Silk Ve Sins: Diary of Secret Love in 14th c. Prague
From Katerina's diary:
Prague. Early September 1347
.
The air thick with incense and whispers, I slip into St. Vitus Cathedral, my heart a fluttering bird beneath my ribs. Agnes, sweet Agnes, her golden hair catching the light from the stained glass as she kneels in prayer. Does she feel my gaze upon her? I dare not approach, not here in God's house, not with my impure thoughts. Oh, but how I long to!
Emperor Charles speaks of a great university to rival Paris, but my mind wanders to softer curves, to stolen glances in the marketplace. Agnes sells ribbons there, her fingers deft and sure as she measures and cuts. I bought a length of blue last week, the color of her eyes. It lies hidden in my chest, a secret treasure.
Father says I must marry soon, a good match to secure our family's place in this growing city. But how can I, when my heart belongs to one I can never have? The stone walls of Prague feel like a prison some days, hemming me in, suffocating these forbidden desires.
Last night, a dream. Agnes and I, alone by the Vltava, the rushing water drowning out the world. Her lips, soft as rose petals, against mine. I awoke feverish, guilt and longing warring within me. To confess would be madness, to keep silent torture.
Those dimples that appear like magic when she smiles, the sound of her laughter like soft chimes in the breeze. How it pierces my heart! She is spring incarnate, all freshness and innocence, untouched by the world's harshness. And I? I am autumn, full of fading beauty and melancholy wisdom.
How dare I even think of casting my shadow over her radiance? To taint such purity with my weathered hands and weary soul - it would be a sin greater than any I've contemplated. I should rejoice in her happiness, in the simplicity of her world. Instead, I find myself longing to draw her to me, ever so close. What kind of monster does that make me?
And yet still I yearn, helpless against the tide of my own desires...
No, I must resist this temptation. Agnes deserves the life laid out before her - marriage, children, the respect of society. Who am I to wish her onto a path of secrecy and shame? My love, tainted as it is, has no place in her sunlit world.
I hope you can forgive me, dearest one, even as you remain blissfully unaware, for these thoughts that would seek to tarnish your purity with my love's dark hues.
The cathedral bells toll, startling me from my reverie. Agnes rises, makes the sign of the cross. Our eyes meet for a breathless moment. Does she see the yearning in mine, my adoration? Her smile was fleeting, a shy bloom before she turned away, lost in the throng of worshippers. I remain, rooted to the spot, my prayer unfinished but my soul ablaze.
Oh Agnes, my Agnes who can never be mine. What cruel fate, to be born a woman and yet burn for you with such fervor. Have I strayed into wickedness? Perhaps. Yet, I cannot, I will not, forsake this feeling. It may doom me, but it also gives me life.
Tomorrow, I shall go to the market. Perhaps I need more ribbon after all.
