried and tried, but the candle would not stay snuffed. Finally, Father had to snuff it out. Everyone clapped, but I could tell they thought it was strange too. I'd never felt so embarrassed in my life. I didn't want to have fun anymore.


  I snuck out. Nobody was looking at me anyway. I hid on the second floor of the ballroom to watch the ball below. I could still watch people have fun. It's my birthday party. The ballroom below was alight with couples swirling to the music, small, enchanted globes of light casting the room in every color I could imagine. As I watched, I felt my heart aching for just a bit for the romance below.


  It's funny how two souls knit from the same cloth can be so different. My sister, she's everything I could hope for in a friend and more—kind, always there for me, the first to cheer on my every little victory. Our bond is as deep as the ocean and as bright as the constellations we adore gazing upon. Yet, in the glow of our birthday candles, I find myself caught in her shadow, not with resentment, but with a yearning—a yearning to be seen not just as her little sister but as Andrielle, a name, a presence with her own light. I don't wish to outshine her; I only hope that one day, someone will look at me and see a light that's worth the gaze, just as they do with her. But not one boy had asked for my hand in dance. I spotted Cynthia. She was dancing with a handsome young man in a military uniform. She was smiling so sweetly, so happy. Cynthia was the belle of the ball, and I was the shadow on the balcony. She looked up and our eyes met. She didn't look happy anymore. I wanted the party to be over.


  I went back to my room and out to my balcony. I wanted to be alone. Just me and the stars. When I'm out there, I'm not small. I feel like I'm part of something huge. I watched them shine in their silence for a while. I guess I started crying at some point, not just for a dance not had, but for the hope of one yet to come. Someday, I dream of a boy who will see me — really see me — and dance with me under the stars.


  A boy who'll always wish we could dance in the embrace of a starry night forever.


  Yours in starlit dreams,


  Andrielle Lockhart