The Finding of This Diary
All right, certain things must be explained. I have found this Diary in the attic of my family's mansion, a great, stone-walled and ivy-covered house several stories tall in Ireland. My exploration of the mansion led me to the attic where, hidden in a trunk filled with old, musty gowns, I found this leather-bound book. Written in fancy script across the worn cover was these words- The Diary. Many entries have been placed here before mine, but the ink is too faded to read, so I have turned to a fresh page to write of my ever-so-boring life. I suppose I should describe myself. I have bluish-greenish-grayish eyes, dark brown hair that is abominably wavy and reaches my waist, and a wish to become both author and illustrator that is extremely frowned down upon by my parents, the Lord and Lady of Belfast. The title has no meaning in this quaint little village, where the villagers all continue their business without so much as a glance at the newly established Lord and Lady. Quite touching, actually, considering what Father has done recently. If I were a villager, I would have led a revolt by now. The hour is late, padded footsteps approach the old bedroom I have been given, and the candle grows dim, so I close with this- if ever one finds this Diary, use it wisely, for it has an air of power about it that I cannot define, and I have the strangest feeling something incredible will happen when I close these pages. But will that something incredible be for the better or the worse? I must wait to find out.
-Arabella of Belfast
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