2. To Exeter

"Dear Diary: 

Since it's the first time that I write, I will introduce myself. 

My name is Annabelle Archer and I'm a British young woman, and I'm going to die soon.  

My heart is very weak and the doctors say I have a rare condition that was supposed to kill me before my twentieth birthday, but I have passed that mark already.  

My father keeps looking for more second opinions, that are no longer second, but maybe a hundredth.  

My mother keeps the house together, and our family together. She acts like nothing is happening most of the time, but I know better.  

I know how she feels and do appreciate her attempt at normality, but the mood, in general, is so gloomy anyway." 

She introduced herself to the small, black, hardcovered notebook that her father had presented her with, but she didn't have the will to start before. 

She enjoyed very much to tell stories, but her will to live was getting drained from her with every new attack. 

"My life has developed so far in London, in the center of the city, in a grey, very large and beautiful house surrounded by rose gardens and fruit trees, where many birds usually build their nests.  

Gardens that I can't remember how many years have passed since the last time I visited. 

Our house has two floors and an attic. In the attic, all the decorations my mother had changed through the years, all the paintings and furniture, and the many different entertainments she had picked with time, and then left, are stored in there.  

When I played hide and seek, as a very young child, I always picked the attic to hide, and always won the game.  

That also might have been because I didn't play with other children, but with my not-so-young nana, who was also always busy, but I can't tell that she didn't try. 

The second floor is full of rooms. Guestrooms and halls, and then our bedrooms, Mother and Father's was across the hall from mine, and right beside mine, there is the room that used to be my playroom when I was a kid and the doctor finally forbid me to go playing outside.  

The rest of the rooms are empty.  

The ground floor has all the common areas a house usually has, a kitchen, a dining room, a large living room, the library studio, and the rooms of the helpers that work for us. 

I spend most of my time at the studio. My favorite books are fantasy, and that's the reason why my father got so many of them for me, still, I'm usually bored and waiting for something to happen. 

Today I had a new crisis. Doctor Marsh came, of course, and asked me for how long have I been in this same room, and talked about how it was not healthy for me to be confined here, so he recommended that I moved to the Exeter Villa.

I have to accept that the idea makes me happy, at least the scenery I will have through the window will not be this gray city with eternal rain." 

Annabelle was in the middle of packing when she found this notebook, and, since she was starting a new adventure of sorts, she decided to start writing a little, to entertain her mind, now that the most probable was that she'd be even more lonely than in the house where her parents were all the time. 

Her pause took a couple of hours as she finished setting her things up, and then she came back to her desk, sat comfortably, and took the fountain pen again. 

Her moods changed subtly from gloomy and clammed up to depressed and openly emotional. That was something nobody could see, but her newly started diary was going to show from the very start. 

She restarted her narrative.

"We're in the middle of the fall, and it's the year 1871.  

Two months ago I celebrated my 25th birthday, and the reason I mention it is that every crisis I can get through reminds me of the times in which a doctor said I would not be able to live past my 20 years.  

That was five years ago.  

I wonder if really following the physician's instructions helped me, or if there's something waiting to happen to me, like the stories in my books, something very important that I can't die before I do, or something only I can do... 

I wish I could be someone's hero... For once, instead of being the fragile damsel that always needs to be tended to. Or maybe it's just that I'm stubborn enough for death to come to pick me up.  

Whatever the case, I've outlived the medical expectations, even if I was ready to leave this world a very long time ago.  

For now, I need to finish packing. Tomorrow I'm going on a new adventure. Yes, I consider it like that. In a life like the one I'm having right now, even if it's our own house, I am happy to go to a less-frequent place." 

Annabelle closed the small notebook and packed it at once before she forgot. Her days were frequently very slow, but since that one was so eventful, it had passed pretty quickly.  

Two of the house helpers were still packing with her, arranging and moving, asking her what she wanted to take with her, and sorting it in large chests that were then moved downstairs by the larger men that did the heavier works at the family estate.  

Her parents were very hopeful of them going to the Villa.  

That house had not been used so often since the health condition of their daughter, Abbie, as they still used to call her, had deteriorated in the last few years, yet they were very happy for having her with them.  

They were taking some extra helpers to live with Abbie at the Villa, as there were usually just the two people that maintained the house in good condition, but now that their daughter would live there, they needed to have her not only comfortable but never alone, due to her condition.

Some of them were even told by doctor Marsh on how to do basic procedures on her while help arrived, so it was of utmost importance that they went with Abbie for as long as she was going to stay over there.

They also tried to get a companion for their daughter, when she was growing older, but the girl ended up strongly refusing all of the ladies that were introduced to her, finding them bothersome.  

The reality was that she didn't want to get attached to anybody, and had put a big effort on that, denying herself that interest and human attachment.  

Not getting close to the helpers, not to new friends, and especially no to romantic interests, as she saw no use on any of that.  

After a very busy day, everything was packed and ready.

They would travel the next day from their estate to their Villa, and the trip was going to take, considering all their stops and transfers, at least half of the next day.  

Traveling was faster by train, and since the service was recently opened, they decided to go that way, avoiding as much as possible to expose Annabelle to the hustle and bustle, and very long travel time on the road when going in a carriage, especially in her condition.  

Abbie hated it when people around her talked about "Her condition."  

She hated pity, especially from the very few people that were around her, so she tried her hardest to do things on her own, careful not to overdo, but pushing herself enough so that others around her wouldn't even suspect what she vehemently tried to hide. 

She also hated to be called Abbie, that was a constant reminder that, even if she was no longer a kid, she had to still be supervised all the time, and taken care of always.  

She never protested the nickname, and that was another reason for hating it, she felt like she couldn't get rid of it as much as she couldn't be healthy again, or know when she was supposed to die. 

The fresh air of autumn favored her. It even gave her a light pink in her cheekbones, a color that not even she had seen in her face for a while.

Breathing the cleaner, not stale air of the outside, even stepping on the grass of her own garden early in the morning was good.  

She was feeling alive, but still, she hid that, as a treasure inside a chest within her heart.  

It wasn't normal for her to share feelings, thoughts, even expressions. It was all protected from the damage of the normal world, which was too bane for her to like or be interested in.  

Her feeling content for a new experience was something she craved for, but normally not an option, so this time, this was just hers.