December
13, 1920
Just returned from another strange adventure. What had started as a little expedition to map more of the Plateau turned
into a frightful encounter with a haunted castle and – haunted garments.
The Plateau is certainly a place where the unexpected is a daily occurrence.
It all started when Malone, Marguerite and I encountered a lovely brunette, who wore an elegant, but torn red dress
and ran screaming through the jungle. She actually reminded me a bit of Marguerite, same colouring, but of course she was
no real match for my fiery lady’s beauty and spirit. Did I really write ‘my’? I think Miss Krux would take
offence at the use of this pronoun.
The woman unfortunately died after a short while and while she was briefly resurrected to utter an obscure warning,
we couldn’t really see a point in dragging her body with us. We were way too busy running through a sudden storm and
being chased by ghostly apparitions. After a breathless run through the jungle we suddenly came to a bizarre looking castle.
I decided that we should seek refuge there, despite Marguerite’s warnings. I have to admit that we should have listened
to her warnings, but I’m afraid I was a bit distracted by how her wet blouse clung to her shapely body. She looked even
more delightful than usual and my mental faculties were a bit impaired.
My biggest mistake that day, however, was to put on a coat that was definitely way too old-fashioned for a man of the
20th century. And the fabric was quite scratchy, too!
The discomfort I was suffering because of my wet clothes should have never let me forget my fashion standards. I even
wore a white wig, which did nothing for my complexion. I looked like a lawyer getting ready to defend a case in His Majesty’s
court.
But I wasn’t the only one who fell victim to those haunted clothes, Malone and Marguerite and later Veronica
all draped themselves in those strange garments. Although I have to admit that the others looked a lot better in their cursed
clothes. Malone looks surprisingly manly in black. Marguerite of course is stunning whatever she wears. Veronica in red was
quite a revelation. I talked with her a little earlier tonight about adding more variety to her wardrobe and experiment with
a broader colour palette (her mother has left lots of clothes that would fit her nicely), but she only laughed and asked whether
I hadn’t learned anything from our adventure today. Stay true to your style, she said. And Malone of course jumped in
and told her that she looks perfect in her self-styled jungle look. Puppy love, if you ask me. He would tell her she looks
good if she wore sack-cloth.
But I digress.
Challenger saved us from death or eternal damnation – we weren’t quite sure which, anything is possible
on the Plateau – when he realized that the haunted clothes had clouded our judgment and led us to believe we were someone
else. After we tore them off we went back to our real selves. Well, except for Marguerite at first. But Challenger also put
the last piece of the puzzle together, when he realized that Marguerite’s or rather Comtesse Ariane’s locket was
the key to final victory.
When Marguerite went back to her own self, she slapped me violently. The perceptiveness of this woman is incredible.
In the midst of all this adventure she had noticed that my gaze was lingering
a bit too long on her scantily clad figure.
Little did she know that in a few moments I would see her in all her naked glory. I averted my eyes rather quickly
though, one slap per day is enough. Marguerite has surprising strength, when she slaps a man for ungentlemanly behaviour.
I’m afraid I will be dreaming about her charming little mole quite frequently. It’s on such a delightful part
of her body…
January 6, 1921
Another adventure unlike any other… walking skeletons, people and raptors turning to jelly, duplicates of Marguerite
and me who wanted to get married, and a daring rescue from a cave at the last moment – in short a typical day on the
Plateau.
Why didn’t I notice right away that something was wrong with Marguerite? I blame it on her new habit of leaving
the top button on her blouse open. Her undergarments peak over the fabric in a most enticing fashion. Enough to distract any
man’s attention from potential danger. I’m having a very hard time keeping my eyes away from her lovely cleavage.
The best I could do to hide my inappropriate interest was to be rather gruff with her. I told her she was lazy and never did
anything. I made fun of her newly developed interest in housekeeping. But of course it wasn’t really Marguerite, but
a Doppelgänger. A Marguerite who said she loved me and who kissed me in the sweetest way imaginable. And then lured me into
a cave, where my duplicate took over.
But we survived this adventure unscathed. Malone and Veronica take childish pleasure in making fun of ‘the happily
engaged couple’, both Marguerite and I choose to ignore them and we never talk about what our duplicates did.
But here in the privacy of my room I have to admit that this adventure hasn’t left me unaffected. I went on a
weekend retreat at the Zanga Resort and Spa to reflect on the events. Nothing like a seaweed wrap and a hot stone massage
to clear the mind. When I sat in the steam room after my massage, I couldn’t shake the thought – were our Doppelgänger
acting out deeply hidden desires that both Marguerite and I harbour?
