Year of the Boar, Seventh Month, Day 5

They have started making arrangements for me to travel to the Talks but I cannot, I cannot, I cannot.... I cannot go anywhere and be in a room with him. I cannot. The Diplomats say I have no choice - I have no heir and no Consort. I must attend myself. The more I think about having to see Shigeru again, the sicker I feel. I have been so agitated that I forgot to water the bird and the pitiful sight of her pecking at the little bowl in her cage was my reward upon waking from what little sleep I had this morning. I felt so very wretched. Self-centred I may be but not even I could wish the little creature to suffer.
If I could just have one pipe, I know I would feel calm enough to think properly about what I must do. To feel that numbness for just a stick or two... just a stick. Even a small pipe, just enough to soothe my anxieties for a short while...
 I tried reading a few of the papers that the Diplomats brought this morning but I could not concentrate on their crabbed script and could think only of what will happen if I go to the Talks. I saw Shigeru across the Table from me, leering, passing me a tiny note which simply contained a time. I saw the triumph and self-satisfaction in his gaze as he watched my sickened reaction. I ran from the Talks only to be caught and dragged into an empty room; his hand tightened around my throat and as he pushed me into the wall, scrabbling at my silks, I screamed weakly for help but none came. When he had taken his pleasure, he rearranged my clothing and pulled me back to the Table, grinning sycophantically at the other Rulers, telling them that I had been ill and in need of air. All of them sitting around the Table either pursing their lips in disapproval or smirking...
Gods, I feel so sick... I have been in the same corner of my chamber since I rose to give Crystal water earlier. I can stop neither this shaking nor the sick feeling. I wish only to sleep but I am too afraid to close my eyes. Shigeru haunts me whether I close my eyes or not and I feel powerless to stop this. I need a pipe ... I need it ... I need ... something ... My writing is barely legible yet I feel that I must commit these things to parchment in case ... in case ... Should something happen to me, I wish only for someone to know the truth about it all ... Perhaps they will believe it once I am dead. I do not know. They do not believe me now, I suppose so why should my death make that any different...? Gods... please, help me...