23rd April 1902

Dear Diary,

We made progress today - a LOT of progress! But I'll get there, just stick with me, okay?

It's been nearly five years since Threadgoode's revolution since my parents gave their lives in hopes of securing better lives for the whole of Cooperton. Of course, it was a failed revolution. Nearly five years since Mr. Threadgoode adopted me I began as his apprentice in the little clockwork shop. So, before my shift, I paid them a visit.

The morning mist hung low over the cemetery as I approached the sepulcher, a bouquet of wildflowers clutched tightly in my hands. Mr. Threadgoode's gift, a mammoth marble resting place, stood before me, its heavy doors beckoning me inside.

Pushing open the creaking doors, I stepped into the dimly lit chamber, the scent of damp earth and decay filled my nostrils. The flickering torches cast eerie shadows on the walls, and I felt a shiver run down my spine as I made my way to the alcove where my parents lay.

The sarcophagi stood silent and solemn, a stark reminder of all I had lost. Kneeling before them, I placed the bouquet of wildflowers on the cold stone floor, my fingers tracing the letters of their names. Tears welled in my eyes as memories flooded my mind, memories of when they were still alive, of when our family was whole. The way Father would swing me about before resting me atop his shoulders as we strolled the promenade. Or the smell of mother's pies, set gingerly on the window to attract her customers. Memories of smiles. But those moments are nothing but memories now, fading day by day. The truth, diary, isn't that time heals our wounds, it's that we forget them, bit by bit. One day, you wake up not remembering the sounds of their voices. Is that really healing? I should think not. 

With a heavy heart, I bowed my head in silent prayer, my fingers lingering on the cold marble surface. If only I had been able to save them, if I'd been stronger, older...fast enough to warn them - they'd still be here. But, the past is set in stone, immutable and unchangeable.

With one last lingering glance at the marble sarcophagi, I turned and made my way back out into the sunlight, squinting, the weight of grief and loss heavy on my shoulders. Finn, Mr. Threadgoode's carriage driver, offered his hand, I took it. We walked in silence back to the carriage. He opened the door and I hoisted myself inside.

Mr. Threadgoode waited inside, his icy blue eyes standing out against his greying mustache. He nodded, solemnly. "Where to, Miss Demara?"

"To the gizmo shop," I said. The 'gizmo shop,' being the nickname I created for 'Threadgoode's Clockwork Repair and Sundries' when I was fourteen - something he'd long given up protesting.

Mr. Threadgoode nodded and tapped the floor of the carriage twice with his cane, signaling the driver. And we were off.

Mr. Threadgoode is an admirable man, you know, Diary. All these years he's given me a home and an apprenticeship - putting up, constantly, with my antics. But he never visits my parents with me. I think it is meant to be a sign of respect...but, what if it's regret? They were his lieutenants, loyal to the end.

The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the bustling streets of Cooperton as I worked diligently in the gizmo shop. The rhythmic ticking of clocks filled the air as I delicately repaired a malfunctioning compass. The bell above the door chimed, announcing a new customer.

"The shop closes at sunset," I called, without looking up from my work.

"I know well what time the shop closes, Amaryllis Demara," came a familiar voice.

My head shot up. It was Artie Clemmons! I stared at him, taking in his form. How long had it been? Six months -- no nine! Nine months since he'd sailed away on the Hunley. But boy, was he handsome in his sailor suit.

I sprang from my seat and over the counter, wrapping him in a hug. He wrapped his arms around me, awkwardly at first, thanks to my sudden outburst. But I got to listen to his heartbeat and feel the rise and fall of his chest.

Mr. Threadgoode came out from his office and, seeing Artie, smiled. "Welcome back, young man," he said. "Is there anything we can do for you tonight?"

Artie shook his head, "No, Mr. Threadgoode, I actually came here to say... to ask Miss Demara. Or - to tell her..."

Artie took a deep breath and turned his attention to me, "Miss Demara, I wanted to tell you something I should've said a long time ago."

"Well, Mr. Clemmons," I said, "out with it."

I watched him with bated breath, my heart pounding in my chest as I waited for him to speak. And when the words finally left his lips, a rush of emotions washed over me, leaving me breathless and dizzy with disbelief.

