Mouse's Diary

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Mouse killed her mother at birth and her grandparents on her second true birthday when her birthday fell on Friday 13. Then she killed her stepmother then her mother's superior. She is cursed, no doubt, and has nine years to live before her fifth true birthday

Romance / Erotica
Dee Vee Iante
Age Rating:

Mouna Lisa Kaspersky

Thursday, February 12, 2026,

Today is the day before my twenty-eighth birthday, which falls on a Friday for the fifth time in my life. Every time my birthday fell on Friday the thirteenth, I murdered my mother or caretakers. I cannot murder anyone else, especially not my lover. If I am alive tomorrow, my lover, my friend, my everything, Lady Cathenne, will die. I leave behind my journal, as it is, chronicling why this had to be and absolving anyone of any wrongdoing. I ingested the poison of my own accord, waiting until Cat left me alone to catch my breath. I am sorry Cat, but you know this had to be having read the rest of my life’s story.

Friday, February 13, 1998, My First Kill

I drew my first breath the moment my mother drew her last. After forty-seven hours of labor, my slender and petite mother died of exhaustion. Despite the hospitals and specialist doctors’ best efforts, my mother, the love of my father’s life since kindergarten, died giving birth to me, her first child. The doctors warned them that my mother was not well suited for childbearing, naturally slim and delicate. Despite the prophecy and the doctors’ advice, neither wanted to abort me as they should have when mother fell pregnant.

Everyone said that my father changed after that, but I hardly knew him. He lost himself at work, and I spent most of my time with my grandparents. They took turns caring for me, one week with my father’s side, the Kaspersky’s, and the other with my mother’s parents, the Dubois’s. They both told me what a magical princess my mother, Lisa-Anne Marie Dubois was. Father never made me feel responsible for killing my mother, mainly because I hardly saw him. My mother’s parents ensured that I was dressed warmly reminded of how my mother was always cold and fragile. I often wore winter clothes, even in summer.

February 13, 2004, My Second Kill

On my second Friday, the 13th birthday, and my 6th actual birthday, both of my grandparents passed away. I barely escaped the fire that killed the Kaspersky’s, and the Dubois’s died in a car accident coming to pick me up. I was in the hospital recovering from smoke inhalation when my father took me home to his new wife.

Esmeralda was a wonderful mum to me, and I became the center of her attention with my father’s continued busy life in shipping. She was flamboyant, laughed a lot, and treated me like a porcelain doll. She had me wear two pairs of warm tights and two leotards before dressing me into a themed ballerina costume matching a fantasy story she would read to me. Esi was like an older sister and friend, hugged me a lot, and even allowed me to sleep in her bed.

When summer came, and I was bothered by the warm clothes, she had to watch out that I did not undress during the night. She swapped my nightly costume into a mittened animal onesie and hood with a zipper down the back, and that was that. When I woke from the heat, she took me in her arms, read me a story wiping my forehead and face with a cool cloth. I slept through the night next to her and came to like to sleep warm, even in summer.

When I started school the following year, she continued dressing me in dance-themed clothing under a neutral girls coverall. She said that I was a secret princess in hiding and not to tell anyone about my true identity. By that time, I was so used to this that I only felt comfortable in a tutu and tights over my usual two pairs of warm tights and leotards.

Everything was so easy and boring at school, so I continued to read fantasy books, adding science fiction and fairy tales for variety. The other students tried shaming and teasing me about always having a fantasy or fairy tale book in my hand, but it did not matter to me. I had Esi, and I was a secret princess, and they could not understand what this meant. When I came home to Esmi, she helped with homework, and then I helped her with housework. Then she started to teach me cooking and this was even more fun. Once I got better at cooking, we made up fantasy and magical dishes based on the book she was reading to me.

Friday, February 13, 2009, My Third Kill

On my eleventh birthday, my third Friday, the 13th birthday, Esi organized a big princess and queen birthday party. Esi dressed me as a young Isabella in a golden dress with gloves and high heels and had me wear a lot of petticoats. She was very good with makeup, and I almost looked beautiful with a pale white face. Everyone dressed like a princess or a queen for the party, including the boys, and perhaps that is why we had so many guests for my birthday, more people than I ever saw.

When the party was over, and we finished cleaning up, we sat by the pool, and she even allowed me to drink some of her punch. Esi always had a glass of her punch which seemed to give her energy, but this time she was so tired she fell asleep by the pool with me beside her. I found her in the pool, face down before midnight.

My next mother was a mother superior in a nunnery, and everything changed. There was a lot of praying, and a novice nun ensured I wore what a novice nun should wear. I was always cold, did not like the flimsy underwear, bare legs under the habit, and the flat sandals were torture. Esi always had me wear wedged botties, and walking on sandals was painful.

