Chapter 10 Tatiana
TATIANA
Dear Diary, I am inconsolable. As planned, I importuned Papa to beg him for mercy.
It was my last-ditch attempt to be permitted to stay home tonight rather than to attend the ball at the Institute.
It was a bad plan, I recognize now. He was in his private study, and he hates to be interrupted there; when I came in, he had only an unfriendly look for me, and I should have retreated right then. Lessons learned, I suppose.
The upshot is I, quote, must, unquote, attend the ball at the Institute tonight, as—so I am told—the Name of the Lightwoods depends upon it.
I told him if Gabriel attended— as Gideon has abandoned us for Spain—this would surely be enough to show the Lightwood flag.
But he only shook his head, muttered something about how “tongues would wag,” and waved me away.
I suggested I could be reported to be unable to attend due to temporary illness of a non-specified womanly nature.
For that suggestion I was cast out of the study immediately, of course.
The name of the Lightwoods! What care I for the name of the Lightwoods?
What good has the name of the Lightwoods ever done for me?
My only purpose in life, after all, is to find a better last name to replace it with.
And what a grand entrance I will make at this party towards that purpose, attending the ball on the arms of my disgusting brother, my escort of last resort.
Not that I will find any sympathy in this house.
Gabriel seems perfectly happy to attend the ball without escorting any lady besides his sister.
He does not understand, being soft of brain and even softer of heart, that the favor of our father is bestowed easily, carelessly, upon him, because he is a boy, whereas I must work ten times as hard for less than one-tenth the approval.
By the Angel…Gideon abandoned the family to drink wine and sun himself in Spain, and Papa still treats him better than me.
His travel year! As though it is some unbreachable commandment handed down by Raziel himself.
It is tradition, but tradition is happily broken for the sake of family.
We need Gideon here—Papa needs Gideon here.
I will never forgive him for having left us, the great lummox.
Gabriel, of course, only grows worse in the absence of his personal hero Hideous Gideon.
He wishes to be taken seriously now and so he acts like Father, and it is like watching a dog try to walk on its hind legs.
An embarrassment of pomposity and egomania the like of which is, I daresay, a black mark on the Lightwood name far worse than any harm I could do by staying home from a party.
I go now to dress for the ball, weighed down by the burden of my fate.
midnight
Dear Diary, I know I am not in the habit of writing more than once in a day, but I had to take you up immediately upon returning from the party because a miracle has occurred.
I have met a boy—no, a man, a wonderful man.
His name is Rupert Blackthorn, though he is not one of the tedious Blackthorns from the Cornwall Institute.
He usually lives in Leeds, but he is here visiting family friends.
He is the most beautiful man ever to have lived.
His hair is deep black as midnight, and his eyes are emerald orbs that gaze into one’s soul.
Every girl in the Institute was watching him, hoping he would give them a dance, and he came right to me, without hesitation, and smiled at me and asked me.
And I danced with him, and it was glorious.
Even better yet, he had no interest in anyone at the party but me.
I do believe he even gave Gabriel the cut direct when Gabriel tried at one point to start talking about himself.
I am not entirely sure; it was quite loud, and he might only not have heard.
But I choose to believe it was a deliberate snub.
From the most desirable boy in the whole detestable building.
When I wrote earlier, I was the lowest of the low in this house, but now I am raised up triumphant. I danced with a beautiful dark-haired man who said my name as though it were poetry. The name of the Lightwoods indeed! Take that, Will Herondale!