[Recollection Log No. 14: ANTIPHON Archive Class: Diary Log
Author: Ell-19
//Log Commence
I met Sister Reine in the Recollection Hall earlier today. She was rehearsing her piece again for the next Remembrance Ceremony: a threnody for the Knight Sartoria.
I managed to converse with her during her break, to get advice on how to refine my resonating technique since I was scheduled to perform soon after her. The practice session was interrupted when Sister Amaranthine barged into the hall, shouting expletives and accusations as she approached the stage: something about Reine using her “witch curse” to manipulate Father Zaleri into giving her an unearned directorship role.
Things were getting awkward so I tried to excuse myself, but Amaranthine noticed as I was about to leave the stage.
‘Where do you think you’re going, you silver witch? Conspiring with Reine, are you?” I remember her shouting. Amaranthine rushed toward me and grabbed my arm. “I didn’t know the recollection hall was a coven of witches.” She said. I did my best to continue ignoring her as I descended the stage.
(Looking back, I could think of a dozen insults I could have retorted with. I just wasn’t in the mood at the time)
“I thought that wretched eye of yours could see everything, but you can’t even look at me?” She muttered under her breath. I felt her pull my shoulder, taunting me.
“Aren’t you usually the humorous one, dear Inaris, The Silver Witch?” Amaranthine scoffed.
She knew I hated that name.
As I turned to face her, I saw Sister Reine wordlessly slap Amaranthine across the face. It was an elegant slap; not one infused with hatred, but meant merely to pacify. Amaranthine massaged her cheek like a wounded puppy, mouth agape. Then, she stormed out of the hall. I remember Sister Reine turning to me, red handkerchief in hand. Her soft lips moved, as if whispering, but I could not hear her voice.
To my surprise, she reached out and gently brushed her hand across my cheek. I hadn’t realized I was crying. I don’t remember how I got back to my cabin, but I must have disassociated from the events that followed.
The last thing I remember was trying to claw my eye out, and feeling disgusted with myself. I still have Sister Reine’s handkerchief. A facade of dark crimson, with an arabeseque pattern ornamented by white roses. It smelt of sweet incense. I should return it soon.
-Ell’s Diary
