The Journal of Jaelle Thornwood (Part II)

[Carillon]

//Okay, a quick OOC explanation for anyone curious enough and with the access to read these. I had been keeping Jaelle's journal very out of date and keeping the entries on my desktop. Unfortunately, a large portion of them were lost so while I struggle to update the old journal I will be maintaining this new one so her thoughts are not entirely lost.

If you have the access to read these it means you've probably been dubbed by the Team to be capable of avoiding metagaming and other nasties. However we're all human and Jaelle's a little whirlwind of drama, so if you think you'll have trouble separating what you might read here from what your characters should know in game, here's your chance to turn back now.

No? Okay, fine, but you were warned!

[Carillon]

I saw Muireann today in Port Hempstead. She was at the Scamp's Mug, baking pies. It's the first time I've seen her out of the house in a while. Her illness troubles me.

It seems my fate today was to play messenger to her for men who do not have the stones to come to her themselves. I gave her Brian's key and later, in her lounge, the holy symbol. I am not ashamed to say that she frightened me then. I thought it was bitterness in Hardragh himself when he called her too cold and bitter these days, but there is some truth to it. I have never seen such ice in her smile. It frightened me, in a way few things do these days. She spoke aloud to Jeran, dead these many years, talking of vengeance against Hardragh. I cannot help but fear for him. Curse his soul, but he is still dear to me in some way, and I think Muir means to kill him if he crosses her now.

In the end, she gave the symbol back to me. I am glad and sorry for it at the same time. It bears a heavy weight, that symbol. Its history is one full of love and betrayal, and now neither of the people who wore it wish to keep it. In some ways it is fitting that it should come to me. Perhaps there is some kinship between us, this holy symbol and I. Our histories are more similar than one might think, being traded between a Voice and a Priestess.

Muireann's “illness” continues to drain her. She worsens, and I worry for her. For so long I did not know why. Now I know, and I think the knowledge scares me more than my previous ignorance. To be bonded in such a way ... I do not think I could do it. She says she will not let it kill her if she can help it.

We spoke of the Lady of Storms, too. Muireann listened to me. She knows how I waver, how I teeter on the brink of this thing. I spoke of my reluctance, of my fear that Mist would not accept me, and she told me to stop putting my doubts onto the goddess. It is true. My doubts are my own. I am afraid to give my soul to a goddess, for I have never wanted to belong to anyone but myself. Muireann told me she felt much the same once, and I asked her why she swore herself then. She said that it was not a choice, once she realized she already belonged to Mist. I asked her if I would know if Mist ever claimed me in such a fashion. She said that I already knew, but I just liked to run. Is that true? Is the Lady of Storms calling to me, but I am too afraid to respond to her? I truly do not know. Muireann is wise, but she also frightens me sometimes. I know what she would do to me if I crossed her. She has told me if I betray her to Hardragh ... but I won't. I won't aid her, but nor will I cross purposes with her.

[Carillon]

Something very strange happened in the square yesterday. I saw a woman by the fountain, surrounded by magic. It drew me to her. She seemed to be having trouble controlling her Gift, and I was curious. She calls it curse, though, not gift. I did not understand why until she took my hand.

Power. Such power, but no way to control it! Elgon, Brian's half-brother, was there and tried to intercede, but his aunt held him back. The woman seemed more interested in me, though. It is my belief that she sensed my Gift, for when she took my hand I felt the Al'Noth flowing through me more strongly than ever before. It was wild though. Such wildness I have never felt in the Al'Noth! It bubbled up inside of me, and try as I might, I could not focus and control the magic. I tried to visualize the effects I wanted in the manner of my tutelage, but I could not clear my mind and I kept casting, spell after spell, unbidden.

The woman (Elgon's aunt addressed her as “Laura” or “Isabelle” but she called herself Ellena) said it was a gift. She asked me if I served a goddess and I found myself answering her honestly, telling her of how close I was to swearing fealty to the Lady of Storms. She summoned a great water elemental then, and I heard the gasps and cries of fear from those in the square. I had not been aware until then of how much of a spectacle we were making, for when I looked there was quite a crowd around us, though they still drew back in fear. I saw Connor across the square and was glad of it. Of any in the world I could wish to be there just then, I think it would have been him. And the one I least wanted to be there ... well, he was there too, demanding to know what she had done to me and trying to pull me away.

I had questions then, but she wouldn't answer and my brain was too clouded with the power flowing through me. All she said was to enjoy the gift, and then she walked away. As she did a wave of nausea hit me as the power of the Al'Noth surged through my being. Brian was trying to take my hand, but a small rational voice in the back of my head kept repeating very insistently that touching anyone would be a bad idea. Connor stepped forward then, and told me I must try to stay calm. I tried! Gods know, I tried, but I couldn't control it! Magic ... magic I had never been able to work before, flowing out of me. I held it mostly together until I started summoning things and changing shape. After that, I was truly terrified.

