Minding my own business
Diary traces, 5 years ago.
Last night, I tip toed through the corridors to reach my husbands office in order to wish him a good night. He was working late, flooded by paperwork, so I thought a good night kiss would cheer him up. Upon reaching the office, I heard is voice in an almost whisper. I would have sworn we were alone in the mansion, just the two of us, but it is not rare that he has business partners invited, even that late in the night. As much as I heard his voice, I could not hear the interlocutor so I approached the door, peeking through the gap. There he was, my newly wed husband, talking to himself in the middle of the room. At first I assumed he was thinking out loud, but he was very expressive, walking left and right. At times, he almost looked angry, which is the very first time I see him this way. Clearly, something had gone wrong, but he does not like it when I try to put my nose in his business affairs, as he says it. It was late at night, so I decided not to disturb him and simply made my way to bed.
---
It's been almost a sennight since I saw my dear husband speak outloud and succeeded in forgetting the event. Although this night, it happened again. I was on my way to the library when I heard his voice aloud, coming from his office. Curious, I tip toed to the massive door of his office to peek through a gap left opened. This time though, he seemed to be speaking to a specific direction, to a wall to a painting on the south wall, to be precise. The creepy part is I remember this painting being of his great grand mother. I want to mind my own business, but I must take a look at this painting the next time he leaves the mansion.
---
This afternoon, my husband had a meeting with the mining company's officers. I took this brief window of opportunity to slip into the house office and investigate. How I feel dishonest and untrusting, but I really have tu fulfil this curiosity, it's stronger than me. I made haste since I figured I had a bell or so before my husband would be back home for the day. Luckily, the door wasn't locked, which surprises me now, but I thought nothing of it. I tried to picture myself back to that last night where I watched him speak outloud to the painting. I placed myself in front of the massive painting, staring the great grand mother straight in the eyes for a minute or two. Silly me, I even said hello, trying to catch a reaction. Nothing. Though I realized the picture was slightly crooked, so I placed my hands on it to level it, but it wouldn't budge. Analysing it's positioning on the wall, I felt hinges on it's side, allowing the painting to open like a door. I stood there, surprised, before a safe, hidden behind my husband's great grand mother's painting. It was as if she guarded something. I suddenly thought it was even more strange that my husband would be speaking to a locked safe. It then struck me that maybe he was talking to something inside. The idea of it still sends me chills.
---
Am I being greedy and curious? I went to the rogues guild and paid a hefty amount to a stranger to pick the safe's lock. He his a young man, barely more than a child, but I was told he was the best with lock boxes and safes. I'm definitely going too far, why is this obsessing me so much? I sometimes wonder if I simply want to know what's inside or want it for myself. In a few moons, my husband will be away on a congress, that will me the perfect time. The stranger of the rogue's guild is to meet me under the cover of night and crack open the safe. What could possibly be in there? Why am I anticipating the worst?
---
Gods help me, something terrible happened. Is it my own prying, or even envy, that caused such harm. The hired rogue was found dead by the gardner, barely a malm from the estate. As I was the first one noticed, I hurried to witness the dead man. There was no visible signs of struggle. No marks, no blood, just death. Gods forgive me I disturbed his rest by searching his pockets. All I found was the key of the estate I left to the contact along with a piece of paper. I cowardly asked the gardner to bury the man and to keep it between us. My search stops here, I cannot bear to risk anybody else's life out of mear curiosity. Or envy.