The Diary
The Diary
Many years ago in the city of London, a baby girl was born in the reign of Queen Victoria. Showered in gifts and affection from her loving parents, she was named Adeline King and was cherished without reservation by all those around her. What many forgot, however, was that Adeline had a sister, a very unusual girl unlike Adeline in almost every way.
Delphia King, a year Adeline’s senior, had been an unmanageable and brooding infant from the moment she entered the world. Her hair was a dark chocolate brown, and her pale skin and dark eyes seemed to pierce and intimidate every woman who dared to coo at her in her pram. When her sister, an angelic blonde, entered the world only a year after herself, Delphia was shunted to the side into the care of a governess, Valeriya Romanovna Ivanova, a dour and devious Russian woman much like Delphia in the darkness of her features. Not many knew of her past in her home country, nor why she fled St Petersburg, and for the most part, not many seemed keen to inquire.
While brought up in the same house, Adeline and Delphia were raised individually. Delphia and Miss Ivanova spent most of their day alone in a remote corner of the sprawling King apartments, with Miss Ivanova teaching her to read at an incredibly accelerated pace. Adeline was to be raised as a delicate debutante, learning to draw and paint and play the pianoforte.
Finally, the King sisters reached the point of womanhood. At fifteen, Adeline was everything a young Victorian woman ought to be, riddled with grace and beauty and unparalleled in her knowledge of the finer things. Her blonde locks were effortlessly curled in ringlets, and her cheeks glowed with a desirable rosiness that brought her to the attention of every suitable young man in range of her charms. Delphia too was beautiful, but in a far different manner than her younger sister. Her high cheekbones and almond shaped eyes were sharp and deadly, her lips always forming a knowing smirk, and her curvaceous body appealed to many a young man as well. One gentleman in particular, however, caught Delphia’s eye, and she felt the pull towards him like nothing she had ever felt before. Charles Worthington, a young gentleman, was incredibly handsome and an excellent match for any young woman. She found herself constantly struggling to impress him, although he hardly noticed her.
When Delphia asked Miss Ivanova if she knew why Charles would not pay attention to her, Miss Ivanova saw her opportunity. Delphia’s dearest governess looked into her eyes and told her in a voice dripping with false regret, that Charles Worthington was deeply in love with her own sister Adeline, and was in the midst of inquiring how he might make her his wife.
The news rocked Delphia to her core. She grew cold and withdrawn, and turned to endless reading. The dusty volumes her governess kept in her cabinet were suddenly incredibly appealing, and Delphia could not help but read them.
One afternoon, with the curtains drawn and a candle burning next to her as she sat cross-legged in the middle of Miss Ivanova’s bedchamber, she reached for the final book in the cabinet that she had previously never dared to touch. The cover was bound in deep, blood red leather with a strangely familiar feel, and Delphia’s fingers tingled as she felt its weight in her hands. A broken iron lock hung from its edge, as if it had been previously broken into, and its only cover adornment was the initials KMV carved out in gold lettering.
Suddenly, Delphia felt a pull in her chest, begging her to open the book and devour its contents. Almost involuntarily, her fingers turned the pages at incredible speed, her dark eyes flitting back and forth as she read every word. In less than five minutes her eyes hit the final word, and suddenly the candle in front of her went out with a whisper. In a moment of clarity, she noticed how the entire diary was written in Russian; a language she did not understand. Then, her eyes rolled back in her head, and she rose slowly from the floor.
That evening, Charles Worthington had been invited to dine at the King family home. As the group made their way from the parlour into the dining room, Charles felt someone grab his arm and drag him into the adjoining room. He whipped his head around to see Delphia, her eyes entirely white, smiling calmly at him. She giggled girlishly, and slowly placed her hands over his eyes.
“I’m Klementina,” she said sweetly, “I want to be your friend, but you have to do something for me first.”
He felt a warm rush flow through his veins, and promptly straightened up and walked out of the room, only to encounter Adeline on her leisurely stroll to the dining room. He placed a hand over her mouth, and dragged her back into where he came from.
After precious Adeline did not make an appearance for dinner with her betrothed, the house was searched. A maidservant found her sitting in a chair upside down, her throat cut delicately and her eyes staring blankly across the room, all colour drained from her rosy cheeks.
Neither Delphia nor Charles had any memory of the night’s events, and after her sister had been properly mourned, it was decided that Charles would marry Delphia instead. She was thrilled, and although she missed her sister, she was in love with Charles and could hardly wait for their wedding day.
One night, a week before she was set to marry, Delphia slept soundly in her bed. Miss Ivanova walked slowly to her bedside, and with white eyes fixed on her pale complexion, placed her hands over her eyes. Delphia’s dream quickly transitioned, and she saw a little girl sitting in a white chair in a meadow before her. The little girl looked up, and her white eyes met Delphia’s.
“My name is Klementina. I’m here to tell you what a naughty girl you’ve been,” she said slowly, putting her tiny hand over her mouth in mock surprise. She detailed exactly what had happened to her, how her spirit had been trapped in her own diary by her wicked governess and could only escape if she chose someone to replace her within its pages. Suddenly, on the edge of the meadow, Adeline appeared. She floated over the long grass and came to rest next to the tiny figure of Klementina. Her eyes were white as well.
“You did this to me, Delphia. But I forgive you.” Klementina’s form began to fade, turning into an orb of white light that flew directly into Delphia.
She awoke with a start to find Miss Ivanova standing next to her bed, staring deep into her eyes.
“Thank you, dearest child, my task is complete. I could not be more grateful to you,” she drawled, her thick Russian accent punctuating every word, “I can return to where I belong. Good luck, blushing bride.” And with that, she turned on her heel and walked to the open window, which she leaped out of headfirst. Delphia did not hear anything hit the ground outside, but she didn’t care. Walking over to the cabinet filled with books, she picked up a burning candle and, after spreading the books around the room, dropped the flame onto Klementina’s diary and watched from her bed as the entire room was consumed by fire.