They kept telling me to stay calm. I asked Connor to get everyone away ... I didn't want to hurt them and I didn't know what I would do. I do not know why, but I trust Connor at least as much as I trust Muireann. Perhaps it is because it was she who introduced us, when I wanted a tutor. Regardless, he managed to get me to take his hands, and then he closed his eyes and subdued the wildness of the magic. No, that is not quite right—he removed it. Whatever the woman had given me, he took it away. I feel only a small pang of regret at this, for though there was power there, it was nothing I could ever have used.

Even before Connor took his hands away, I felt myself falling. All my strength was gone, but his grip was strong and he guided me down onto the cobblestones gently. I felt so strange ... how is it possible to miss something you had not possessed an hour ago? But I felt so drained. Brian was there of course, wanting to take care of me. Of all my gifts, perhaps this is the most consistent: the ability to make people want to care for me, for others were there as well. Elgon stayed long enough to make sure I was alright, and a merry elf with sparkling golden eyes I had met in the tavern not two hours hence offered to find me a room as well. Connor ... Connor went after the woman, but I do not begrudge him that. Perhaps I trust him in part because he has never been swayed by my beauty.

In the end, it was Brian I let take me to the inn. He had to carry me, but it is not the first time he has had to do so. There is no one I have hurt more, I think, and yet his love rarely wavers. Poor Brian. The news I gave him has sent his head spinning. I do not blame him. I cannot imagine what it would do to me after so many years of solitude to learn I had a family again. And all because of the lullaby, that melody that he remembers now. That little lullaby, which is the last thing I recall before my exhaustion overwhelmed me and consciousness left me.

[Carillon]

After the unpleasantness in the square, I thought I would return home to Leringard for a few days to recover, but when I disembarked in that city I heard a rumor on the docks of games of some sort on Krashin, and decided on a whim to take the ship there instead.

Muireann and Hardragh always pray before they sail. I have even seen sailors who profess almost no faith in Lady Doom utter sincere and fervent prayers to her as the wind catches the sheets and their ship eases out of the harbour. I am still not sure how to talk to a goddess though, and even if I was, now I question whether this is the one I should be talking to. I loved her wildness and her fury, the unpredictable nature of her storms, and her decree that we should struggle against them. She values the strong, and isn't afraid to test her followers. I thought perhaps that was the reason for some of my suffering: a test, to bring out inner strength dormant within me. But after feeling the wild Al'Noth in the square, I cannot be certain anymore. Surely of all things, that is the closest my magic has been to Mist's nature? And yet not knowing what I was going to do or who I might hurt ... the raw, uncontrolled power only made me sick and fearful. I am not sure I am worthy of serving such a force of nature as the Storm. In the end I didn't know what to say to her, so I just held the holy symbol and watched the waves.

In warmer climes, the sea is blue or green. En route to Krashin, it is like some of the colour drains out of the water. The grey of the sea here never fails to remind me of Hardragh's eyes, and I am painfully reminded that this is his homeland, as well as the childhood land of so many others who have left their marks on me.

The games were not at all what I expected. The chief, Gomo, sent his son as envoy to meet us at the camp. Momo, as he is called, is a big, ugly brute but seems gentle enough at times, though not gifted with any great wit. After seeing his father, I think his size and rough appearance come mainly from his mother, though I hesitate to speculate on the woman who gave birth to such a boy. I find myself hoping that the chief has a philanthropic streak and adopted him. It's certainly possible, judging from the chief's demeanor.

I expected ... I do not know what I expected. Someone more like Hardragh or Muireann, I suppose. Charming, perhaps, but always with that underlying hint of iron, that elusive toughness that seems to characterize the northern isles. I did not expect a battle of compliments. Nor did I expect to be paired with Brian, though perhaps knowing my luck I should have. I am an ill-luck coin, it seems.

It was uncomfortable. I so nearly abstained from the game altogether, but he had invited us there and I did not want to give offense. I did not know what would or wouldn't give offense to their people. They call them barbarians, and I think it not entirely amiss. There is a roughness to them.

I shall not write the words we spoke to each other. I shall say merely that they were true, and yet they are still not enough. I cannot allow someone to get so close to me, both for my sake and their own, so no matter what pretty words passed between us, our reality is unaltered.

In the end I needn't have worried about giving offense. The mage from the auction, the lady Linda, managed to blow up most of the camp in an impressive and very lethal display of magic for the chief's pleasure. This sent the entire tribe running to the hills and left many of the guests either wounded or dead. I think it unlikely that we will be remembered fondly or indeed invited back at all. It merely goes to prove that one should never entrust diplomatic matters to a mage. Consumed by their studies as they are, they seem to have a knack for getting into scrapes. Then again, so do I. But Aryell ... Aryell would do perfectly.

