A flood of information.  Quentin assassinated.  It seems he had an insane wife (no doubt driven such seconds after ‘I do’), locked in the tower room, and released by the incompetence of Kentuckian Rube, Dirk Wilkins, the caretaker.  I am assembling pieces to a puzzle with no picture for guidance.

And so, for guidance, I have turned to the most powerful force in my life, and have done so with the utmost reluctance.  I have turned to Angelique.  She will revive Quentin.  So often, she is the keeper of the gateway between life and death.  To have such power mixed with such rash impulsiveness?  Maddening.  Are they antithetical to each other or are they mutually inclusive?  As much as she is death, Angelique is the irresistible quintessence of life.  Damn me for saying so.  My heart used to speak the name of Josette with every beat.  Now, it whispers “Angelique,” if only for her vengeful ubiquity.

I thought I could kill her in 1796.  Why?  She is as constant as the northern star.  Yes, our war may continue, and perhaps this prevents the rest of the family from suffering her wrath.  I will absorb that evil; in fact, it seems to be my best destiny.



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