From the Bedside Diary of Brisins De Mar © 2011 by Tyree Kimber. All rights reserved.
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The story is fictional. Names, places and any similarity to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Cover Art created by Rhiannon Rhodes for Dark Roast Press © 2011
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From the Bedside Diary of Brisins De Mar
By
Tyree Kimber
SMASHWORDS EDITION
I keep opening this diary these past several days only to find myself quite without words to write. It is awkward, like suddenly seeing an old friend one has made excuses to avoid, their presence depriving you of the guile to conjure either good reasons for previous absences or the semblance of true enthusiasm at their presence. I do not think I ever planned to write in these pages again. The woman who made the previous entry almost five years ago is very different from the one who writes these words now. Or so I thought.
My life did not turn out anything like I imagined. I was bred to be a wife for a nobleman – as Selkines so bluntly puts it, a piece of currency for my father. I fancied I would be a châtelaine with no less than five children. A series of social occasions would define my life and the odd scandal, perhaps even my own brought on by trysts with a lover, would give it flavor. Instead at almost twenty-five years of age I am unmarried and likely to remain so, although I have a daughter. I share the home of a noblewoman and her husband. They are no ordinary couple, mind you. Selkines was once a sorceress whose allure broke a demon's heart and Erasmus was the bard whose nobility tamed hers. When I suffered for involving myself in their supernatural tempest they cared for me, healed me, and made me one of their own. And although in times long past I have been the lover of both of them, we three now dwell in a companionable and mostly chaste existence.
Mostly chaste... My but I know how that must sound. No, Erasmus and Selkines are faithful to each other. Truth be told I have never known two people more totally or truly in love. But the past, while rarely spoken of, is by no means forgotten. There are looks, touches that linger too long, and on the rare occasion that wine flows a little too freely, outright flirtation. But there is no more than that. One time, very early in our arrangement, Selkines and I gave in to temptation and something happened...
Oh, fuck me but who am I kidding? I began this diary years ago to make trophies, as a man might, of my carnal adventures. Perhaps I am a different person but I gain nothing by being vague in these pages now. So in the explicit and uncompromising spirit upon which this diary was founded, I shall say plainly what happened.