I have not told anyone, but when I study enchantment with her I also study her form and her manner. I have noticed a kind of roughness in myself lately, perhaps born of too many years of isolation. I am still uneasy in large groups and I lack the sophistication of the nobility and well-born. I must find a way  to control the strangeness in my manner and blend into gentle society if I am to succeed in my aspirations. Hopefully my order from Omer will aid me in this.

[Carillon]

I have seen the woman called Laura in the square again. She came to me by the fountain, just as before, and bid me sit with her a while. I did so, though this time I was warier and kept my guard up. She apologized for the incident the other day, in a manner. She admitted that her “gift” had been a bit much for me, perhaps, and assured me she meant me no harm.

She made me an offer, too. Power, among other things. That she has power and can grant it, I have no doubt. What the cost of that power would be, I am not sure. The price she asks at the moment is that I cease contact with Connor. I know this to be a bad idea, but I do not know if I can help but acquiesce to her requests. When she held my chin in her hand and looked into my eyes, it was as if I lacked the willpower to pull or turn away. In some ways, this is the same force of personality I have seen in Connor himself, and Aryell and Elmater too, but they are less inclined to use it against me. She has no such scruples, I think, though I still do not know how malicious her intentions are. She claims she does not wish to use me as a pawn, but to share power with me and treat me as an equal. And yet she would threaten me with harm to keep me from going to Connor ... I am not so foolish to trust her, no.

Connor seems to be an object of great interest to her, and I am quite certain she plans to use me to gain insight into him in some way. She has told me she will return, and that it would be wise for me to tie up any loose ends in the city, for I will likely not be there much longer. I am not sure whether she will keep her promise, but I am fairly certain that if she comes for me I will not have the strength to resist her.

When I returned to Leringard, there was a letter waiting for me. Naturally, it was from Connor—a response to my correspondence from the other day thanking him for his efforts on my behalf in the square. He explained in it much of what happened, from his perspective, and I am grateful for his insight. He warned me that Laura or Isabelle as she calls herself might come for me again, and not to provoke her if she did, but to avoid contact with her. A warning come too late, I fear, though I am not sure it would have made a difference. The most terrible of the news contained in that letter was that this strange woman was apparently up until recently a vampire, but has since found a way to walk in the daylight. I confess, I am not sure what this means. Has she been cured of her taint, or merely found a way to overcome it? The letter was unclear, and I cannot ask Connor now without risking crossing her.

I am so tempted to go to him and throw myself at his feet and on his mercy. I think he would protect me if he could, and in some strange way I trust him. Perhaps it is because of Muireann, or because he is my sometimes-tutor. Regardless, I know he would aid me if he could, but I will not ask it of him. A sin of pride? Perhaps, but I am also fond of him and would not see him come to harm. The vampire has promised no harm will come to him or his female companion while I do as she says, and until she proves otherwise I can only trust her in this for now.

If it comes down to a choice between my life and his ... well, my choice is clear. I am not a strong enough—nor a good enough—person to become a martyr. I will not sacrifice myself for Connor, much as I respect him. For as long as I can, though, I will play the game with all the subtlety I have gained in my machinations in Sedera, and we will see how far luck and a little cunning can take me. I will not ask for help ... not yet.

[Carillon]

Men are fools, and women are too often their weakness, it seems. While at the Hall of Reconstruction in Port Hempstead, I crossed paths with Tritherion. Now, I should say that this is not the first time he and I have run into one another, and he has always been civil and friendly. Lately, though, I have sensed his growing desire for me. Today, he proposed a trip of some sorts, and we set off for the Dragon Isles. Although I suggested inviting another along to aid us, he seemed to want privacy and I granted it. His folly, for when I went to mine aventurine he got himself petrified by one of the gorgons which promptly gored him with its horn. Thankfully I didn't even have to decide whether to try and save him or not, for it turned me to stone as well. As I was invisible at the time, though, I survived and left the cave safely.

I thought perhaps to leave, but on a whim I decided to wait for Trith. It is not good to make enemies when one doesn't need to. And for this patience and restraint, it seems I have been rewarded. Trith took me to Alindor and up to some high hills overlooking a lake. I suspect he brought me there to woo me, but  men talk too much when they try to woo women, and they rarely think when they talk. He let slip a secret I think he shouldn't. It seems Trith has more sway in the world than I gave him credit for, for he is a member of a secret council. They call it the Council of Hope.

Hope ... hope is such a dangerous thing. Give someone hope, and they will do anything for you. Even spill secrets they should not be uttering. And so Trith and I play a game. We wager and barter: kisses for secrets. But I play far better than him, for I am quite certain he does not even know this is a game to me. He seems to think he will tame me, and steal my heart. And for my part in this, all I have to do is appear to offer it to him, if he dares seize it.

Hope, as I have said, is a dangerous thing.

