2. Chapter 2

Dear Diary,

My name is Sappho Zephise, and I am the princess of Pompeii. My father King Ostorius rules our vast, ruined kingdom with pride despite is lack of self-worth. It has never been the same since she died. I can’t help thinking of her as I toss her precious possessions into the bottomless, extensive urns. I write as an excuse for a break. I couldn’t bear it if I caught a sight of her most divine ownerships that she used to lock away for no eyes to see. The room looks empty and lifeless, yet I can feel my mother’s presence. I have ever since that day. The day us Romans would love to extract from their minds but are stained for life. Father told me a month ago about the transfer. It was all quite emotional. I had never seen Father cry since Mama died. Tears flowing down his pale cheeks, he stared into the distance, there was no hope or emotion in his eyes. No effort. It terrified me. The muffled words, “Get packed, your moving to your Grandmothers”, tumbled out of his mouth.

My cheeks burned, fists tucked as a collapsed onto the floor. Father, a moment later was standing over me, terror scathing over him. My eyes adjusted to see his red face. He helped me up, the warm hand on my back brought an unwilling sense of comfort. There was a sudden hit of empitness, right then and there, and I have felt it ever since. My shoulders heavy, tired, slumped. If mum was here, she would have scolded me and given me a long lecture about proprierity. I miss her seemingly endless lectures. I must keep on with packing mothers things. I cant leave them with Papa or he will toss then out into the street to shatter into pieces. The room seems suddenly crowded, tens on tens of boxes piled up. Yet it is no longer my room. Papa has made it clear to me I will not come back.

Father loves me doesn’t he? I can’t help but feel a stronger gust of heaviness; I’m drowning in the cruel sea of life. Why won’t the devastation take my life now? Why not when I was in that claustrophobic ward? Why not when it happened? I have so many questions for Papa but he drives me away whenever I plunge in for that off chance that he would just listen. Which he won’t.


I’m glad mums’ packing is done. I didn’t pay attention to what I was storing away in the big vessels. I sloped out into the culina to snack at the leftover fish from last night’s dine earlier. This is highly forbidden normally but at the moment, Father takes no care to notice even my presence. He doesn’t spend much time at all in the culina anyway. I prepare the dinner every sundown but I don’t think he eats at all much that I put on his place. How I wish he would consume his food. I think his grief for mother is developing an eating disorder. His energy is diminishing rapidly. This family is in disarray. I don’t even think it even be eligible as a family anymore.

I am absolutely positive that life be hell at grandmothers. She hates me in and out just like I hate dates. And dates form the vilest aftertaste you can think of, that lingers in your mouth for eternities. It is Mama’s mother. She doesn’t like my parents either. She believes my mother married beneath her and she blames my father for her death. I anticipate a thorough session of glaring from her when I arrive at her villa. I wrote a card after my fish feast at lunch interval to offer to Grandmother, hopefully, it will break the ice a little.

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