15 March, The Daily Oxblood
Missing Woman Last Seen at Voltry Bay.
Annabelle Parker (thirty-three years of age) was last seen at Voltry Bay on the 8th of March at about seven in the evening. Witnesses’ account her walking into the ocean near her home unescorted, coming in and out of the water repeatedly. Annabelle has blue eyes and hair colour of brown, stands at about five-foot-three-inches and is of a slim build. The wife and mother were reported to be hysteric, the family reporting fits of anger, episodes of distance and skewed perceptions of time amongst other symptoms. If you see any unescorted women of this description, please notify police at any station or on patrol. Any additional information of the disappearance will also be of use to the authorities.

16 March
I am surprised at how quickly it took my family to realise that perhaps I wasn’t just going for a hysterical lone stroll. They described me so plainly in this article; any lone woman in Voltry is going to be reported as me. No illustration or photograph was included. Perhaps if the report was to only be published in the bay it could be sufficient. I would not be surprised if all of Oxblood had never even heard of my hometown, let alone the bay. All I’ve known is Voltry and Voltry knows all of me.  Voltry would convince me to return home. This is why I am no longer there. Seven days is quite a time. Perhaps authorities have exhausted all efforts there. Maybe my family has started begging for the police to search further.
How shall I act if people are to speak about it at the factory? Shall I look away and pretend not to hear? Shall I snidely remark at the vague, futile description they have provided for the county to look for me? Oh, if only Mira were still here; she’d know exactly what to do. Mira was constantly gossiped about, wasn’t she? They say that your ears burn when someone is talking about you - Mira’s ears must have been a site of arson. Mira would know how and when and to whom one could snap back to, or stay silent, or the degrees of which one could perform either. Oh Mira, how beyond our years were you? Was it the independence? Was it the life as a maverick that forced you to understand the world? Was your life one you had to build yourself, rather than blindly follow the ‘duties’ set to women by ‘birthright’? I thought I could fill her shoes, but she didn’t leave me walking shoes. She left me the leatheriest boots to remind me of how thick my skin should grow to be able to live this life. She left me a power loom, not an embroidery hoop, and a boardinghouse instead of my cottage. I am guilty of slandering her before. Unfortunate that I can’t apologise anymore.

18 March
Rosie from the boardinghouse remarked about some of us being Annabelle. Luckily she was reprimanded for gossip. It has been nine days since I have disappeared and six since I have become Mira. I haven’t faltered yet, thank heavens. I am still slow to turn around when someone calls out ‘Mira,’ expecting them to deduct that I am not ‘Mira’ but ‘Belle.’ It is the opposite of what it was like when we were children, in a way. We used to strive to be treated as different people. We used to scold those who got our names wrong or referred to us as ‘the twins’. Now it has become my livelihood. My name is Miranda Harper Singleton now.  This is perhaps the only thing I am lying about. The rest of my information is true. Miranda was born on the 24th of May in North Voltry. Miranda was born to Caroline and Benjamin Singleton. Miranda grew up in Voltry then transferred to Oxblood for work. Replace Miranda with Annabelle and none of it is a fib. A fallacy perhaps, but not a falsehood.

2 April
Twenty-five days since Belle was last seen. The police found me at the factory for questioning this morning.  How discourteous they were! I always thought Mira was spinning tales when she complained of improper treatment. I always blamed it on her poor behaviour.
“You’d be treated better if you sat with your knees together,” I’d always lecture.
“It’s more than my knees,” she’d argue. “Few have respect for factory women regardless of the position of their seat.”
How right Mira was. Even with the proper posture and tone rooted into me since childhood, authority treated me as a criminal. I was called to the factory office by the stocky, displeased manager who, only a few moments before, I heard demanding a child courier to ‘stand around the loom’ before ushering me into an interview-room. The small room became smaller with the sight of the officers needing me for inquiry towering over the table where I was to be questioned.
“How long will you need her?” The owner gargled under a cigar. “The lady has fifteen machines under her control. Fifteen machines she could be making pounds with instead.”
“As long as she will take, sir,” an officer sternly commanded, taking his eyes from me to the chair where I was to sit. “We’re going to need her alone.”
My spine became as sharp as the needles and hooks that surround me daily. The owner gentlemen left, but not before scowling at me for wasting his precious production time. Like a stock animal that he was forced to sell, I switched hands from him to the officers that needed me for their own purpose.
“You are Miranda Singleton, correct?
“Yes, Officer.”
“Are you aware of your sister’s disappearance?”
“Unfortunately so.”
Following all my personal information were the questions about Belle. When did I find out Belle was missing? When was the last time we corresponded? What did we converse when we wrote? Did Belle ever mention running away? For what reason? Why did our family stop talking to me? Why did I leave the comfortable life I was born in to work in a mill? Soon enough, the questions stopped being about Belle and started being about Mira’s poor life choices and mannish form, and eventually the childhood that forced both sisters to abandon their Godly onuses. I don’t know what mother and father would have said about this. I was careful not to mention anything to do about Belle’s hysteria or her unhappy marriage – I’m sure her family spoke enough of it already.

8 March, The Voltry Offering
Missing Woman declared Dead in Absencia.
Today is the eight year anniversary of the disappearance of Annabelle Parker at Voltry’s Bay. After a fruitless nearly-decade long search, the woman has not been contacted since she disappeared; not even her remaining sister and children have had a transaction with her at all. If you hear from Annabelle, please notify your local police station or officer on patrol, as declaration can be reversed if there is evidence of the ‘deceased’ person.

9 March
This article was addressed to me in an envelope containing nothing else. No return address or letter. I think someone was assisting me in my disappearance.