"I've been in love with you for as long as I can remember," Artie confessed, his gaze never wavering from mine. "I know it might seem weird, knowing you since the first grade. But, Amy, you're the most amazing person I've known, and I cannot imagine continuing my life without you."

For a moment, time seemed to stand still as I processed his words, my mind racing with a million thoughts and feelings. And then, without hesitation, I kissed him, his lips melting into mine.

"Artie," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion, "how long I've been waiting for you to say that."

Mr. Threadgoode cleared his throat, I glanced up at him, my face flushed. "Sorry, Mr. Threadgoode," I said.

He chuckled, a knowing look in his eye "I, uh, will be heading out for the evening Miss Demara. Make sure to lock up."

I followed two steps behind Mr. Threadgoode; once he crossed the street I turned the lock.

Artie Clemmons stood right behind me, I backed myself into the door and stared into his hungry eyes.

"I'd like another kiss," he said; he didn't wait for an answer, instead he kissed me again and pulled me closer. His arm slid down my back until he found my ass. I jumped at the squeeze.

Our lips danced in an automatic rhythm, never quite unlocking between breaths. I traced the bulge forming in his sailor suit. It was more than I expected, but I kept going forth and back until he moaned.

Using both hands, I unbuttoned the flap at the front of his sailor suit - all 14 buttons of the dark bluish uniform. And I slid my hand inside. I cupped his balls, gingerly caressing each one in turn, before sliding my hand back up the length and wrapping my fingers around it.

He shivered as I started stroking, slowly at first. I wanted to listen to his reactions. The gasps, the hitched breath, and the deep groans. And then faster, I grew more and more eager as I felt the pulsing in my palm, his heat and hardness growing.

Finally, the kiss broke. The way he looked at me was primal and animalistic, and with a shaking voice he said, "Forgive my being so forward."

I giggled, looking down at my hand, wrapped around him, "I think, you must forgive me, actually."

"Should we...," he began.

"Upstairs," I said.

Diary, when I say I was ready for... what was about to happen. I never even undressed. Instead, I crawled into my bed, lay on my back, and pulled up my skirts. I spread my legs - just a bit - and nodded my silent invitation.

And he was on me, my Artie, our eyes locked together. I reached out, grasped his manhood, and guided it to the spot.

"Amaryllis," he breathed, "if we..."

I rolled my eyes and rolled him over, so I was on top. I gasped when it slipped in, but I didn't stop. I took him little by little until there was none left. I leaned forward, as though to kiss him, my Artie.

Instead, I leaned into his ear and whispered, "I want it too." I pushed myself back up to a seated position and pulled his hands up to my waist. I rocked my hips, moaning as he slid in and out of me. Eventually, he joined in, our bodies finding a rhythm.

Breathe in. Pull out. Breathe out. Push in. Moan. Push deeper. Breathe in. Over and over, the passion building. I lost track of time; I lost track of myself.

And then, he pinned me down. My eyes widened at the sudden shift. He pushed into me, his appetite unsatiable. In and out faster and faster, and I loved it. I loved this side of him, when he was in control when he happily broke the rules of society and took me.

I clung to him, my nails biting into his back, my teeth digging into his collar. Through it all, I could feel his arousal grow, harder and harder. I was shocked, thinking I'd seen everything before he was inside.

Suddenly he slowed down and tried sliding out. I raised my hips, taking him back in. He tried again. "No," I said, wrapping my legs around the small of his back, "don't stop."

Artie kissed me. "Amaryllis," he said, "I'm almost spent."

I smiled, "That's fine. Don't stop until you've come."

"What if you get pregnant?"

"Then I'll tell the world." I pushed my hips toward him again, "I want you to finish."

Thank god he did, Diary. I was almost upset. How could he take it that far and then have second thoughts? I wondered if I'd done something wrong.

I felt it, his seed, when he lost control. He groaned an intoxicating guttural sound and pumped his hips like a piston on one of those combustion engines. I swooned; it was such an alluring sound!

With one last sigh, he heaved himself off me and lay down on the pillow beside me. We kissed. And smiled. And kissed again.

And that's where he sleeps now, that beautiful man. His skin glows in the candlelight, the curves of his back, his ass, his legs, all there to admire.

Maybe, just maybe, I will be a Missus Clemmons.

Yours Always,

A. Demara