During my two years of discernment, the novice nun assigned to me ensured that I wore the uniform of a novice, no more and no less. She was there all the time to unlock my cell in the morning and lock me back in the evening. I was never alone and never allowed to read anything other than the prescribed books. Keeping silent was important in the nunnery, and novice nuns were encouraged to cover their mouths and nose. This was the only thing I liked about the place.

Although the initial period was meant to be a sort of, decide if you want to stay, I was still there, silent and jailed mainly by the time my seventeenth, fourth Friday 13 birthday came around. Nobody asked me if I wished to become a full nun and take the vowes.

Friday, February 13, 2015, My Fourth Kill

Seven other novices were ready for their Solemn Profession, to totally consecrate to God in the Order of the Silent Nuns. I had nowhere to go and run, and my jailer sister had complete control of my every move. I was less than a slave, which looked like the rest of my life. I was to speak the last words ever and say the fivefold vowes, chastity, poverty, enclosure, obedience, and silence.

Waiting in line for my turn to speak the vowes, with this prospect of becoming a lifelong slave pounding down on me with the three days fasting weakening me in body, mind, and spirit, I did not see a way out a life of a salve. I swooned and leaned against a tall brass candelabra that fell forward. The stout candle broke off, rolled to Mother Superior, and ignited her habit. Panicked sisters ran to her aid, and their habits also caught fire. In the general commotion, I escaped and ran and ran and ran until the night, then sought a place to hide.

I was close to collapsing, frozen close to death, and I collapsed in a dark alleyway behind a large rubbish container. Roger found me in my nuns habit the following day, scrunched together between his bookshop wall and a dumpster. He offered me a sanctuary, discerning that I was running away from the church.

I still wore my face covering noviciate habit, but Roger asked no questions. He simply brought me to the loft room where his younger sister lived until she married and moved to Atlanta. He said I could do whatever she left behind in the way of clothing and anything. I sorted through the clothes, and everything was a bit short and very loose on me, but it was clean and usable. I burned the habit in the almost empty dumpster and thanked the moon that I lived in a world of dreams, a book shop.

The next day, the newspaper headline read that the police were searching for Novice Silentia, my almost name, to question in the matter of Mother Superiors’ death. So with, on my fourth Friday, February 13, at the age of seventeen, I caused the death of another of my mothers. I was the Cursed Child, no doubt. Would I also be a cursed woman?

Roger was totally disorganized, so I cleaned, unboxed, and sorted books, and so I became the storekeeper, and Roger could do what he wanted, go out with his husband Time or attend all the various book conventions. I also did his bookkeeping which his sister did until she left last year. Once I sorted that, I paid myself a minimum wage when there was enough money at the end of the week.

It was not as good as with Ezi, but I was not a nun, warmly dressed, back in my wedged heel botties, and I lived in a book store. What else could I want?

Saturday, February 13, 2016

Of course, when my tailored extra warm clothing arrived from the Dance Wear Shop, I overdid it. I dressed into three layers alternating between the warm knitted tights and mock neck, long sleeve leotards with thumb holes. Once I felt the material around my hips and the pull between my legs, I lay on the bed and hugged myself. I can still be a secret princess in my imaginings, even if everything I wore was grey, even my undies. I don’t think I could ever wear anything colorful again after I killed Ezi.

After a short snooze, dreaming of a time when a magical person read stories to me, I got up, dressed into my new wedged laced gray half-boots, then threw over my new grey, loose-fit jumper dresses with a cowled hood. I used the window to position my cowl over my head, still a bit afraid that someone may recognize sister Silentia.

When I came downstairs to open the shop, Roger was chatting with his new flame, Tim. Roger was an easy-going sort of beach surfer dude, except he was a book horder, not wave server. On the other hand, Tim did not like women, despite wearing a dress. He saw me for the first time out of jeans and asked, “Are you meant to look like a Mouse?” Roger hugged me in a sort of apology. It took me a while, but I liked Mouse better than Mona Lisa and better than Sister Silentia. I became the store’s book mouse, and when people asked for my name, I answered Mouse.

Aside from this minor incident, life continued to be good for me in the book shop. That year I read all fairytale books I found in the store and set up a magical princess corner for future fairies and princesses. It was well accepted by parents who could leave their children in the corner and browse through the book store. Remembering Ezi and her glass of punch when she read to me, I thought it better to set up a coffee machine and offer free coffees to our customers. When our turnover and profits increased, I included my favorite Lady Finger Biscuits with each coffee I made.

I was never a talkative child, and now too, I rarely found the words to express my thoughts entirely. When a customer asked for advice, I usually expressed my thoughts by showing them the right books. We were a book store, like a library, so my silence was seen as appropriate. People always said they understood me anyway.

By my next birthday, Tim accepted that I live in Rogers’s book shop and this was a great present. But I was to get another, but not that day.

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