I must admit I am terribly confused and frightened by this entire occurrence. It seems as though someone wants to punish me for what my family has done… sins of the father, if you will. I don’t entirely understand why I’m the subject of their machinations… Lord God knows I don’t even know who THEY are. I suppose it is possible that THEY are the heretics, pursuing me as a punishment for my dear uncle’s stand against them. Uncle Carafa, the Cardinal, is a pious and powerful man, and that is quite possible why… well, ‘tis useless worrying about what I cannot change. Besides, Uncle is waiting for me in the library. He said he had found a few volumes that I haven’t yet seen. They may prove interesting. April 25, 1554

Why must that horrible man pursue me at all hours of the day and night? Even when I sit with my family at Mass, I can feel his cold stare on the back of my neck. I must confess, it frightens me more than I can express in writing. I have told my Uncle of this, but he simply pats me on the head and simpers at me as if I was still a child at my mother’s breast. I love my uncle, but I’m beginning to tire of his limp-wristed, pacifist ways. I’m beginning to suspect that the heretics are not all in the wrong. I have heard tales of torture from those in the church, and for all I know, they may be true. Despite my feelings, my uncloe still knows my weakness—the library. I must ber off, for he has a few volumes he wants translated.

October 25, 1554

Dear God in Heaven, protect me! It’s a mmiracle I’m still alive and safe as I write this… on my way home from Mass this evening, I was accosted by the man in the black cloak who has been following me. He seemed to step out of the shadows as if he were part of them. I must say that it was the most frightening thing I’ve ever experienced. He must have been an agent of the Devil to behave as he did. I must tell my Uncle!

December 24, 1554

Well, I have finally discovered who, exactly, my attacker was. He was Señor Marine de Castilla, a truly beautiful man. It seems he had been watching me for quite some time now, assessing how well suited I may be for a rather elite social circle. I must admit, I am quite surprised and delighted by this. Although, he did say a must peculiar thing when we parted company last… he bade me not tell my Uncle of my acquaintance with him. I wonder why?

January 6, 1555

What a lovely evening! I have just returned from Martine’s home, where we had a lovely dinner party. It was amazing—beautiful people, stunning décor, foods and wines the like of which I have never seen. At one point in the evening, Martine asked me and another lady into a beautifully decorated parlor to taste a particularly fine wine he had been saving, as he said, "for a special occasion." It was delicious, despite a peculiar metalllic aftertaste. It also had an unusual effect on me—it did not make me tipsy, but left a warmth that spread throughout my body… an unexpected, but not unfamiliar feeling… like being with a special gentleman. Like Martine.

March 12, 1555

What has come of this world, when a simpering fool like my Uncle has come to the most powerful office of the Church? My Uncle… I do not understand how that idiot has become Pope. He is quite possibly the bossiest, loudest, most worthless person I know. And now he has ascended to an office in which he may inflict that stupidity on the rest of the world. Not only will he spread stupidity, but also ignorance. I have learned that the tales of tortured "heretics" were not tales, but truth. My dear uncle and the rest of the church have been torturing men, women and children to death for simply stating their uncertainty. I must speak to Martine about this.

April 4, 1555

What a mess I have made. I must retrieve a few books from the library and flee quickly. Martine has offered me a safe haven, as my dear uncle has called my curiosity, my friends and my sheer existence into the view of that evil man, Torquemada. It seems as if my dear Uncle believes I have turned to the Devil. He has even gone so far as to call me a witch! I fear that if I were to stay here, I would surely die before the dawn, with only my own screams to see me off. I must hurry, for I hear the beat of hooves in the courtyard—no doubt it is the Inquisition, come to take me away.

April 15, 1555