[Carillon]

Marcus and I had such a long talk in Hlint yesterday. I caught him by the temple there buying potions and we went to sit together by the lake. There is so much I didn't know about going on in his life lately. Two children, and their mother ... how could I not have known?

Her name, he tells me, is Corrine, and she was a slave. She is wounded, like so many of us seem to be, and he says they are not sure what they want. We talked for so long, about what is, what was, what might have been ... it was true, what I said to him in Hempstead. I do love him. I care for him now far more than I did before. This fact surprises me, for I never expected to, and I am still not sure what to make of my affections. I ask nothing from him, for he asks too much from me. My love, paltry as it is, would not be enough for Marcus. He requires more—the kind of love I think only exists in storybooks and bards' tales, and I am not even sure whether my feelings for him are as friend or lover, or something caught hopelessly in between those realities.

It startled me that he even asked, though. He asked whether I could ever do it, whether I could give myself to him entirely, without reservation. Part of me so badly wanted to say yes, but there is too much honesty between us for that. He knows I am damaged somehow, and that intimacy is difficult for me. What intimacy there is between Marcus and I has been hard won, but I am glad for it.

Still, I would not have willingly given him my secrets. He persuaded me somehow. His presence puts me at ease, and since I pushed Brian away I have been so lonely. And so I found myself telling him about Isabelle, about so many things ... the words bubbled over and rushed out of me. I swore him to secrecy. I hope he keeps his promise. If Brian finds out, there will be bloodshed. I do not want to die, but nor do I want their blood on my hands. Especially when that blood will make no difference. Hardragh and Muir would tell me to struggle against adversity, but when adversity is so great wouldn't it be sweet to just surrender to it, to close my eyes for a moment?

It will never be enough for him. I know it, and he knows it, but still we fool ourselves. We seek to make eternities out of moments, and to learn to stop time. Did I once say moments were sufficient? It is not so. They are gasps of breath at the surface, but they are not enough, never enough. My love is a stone lodged deep in my throat, and it threatens to choke me. I should never have loved, or should have loved one of them better than this fragmenting of loyalties and affections. And yet I will not trade that kiss, or these moments, for these small truths are all we have.

*a large ink blot where a quill has rested on the page for some time*

I feel like I am losing my mind.

[Carillon]

I have been traveling so much these days. If Isabelle comes to me at the fountain, I will contrive not to be there. So many trips—Elgon and Fianon and Christine up in the cold Brech Mountains, hiding in Storan's crypt with the mummies and bodaks, climbing up and down the Hammerbound Peaks looking for that stupid oil ... anywhere safe, anywhere far from home.

It is amazing, what I find to occupy my time and fill my thoughts. I fear where my mind will go if I am idle. And so I make poisons. I make inks. I flirt with the priestess and teach her and Fianon to play dice in the Harpy. We gamble for kisses. A low wager, comparatively. I puzzle over what happened in Sedera, and what lies ahead on that path. But I still row back and forth from the Isle of Mist when I pass through Leringard, and sit on the cliffs of the Lady of Storm's temple. The priestesses and priests seem to accept my silent presence ungrudgingly, and for the most part I am left with my thoughts. Dangerous thoughts. Unruly thoughts.

Muireann came to me, the last time I was there. She said she passed Hardragh on her way, coming from the temple. I did not see him though, and he did not speak to me. We have little to say to one another these days. We spoke of my faith, and I can tell her patience wears thin with me. She says I overanalyze it, that I am thinking too much, that I must just let go. She says I am waiting for a sign, but that the true sign is my feelings. I deny none of this, but still I stand on the edge of the cliff, afraid of what lies below.

Chaos. Are we truly meant to love chaos? I thought I reveled in it, but that was before Isabelle turned my magic wild. Have I failed some test? Muireann says that there is a difference between embracing chaos and becoming a complete madman. Sometimes I think that line is very thin, and easily crossed.

We spoke of Connor, a little. She told me nothing that would betray Isabelle's interest in him. Mostly, she spoke of him in the context of her bonded one. She says if he judges the bond dangerously unhealthy he will try to sever it, with or without her permission. Already, she will die without healing even one day. When will he deem it “too dangerous”? Even so, I think she might sooner kill him than let her rip the bond from her. She will kill us all without hesitation if we cross her. Or nearly all.

Three. That's how many she would hesitate for, and one of them is dead. Jeran and the children, and Jeran let her die once. Three, and I am not one of them, nor her husband. Three, only three ...

How many would I kill, if it came to it? I no longer know the answer.

[Carillon]

It is stranger than I thought to pretend to be interested in Trith. It shouldn't be. How many times have I done this over the years? First to survive, then later for other reasons: to create jealousy in another, as a bargaining chip, even merely for the love of the game, of the chase. How is what I am doing here different from what I did in Sedera with Reverarden and Sevell? Save that I grossly underestimated Sevell and I do not believe I have underestimated Trith, I see no difference. I purchase information with the coin fate has given me. I feel no guilt over the methods I employ, though I know what gentle society would think of them.

