Dear Diary,


    As night comes, I find myself at my desk again, surrounded by flitting candlelight. In those most quiet hours, when everyone else is asleep, my thoughts inevitably stray to her, to Valentina.


    Oh, Valentina. Just her name makes my heart beat faster. How can one person contain so much beauty, grace and intelligence? She was two rows in front of me in Professor Emberfell''s lecture and I barely could suppress the urge to just stare at her all day long. She looked just like the most beautiful Essence pattern as the sunlight streamed in through the high windows and made her chestnut hair glow. When she raised her hand to ask a question, her voice was the only thing I could listen to.


    She is distracting, and I know I should be paying more attention to the lectures, but it feels like it just doesn’t matter when I see her face. There is more than her beauty that captivates me so much. It’s her mind, her determination, her amazing talent for Essence Weaving. Her approach to problems is so unique. She hits the mark, half with intuition and half with careful analysis. I wish I had half of her talent.


    I sometimes wonder if she even sees me. We''re friends, we study together, and we talk about our lessons, sure. But does she see me as a man? I don''t think so.


    The day Professor Horne read my poem during the lecture, I can''t stop thinking about it. Oh, Martyr, what a disaster that was! The poem had been written in a moment of inspiration, because of how I feel for Valentina. It was supposed to be private, as a way of showing my affection, something I might one day find the courage to say to her eye to eye.


    I wanted to sink into the floor when he started reading it out loud. My face was turning red and my heart was pounding so loud I knew everyone in the room could hear it. The worst thing was seeing Valentina''s reaction. She was so embarrassed, so uncomfortable. If I could have gone back in time, I would have given anything to be able to undo that moment.


    The next days were torture. I was afraid to look Valentina in the eye, for fear I’d see disgust or pity in her eyes.


    I finally found the courage to apologize to her today. Surprisingly, she was very understanding. She told me she had liked the poem, even if she didn’t love me like I love her. In that moment her kindness only made her more wonderful in my eyes.


    She gently rejected me, but I can’t stop wishing for more. You can sense a connection between us every time we talk, or when we study together, or even when we’re just sitting next to each other in the dining room. Or maybe I’m just making it up, but sometimes I think I see a glimmer of something more in her eyes when she looks at me.


    Who am I to hope to win her heart? I, Crispin Gillespie, son of a lesser noble family, second born, a mouse who loves books and the poetry of words more than swords and great deeds. Against other students here, at least the rich and beautiful ones, I must look like some sort of pale shadow to Valentina.


    But I can''t stop hoping, dreaming. It makes me happy every time she says my name, every time she touches my hand to get my attention, every time she laughs at one of my awkward jokes.


    I know I should be realistic. I should be studying, I should be thinking about my future. Father writes to me constantly, reminding me of my duties, of how important it is that I make connections here in Bridgewater, and prove myself a worthy representative of our house. But if I can’t even open my mouth when important people are around, how am I supposed to make connections? I stutter as soon as a professor addresses me directly, how am I supposed to bring honor to our name?Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    Mother understands me better. She tells me to find my own way in her letters. She was always the one who ensured that I loved poetry, and taught me to find beauty in the little things in life. I sometimes think she is disappointed in my father’s brooding strictness. I wish I could have that strength of hers, the gentleness and her unwavering faith.


    The truth is I’m often lost here at university. No doubt the lectures are fascinating, and the chance to understand the secrets of Essence Weaving is awe inspiring. I can see the competition, the need to prove yourself or assert yourself, that others seem to feel, but I never thought my own life would be about that.


    I had always hoped to be a scholar or a poet. A life, reading books, studying the ancient texts, discovering the finer aspects of Essence Weaving. That’s what I thought the university was all about. It all seems so much more complicated now that I''m here.


    For example, there is the Greystone Competition. They all talk about how important it is to enter, how it can make or break a young Essence Weaving''s career. Part of me deeply admires Valentina’s courage and determination, because she has signed up for it. Another part, though, is also absolutely terrified at the idea of subjecting myself to such an ordeal.


    I know that I should participate. This would be a chance to show myself, maybe even impress Valentina. I don''t want to stand in front of all these people, and all these judges, and professors, and have to apply my skill and make myself so vulnerable to their criticism and judgment.


    Then there was the news about the goblins. The news about Farwinter opened up some old wounds. Sometimes I still dream of the screams, the stench, the fear. I told Valentina and she was so compassionate. She didn’t judge me, and for the first time in a long time I felt understood.


    I wish I had the strength she does. Valentina has no fear. She shows so much determination to overcome every challenge, I really admire that. She masters it all, whether it’s the difficult exams or the ubiquitous struggles that come with life at university for someone of her station and she does it all with a grace and courage that blows my mind.


    I watched her work on a particularly tricky Essence structure recently. She handled the Essence threads in a way that was so full of intuition and precise control at the same time, she just never ceases to amaze me. The way she furrows her brow concentrating, the way she lets her hands move as if they were in an elegant dance. When she finally stabilized the structure, and a beaming smile shone on her face my heart skipped a beat.


    Then I see how other students talk to her, how they can be so confident, and I feel small again and insignificant. Especially Faustus Boarfend drives me crazy. The way he looks at Valentina with greedy eyes, with that smug grin and that hatred – it makes me want to kill him. But I just don’t have it in me to stand up to him, for Valentina''s sake, to stand up for her against his lewd and patronizing remarks. Every time I try, I am speechless, a speechless idiot.


    Maybe it''s better this way. Perhaps it''s time I conceded I will always be just friends with Valentina. I should be thankful for the moments we share, her friendship, her trust. Why do I feel this way? It’s like this flutter in my stomach, this jolt in my chest that comes every time I see her, every time I hear her voice, her laugh, I know that I’ll never be able to stop wanting more. I wish, I keep imagine, that one day she will be my wife, that we will have children, that we will be happy together.


    What should I do? How do I manage these feelings that are about to swallow me whole? What can I do when my thoughts are always dashing towards her?


    Perhaps I should attempt to put my feelings into more poems. At least then this unrequited love would have been for something, would have made something beautiful. After the debacle with Professor Horne, however, I am afraid someone might find and read them again. I never want to put Valentina in that embarrassing situation again.


    It’s getting late and I have another long day of lectures and tutorials tomorrow. I know my dreams will be full of her again, but I should try to sleep.


    My beautiful, brilliant Valentina. If you only knew what you do to me. I wish you could see how much I love you.


    Good night, dear Diary. May the Martyr watch over us all, and give us the strength to find our way, in Essence Weaving and in life.


    Your


    Crispin