Hello, my dear little journal.
Da has been saying, for some time now, that I have a way with words and has been teaching me to read and write. I have a great passion for it, he tells me, and so tonight he has gifted me this little book. I adore it.

Of course, you are secret from Mother and the others, and I have to pretend not to read everything in town, but how freeing it is to see and understand and be able to write things down. And besides, I'm no stranger to keeping secrets, though it does pain me so to hide things from my dearest father. He is all the better for not knowing.
Not even Ellowyn could handle the truth, and she's the most open minded of us all. I sense a closing in her, however. I knew it would happen, that she was too earnest to withstand the Church. It still pains me to watch her wilt. It pains me even greater to listen to her wake screaming, to know she suffers from my... affliction. I hope, in time, she might understand why things are the way they are. I hope I can save her from this place. He tells me he will save us someday soon.

I am fourteen years of age today. I don't know if I should feel accomplished or excited or what. There seems to be nothing to look forwards to in age than more of this life, and it is a miserable one. Tomorrow will be the same as today and the next. Same as always, same as it will be. It makes me feel... melancholic.
Will you be able to handle my truths, little book? I hope so. Perhaps you'll prove yourself worthy and I'll share some secrets with you. I suppose none of it matters that much in the end.