Trith continues to leak secrets like an old canteen. It is not easy enough to be boring and I have to be careful not to misstep, but it is easier than it should be. I pray that the other Council members at least are more guarded with their tongues, or Hope will die all too quickly.

Among the things Trith has told me is a second name, another council member: Krysthalion. His tutor, another monk. I imagine his mentor would be displeased to know Trith gave me his name and council status as a lover's token. I merely showed my fear and vulnerability and he sought to calm me. This is one way to have a secret from a man: play the victim. They love to play heroes, especially the gallant knight types.

In addition to the second name, Trith took me to a storehouse used by other council members in Prantz. (I have to admire their gall, plotting Rael's demise under his nose among other things.) There is a little saferoom there, a bedroom for council members when they need a hiding place. I took careful note of the address, and may or may not decide to stake it out. Unfortunately, it seems that the others who use the facility are absent right now so such vigilance might be for naught. Even if it doesn't yield any more council identities though, the storehouse is a treasure trove in itself. Chests of fine wood and gems, rubies and emerald dust and other wonders. It made me gasp to see it. Trith showed off their dragon's hoard like a proud boy showing another child his father's weapon closet. Close enough to the truth, I suppose, for their pretty gems are weapons indeed. Trith made no secret of how the council puts them to use, buying information and men. He actually bragged of how they bought information on Rael for one hundred thousand true once. An “inside” job, he called it.

And yet as easily as he gives me what I want, I still must give in return. It is impossible to do otherwise. Even fools like Trith demand some recompense for their attentions. It is rare that it serves to pay openly in flesh—only lustful traitors and betrayers strike such bargains. With men like Trith who like to pretend they are good and loyal, one pays in promises. One alludes to what lies in the future, hints at blossoming feelings and commitment, and suddenly that future is a promise ... though of course not one I ever intend to fulfill. I rarely keep my promises for the sake of my word itself. And so it is all a deception and an illusion, except for a tiny seed of truth at the core. This is the dangerous part, this minuscule piece of reality wrapped up in the fantasy, but it is necessary. The best lies are those that brush up against the truth but don't quite touch, and it is more difficult to seduce someone without even a glimmer of interest.

There is precious little genuine interest with Trith. He is like a bragging child, trying to shower me with wealth and gifts, cloying in his affection. And yet there are still good things about him, vulnerabilities and hopes that he has shared with me that will make it difficult to crush him in the end. I shall be gentle if I can, but I shall not let myself be shackled by a desire to be merciful. When his usefulness has run its course, I will find a way to dispose of him. Some way, preferably, that doesn't leave all of the Council and their allies nipping at my heels like hounds after a blood scent. Perhaps I shall be fortunate and he shall die before then and save me the trouble.

[Carillon]

She came for me again, in the Hammerbound Peaks. Laura, Isabelle ... call her what you like. She came to claim me in Lyn. Gods only know how she found me there! I was out in the snow showing the vixen priestess where the smithy was when a wave of fear crashed over me like it might swamp a small boat. Nausea and irrational fear hit me like a blow to the gut and I hurried into the inn to my room. I lay down on the little bed, breathing deeply, and eventually I felt calmer so I went back outside. And came face to face with my nightmare speaking to Vixen. Sweet Hedessa! She played the innocent, asking what the woman wanted from me, but Isabelle just looked past her and saw me.

It took a moment, nothing more. I knew in that moment she would have me that day, and the only uncertainty is how much blood would be spilled in the acquisition. Were that there were fewer loyal to me there that day! Hedessa, little vixen that she is, did not take kindly to hearing Isabelle refer to myself as my mistress. And Lance, stupid shining paladin, must have felt the taint of evil on her, for he would not let her take me. Elgon too, Elgon who physically held me back despite my protests, and Chaynce, who I knew would die for me without blinking. Their bravery touched me a little, and perhaps I would have willingly taken them up on their tacit offers to die for me if I thought it would make a difference.

It did not.

Whatever else the woman who calls me “ward” is, she is powerful. I told them to let me go, I tried to make them release me to her. They would have none of it, so their deaths are not on my conscience. Laura killed them with a powerful illusion. I recognized it from my studies in Spellgard, though it is far beyond my power. They call it weird, and the only defense is to see true through the illusion. This is why I suspect my death was an accident, for she cast that spell on me a few moments before she cast her killing magic. What happened after, though, I do not know.

Lost time. I have heard of powerful mages who have learned to stop time altogether, albeit briefly, but I have never known a spell that can steal memories. And yet they tell me I lost over an hour, from when the last two of our company standing watched her drag my corpse through the snow to when I felt Elgon's gentle hands bringing me back again from the brink of death on the path to Lyn. Weak as a kitten, weak as a newborn lamb ... he carried me to the inn, just as Brian carried me in Hempstead after her first meeting with me. I could not find the strength to stand. The similarity almost makes me laugh, except there is nothing at all funny about the situation. Two brothers performing nearly the same task. I know why Brian did it. His love is unshakable. But Elgon? It is more than simple goodness, but I cannot puzzle out why he is so keen to protect me.

