Chapter Text
September 20th, 1770
I cannot believe I am actually writing in this journal.
Mary said it would be good for me to express myself on paper. Not that I couldn’t before through the church, but she insisted nonetheless. I hate to admit it, but she can be very persuasive at times.
Today has been quite normal. Church was better than usual. We got to see the leader for the first time in months. He seems to be getting better, after a nasty fever that left him bedridden. It’s difficult seeing the leader like that. But, I’m sure he will be just fine. The gods will bless him and he will continue his work. That’s what I, and the rest of us, hope, anyway.
Recently, I’ve been under great stress. My mother, Eliza, has been under a bout of illness not even the doctor can explain. It came out of nowhere. She has lived a good, long, life, but I do not want to see her go. My heart aches whenever I think about her being lowered into a coffin, and disappearing behind six feet of soil. Out of sight, but not out of my mind. The thought makes me sick.
I suppose that’s all for the evening. I must go check on Mother, and visit the library. I will continue this another day.
Klaus snapped the leather bound journal shut, a small cloud of dust rising from the rickety oak desk. He stood, pushing the chair he sat upon out of the way. After tucking the journal into the bookshelf behind him, he made his advances out of his study and towards the singular bedroom.
The house was small, smaller than most of the other houses in the community. It had only three rooms, his study doubling as the family’s dining room. The grimy windows bordering the front door let in a small stream of dusty golden light, casting long shadows over their outdated furniture.
Klaus entered the bedroom, and cast his eyes upon his mother. Her frail frame rose and fell slowly with her shallow gasps of breath. Mousy brown hair was splayed upon a single pillow. A sad sight indeed, Klaus thought.
Mary sat on her own bed, fixing a hole in a pair of Klaus's trousers, sewing needle in hand, and a few slightly bent pins poking out of her thin lips. She glanced up at the sound of her brother’s footsteps, and gave a gentle smile, before returning to her work.
Klaus bent down, bracing a hand by his mothers head. Her small eyes blinked open, taking in the pale form of her son. They were so similar to Klaus’s and Mary’s own, a blue remarkably close to that of a clear morning sky. Klaus rarely saw those anymore. It was always so stormy in the small community.
“How are you feeling, mother?” Klaus asked, moving to sit on his knees. He extended his fingers, and laid them on his mother’s forehead. Still fiery hot. Hotter than any skin should be, especially in early winter. The temperature had recently dropped, and Klaus's hands were always cold and clammy, but his mother’s were hot and damp with sweat.
“She can’t speak very well. Her throat is too dry. No matter the amount of water I give her.” Mary sighed through her mouthful of pins. She removed them, and set down her sewing project. She rose from the rickety bed, and knelt across from Klaus, staring with great pity at the sickly woman between them. “You best be heading to the great hall. I’ll watch over her,” Mary said suddenly, glancing up. Klaus nodded, straightening up, his long, dark hair lightly brushing against the ceiling.
Before he exited, Klaus turned around, a question brewing in his mind. “This will be the third meeting you’ve missed. The leader won’t be happy.” He said slowly, his eyes flicking up to his sisters kneeling form, before returning to the floor.
Mary froze, her fair complexion paling further. The color resembled the white of her apron. “I… did not realize I had missed so many. Will you explain — t-to the leader — that I have been greatly busy with our mother? I-I’m sure he will understand,” she smiled weakly , as if trying to convince herself that the words held truth.
Klaus nodded. “I will try. I’m sure you know I will have trouble reaching him, but I will try.” He assured her, nodding once more, before reaching for his dark coat that hung on a hook on the wall. The cuffs and hem were tainted with mud, though he assumed it would come out. He would have to ask Mary.
“I will be home—” Klaus poked his head around the doorway, his gaze fixing onto the grandfather clock at the end of the hall. Seven thirty, on the dot. “—Late in the eighth hour, or early in the ninth. Don’t worry about food for me, just feed mother. And yourself.” He shrugged the coat on, and placed a wide brimmed hat on his head. It had been passed down to Klaus after his father died a year prior.
He didn’t like to be reminded about his father’s death. Even though he could barely remember what had happened. Only a faint whisper of a memory surfaced when he tried.
He gave himself a small shake, resting his hand on the brass doorknob.
Klaus’s thoughts swirled like a violent storm, similar to the one brewing outside his residence. Thoughts of the leader, the church, his mother, his father… he tried to push these away. Perhaps he would journal about it when he got home.
If he could remember.