Dear Diary: The Thoughts and Extracts of Mary Bennet

A Strange Affair

Dear Diary,

Indeed, I have not partaken in the pleasure of writing to you for quite some time now. As the usual, Mama has been all a fluster and what not. But the visitation of my sisters did bring up a subject of the queerest nature. The day they arrived, it was my twenty and first year of life, as I had clarified in my lastest of entrees; however, I felt obliged to state it once over as I sense as it is not stressed enough. Anyhow, let my excessive chatter cease and allow me to continue exposing my plight.

Upon arriving at the Longborne estate, I quickly analyzed that the countenance of my sisters had exceedingly differentiated from our latter meeting. Jane, my eldest sister of whom I have written upon before, held the hand of an innocent child, not quite a year old. She was beautiful, even more so then when my eyes had formerly gazed upon her as a fresh new born into this world. Although Jane still had maintained that glow of her youth, an evident softness, more so then previously, had been consigned in her bright blue eyes. Oh, the impacts of motherhood. This had also occurred within Bingley as well, the strangest of strange. Once again, I believe this is what occurs once love has nested in the heart of a human. One proverb that tends to emanate to my eye relentlessly is that which elucidates how love can remedy any flaw, whether a simply quirk upon the surface or embedded deep within the soul. I have never been so propitious to discover this first hand, but the marriage of the second eldest of the Bennett daughters remains living proof.

Eliza remains completely and utterly attached to Mr. Fitswilliam Darcy, if I do say so myself. Entirely bewitched by the man she possesses adorations for. Moreover, he for she. The sensitivity of a company of such love unremittingly adjudicates me wordless in their presence, feeling as an annoyance. Many a day, my speech has become unbefitting and awkward when directed toward my former sister, whom I contemplated that I understood so well. Of course, it was always quite impossible to disentangle the web of reality for Lizzy. Discerning her mind is an enigma that I imagine only one man alone can decipher, and that is Darcy himself. I credit him to that and remain distant from their existence.

This is the reasoning that this ordeal has conveyed a form of panic to my quivering quill. The night as dark as the ink in my well was upon us that evening. Every flickering candle lit up the faces of the people dear to my heart. T'was a warm glow entrenched in the occasion as merriment was passed amongst us. I remained standoffish, in my normal manner, proceeding with conversation where conversation was due. I always have been ostracized from my sisters, not being able to comprehend how one can be so...froughtless. Social gatherings had never appealed to me, particularly in the present due to that Longborne is essentially uncommunicative without Jane, Elizabeth and Lydia. Kitty ignores my presence, and I only pass words with her when she is of use to me. I spend my days in my study, and playing the instrument of my desire, the piano. I have accumulated incalculable knowledge with their absence, and my thoughts of the piano render tender dreams of Anne's laugh and eyes.... Nevertheless, I never cogitated it to be much more than a method to my madness. In the dim lit world of that night, my eyes fell upon Eliza, scrutinizing me in the most perceived nature. My own eyes locked with her deep russet orbs as she ventured my way, leaving Darcy to relive former days with Bingley. Once closer, her hands gripped my forearms. I was startled by the sudden action, and it must have been evident in my ghostly white face. She chuckled and explained that she hardly recognized me. She spoke, and I quote, that I had blossomed into a woman who was conspicuous in contrast to the plain young lady she recalled as her sister, Mary Bennett. These words were undoubtedly the most amiable my sister had ever granted to me. Even Lydia, who habitually observes nothing minus herself, bestowed upon me a trite comment on how I had reformed myself. Not quite a complementary phrase, but one entity is superior to the inexistence of an object originally. An additional quotation, as you can perceive. Once Lydia spoke, I rushed to my mirror that was rarely used within my chamber, and gazed at my reflection. Nothing appeared to be distinctive. The same chalky white skin and shadowy copper eyes acknowledged me. Bar according to my sisters, even the most flamboyant, I indeed have some kind of hope. Maybe my mind is wishfully thinking, and this perception I have obtained, indeed, is false. I am now conclusive that the accusations concerning my sisters were nothing more then sociable gestures of sympathy due from their prolonged absence. For I never was agreeable toward them, and alas I never shall be.

Goodbye for now, perhaps I shall write again to-morrow.

Presently retiring,

Mary Bennett