We went back down after resting in the inn, down through the mountains, down through the giants and ogres and ettins. It was easier going down than coming up, despite the trauma fresh in everyone's memories. No Al'Noth-touched ogre challenged us at the bridge for one thing, demanding some stupid one-on-one test of mettle. I still cannot believe Lance was going to accept that challenge on fair terms. Thank goodness the rest of us are less scrupulous.

By the time I got back to Llast, all I wanted to do was go home and curl up in my own bed. That bed may be a lonely place, but perhaps that is what makes it a safe one. That room is a place that is wholly my own, where no man has ever been save Muireann's manservant who changes the linens. Alas, it was not to be, for no sooner had we come down the trail than we bumped into Trith. He took me back to his house in Llast and had some of the story of the vampire from me. Apparently it is a story with which he is already well acquainted, and somehow this does not surprise me. Still, I learned a few things. That two others have been prey to Isabelle (formerly Laura)—both of them female elves. That Elohanna was turned for a while, but another council member named Rose managed to turn her back. That Rose is absent and would not be able to aid me should Isabelle turn me too. That they have methods of protecting me, should I submit to their care (Trith wants a magic user of some kind to make me a protective amulet that will shield me from Laura, for one thing).

As much as I fear where this is going, however, I will not let them cage me and lock me away somewhere, not even for my own protection. I am not so foolish as to go into battle unarmed, but I am still not sure what Isabelle wants with me. Everyone I have spoken to who knew her before says that she has been changed in some way. Perhaps she has forgotten enough of her previous existence that, while dangerous, she will pose no direct threat to me as long as I play this game carefully. I write this, less than a few days after she murdered all my companions. I must be mad, or more tempted by her offer of power than I thought. I must have been tired though, for I was more aggressive in my probing for secrets with Trith than I have been. When I learned they have personal items and locks of hair from Isabelle, I could not resist, but I came dangerously close to tipping my hand. Consequently, though he wanted me to stay, I felt it best to leave and return to Leringard. I do not know what protection Trith himself can offer me that Muireann cannot. He keeps boasting of his powerful friends, but as they remain inaccessible to me I shall take my chances with the priestess, who has proven herself to me several times over. I can only hope I have not brought my game with Trith to a premature end through my fumbling. Hopefully there is still enough desire for me in him that he was too blinded to notice. I will let him stew for a few days, in the hopes that absence will make his heart fonder and his tongue looser.

[Carillon]

I have seen Brian again. It had been so long. So many months of hiding and pushing him away, but lately it has been as if circumstances have been pushing us back together. First his family, then at Krashin, and then with Isabelle ... and now I bump into him on the Dragon Isles, the most remote place I could think of at the time. He was coming out of Enderal with a number of others. I was invisible, but Elgon caught my scent on the breeze. His ability is uncanny.

Brian left the group to come speak to me. It turns out both Elgon and Chaynce told him about my encounter with Isabelle in Lyn, and he wished to discuss it with me. It seems there are no shortage of men willing to die for me. I suppose I should be pleased. It was not dying I was thinking about when Brian came near, though.

What is there to say? An elf once told me that love between humans and elves is by necessity shallow. I thought I knew this. I thought that is why I found it safe. But if Brian and I lack in depth, we have never lacked in heat. I burn for him with a yearning that used to frighten me. I believe Randi would say it is because I was so starved for love and interaction as a child after my mother passed. I cannot say whether this is true or not, only that when I stood before him it took all my willpower not to take shelter in his arms.

Of our long conversation that night, there is little to note that cannot be guessed, save for the end. I eventually confided in him about Trith. Is it merely that every actress needs an audience, if only of one? This is possible, I admit, but I think it is more than that. The burdens of Sedera and the mystery of Kuhl weigh heavily on my mind, as does Isabelle's frightening interest in me. In the end, I believe Trith was just one secret too many for me to keep alone, and Brian is safer than any to tell it to. He swore a blood oath not to betray my confidence, slicing his hand open with his dagger. I am not sure he knew what I intended to do when I took the dagger from him. Certainly, I did not mean to make my own cut so deep. Nor to faint afterwards. In retrospect, it's a bit humiliating, but when I came to, all I knew was Brian's gentle hazel blue eyes looking down at me, full of concern, and our hands clasped tight together, cut to cut, the red of his blood mingling with my own.

We are bound now, he and I, whether we will it or no. Neither of us deny it, though we have fought hard enough against it in the past. It changes precious little, but we are bloodsworn nonetheless. There are other intrigues and other games, of course, but this particular game has been played out. Some of my blood flows in his veins now, and some of his in mine. Come what may, this binding shall endure, its permanence etched into our flesh as its memory is etched into our minds.

[Carillon]

Since we cannot see one another publicly, we meet on the Dragon Isles where we bound ourselves in blood. We train together sometimes, or sit in the shelter of the forest and watch the macaws in the trees as they call to one another and preen themselves, their brilliant plumage like a fiery rainbow sunset. Once, we caught a glimpse of a young fire drake in the distance. Deadly, but beautiful. I have been called that before too.

Brian honors his oath to protect my secrets. He has come up with a heartbreaking plan to protect my charade with Trith involving his young student Alatriel. Heartbreaking, I call it, but whose heart will it break? Hers? His? Mine? All three? For as long as I pretend to be with Trith, Brian will pretend to be with Alatriel. I cannot even write her name without feeling a surge of anger and nausea combined. And yet this is why we are both sure Alatriel is the right choice, and his plan will work. Because he does not have to fake the spark of interest that draws him to her, and I do not have to feign the answering surge of anger at the idea of them being close.

It is a good plan. And I desperately do not want him to do it. But it is a good plan, and we have made our choices and we will live with them. He assures me it is for my sake only, and that there is no love between them, nor will there be. He assures me that the moment I say it is over, he will leave her and return to my side. He is willing to do this for me, and willing to watch me seduce others when necessity demands it. It is the least I can do to accept his plan without complaint. And it is a good plan, and a believable one. But I still do not want to do it.

[Carillon]

We return again to the Dragon Isles, hiding from the lies we have woven for ourselves, if only for such brief periods of time. Still, we train. Still, Brian seeks some personal item of mine, that I might be found if Isabelle takes me beyond his reach. If it were an item only, I might consent, but in truth there is no worldly possession still mine that suits this purpose. What are things? Things do not endure. They are lost or broken, stolen, misplaced, thrown into the sea ... we part with them in many ways, but we always part with them nonetheless. There is nothing I can call my own that Brian thinks would suffice, so he asks for a lock of hair or a vial of blood instead. I gave him my blood freely when we cut our hands, but I cannot give it to him like this, to be contained in a glass vial and stowed away somewhere. It is too much like the Magus, and that is not something I care to live again.

Perhaps we should not bear the burden of some memories. In some memories, there is nothing to cause change or growth, but merely pain. I chose for Brian again and took one such memory from him. It was in the deepest part of the minotaur cave that he injured his leg. His thigh, laid bare to nearly the bone, and the tendon half-severed by a minotaur's axe. The pain of the wound he will remember. The pain of the suturing, he will not. He would have done it himself, had I not interceded. I've a better hand with needle and thread than he does anyway, and it is harder to suture oneself than another. And so for the second time, I took control of him through my magic and bent his will to my own, ordering him to stay still, and praying he would not remember. As with the last time, it seems his memories of the time under my control are either buried or absent, so he will not have to remember the horror of stitching flesh and muscle till the two sundered sides of the wound were knit back together. I will remember it, every finger's width of flesh that I drew back together. Even as I write this, the scent of blood fills my nostrils and threatens to choke me.

The pain of some wounds is expected, but the pain of others is startling. I did not know how much Brian's charade with Alatriel would affect me, but I cannot shake the images from my mind. Her hands on him, his lips on hers, a gentle look in his eyes as he watches her sleep, a stolen caress, whispers of devotion ... Truly, I torture myself with these images. Am I so jealous, knowing that there is no truth to it? Yes, their flesh will meet, but it will not be like when we touch. She may hold him for a while, but she shall never have him. He has tied a red cord around his scabbard, that I might be reminded of this if I need look further than the silver line that scores my palm for the proof of our bond. Even so, her image comes unbidden when he kisses me, flashing behind my eyes like a double image, like the shadow of the sun that remains after one looks directly into the light. She taints our embraces, sours them with her hidden presence in every touch, and even before we have truly begun I long to end it, to cry out to Brian for mercy. He sees me struggle, and it wounds him too. We have enough burdens already and we are ill-suited to bearing each other's pain, so I pray for strength, whispering the words into sea-bound breezes:

Lady of Storms and Mistress of Chaos, give me the strength to weather those storms of my own making as well as those chance or your will brings down upon us. As the ice storm separates the strongest of trees from those whose branches crack and break under the strain, so may this storm reveal to me my own inner strength and my potential to endure future trials.

And yet I have unruly thoughts. I dream of her face when the illusion fades and the lie is revealed. I dream of what I might say to her. Little shadowdancer, did you think this was real? Did you think he truly loved you? You were never more than a convenience to us. We but played a game, and it is you who have lost. Oh yes, part of me wants her to suffer for her part in this sham, despite her innocence of it all. While she is cloaked in our illusion, she is safe. But should we cease to have a use for her, I fear she shall rue the day our paths crossed.

[Carillon]

The Magus is back. Gods only know where he was all this time. If I had to venture a guess, I would say he had returned to the Deep on some nefarious business, no doubt. I suppose it was too much to ask that he stay there, but he and I have a score to settle some day anyway. He has something of mine, and some day he will answer for the manner of its acquisition. He confronted me in the Hempstead square, calling me his child, as is his habit. He reminded me of my debt to him, though it was not needful. After all, it was I who sent such a carefully worded letter to his storehouse a few weeks ago:

Esteemed Magus,

Although our paths have not crossed recently, I have not forgotten my debt to you, and am anxious to repay it.

If the Magus would deign to provide a list of current alchemical reagents he has a need for, I will once again supply you with fresh ingredients at your earliest convenience.

I wait on your command.

Faithfully,
J. Thornwood


I think he reminded me largely out of spite, and of the pleasure he surely gets in watching the blood drain from my face as he reminds me what he is capable of. Alatriel,  her soul to the Pits, was there to witness it of course. At least the Magus has had the decency to make the worst of my humiliations private. Alatriel, on the other hand, doesn't even have the courtesy to make herself scarce. She came over to sit with me afterwards, all sweetness and sugar, offering me food and telling me how pale I looked. She even offered to help me confront the Magus if I wanted support! I have no idea what game she's playing at, but I refuse to give her the satisfaction of asking for help. I told her I could handle myself, and then asked whether Brian had made a pass at her yet. This is unfair, as I know he has. He has not told me all the details yet, but I know she has taken his bait, though she seeks to keep the knowledge private. Nonetheless, it sufficed to shut her up, which was my intention.

The rest of the last few days have passed largely uneventfully. Trith and I have seen each other only once, though I am not worried. We are still in the stage of opening gambits in this game we are playing, and it does not serve me to rush this. We managed to bump into Hardragh while leaving Hempstead, though. I nearly dropped the rope of the ox I was leading when I saw him. I expect Hardragh in certain contexts and places—the Isle of Mist, Leringard itself, even the Watchtower or the Crossroads, but not there for some reason. He and Trith are acquainted—why does this not surprise me? Trith boasts he is friends with everyone—and they spoke of a private matter for a while. A note and a dagger recovered, an old acquaintance thought dead ... I followed as best I could while pretending not to be interested, but they spoke in riddles. I can't help but wonder if it pertains to that old matter with Hardragh's son being killed. I am certain it surprised Hardragh to see us together, though. If he were wiser I would be afraid he would see the lie to it all, for Trith is one of the last men I would choose freely with no ulterior motive. There is no denying he is useful, though. He chopped a cartload of wood for me, which I hd the ox  haul back to Hempstead. Brian passed us in the woods on our way back. I took strength in the glimpse of red on his scabbard. He is keeping his promises.

After I bid goodbye to Trith I spent the next two days in Hempstead dealing with the oak. I have never had to grind wood into dust before, but in truth it was not so hard. A little flirting and I had another woodworker show me the rudiments of it, and then just applied some diligence to the task. Pressing the dust into parchment and baking it into scrolls was far more tedious, but I had a visit from Arkolio to break the monotony of the work.

Ah, Arkolio! A more amusing man I have rarely met. He never fails to surprise me, and never gives an inch. He is uncompromisingly unfaithful, immoral and likely deceitful, though I have no proof of this. Women should abhor him, but strangely it is his unabashed demeanor about these faults in character that I find most amusing. Today he came to beg a boon, though “beg” is a wholly inappropriate word to describe how Arkolio asks for anything. The favor itself intrigues me—apparently he wants a tale from a bard but can't ask himself, as he is out of favor with her. The bard is a little halfling named Acacea, and her name is familiar to me though we have not met. I have heard she pays coin for rumors, among other things. The tale is that of Xandrial, demon general of Bloodstone, and his life in this realm. What Ark wants with the tale, I have no idea. Simple curiosity, he claims, but he also seemed to be probing me for a weakness as we spoke. I wonder if I have given him reason to worry through one of my dealings. It is hard to tell what pies Ark might have his fingers in.

A simple favor, and Acacea is not a bad person to become acquainted with in any case, so I agreed. He warned me that she has a sharp wit about her and to be on my guard. After Sevell I am unlikely to underestimate another so quickly, though, and who knows? Perhaps the halfling will be able to give me some information I can use at the same time.

Of course Arkolio was himself, and though he came for a favor he stayed long enough to enjoy the pleasure of my company. As usual, I gave it to him freely, and as usual I won't tell Brian unless he asks. We hold to the first and only rule of our encounters: that we shall bring each other no complications. As long as this one caveat holds, all other desires may be indulged. We bring each other pleasure, yes, even a thrilling touch of danger most times, but nothing to make our complex lives any harder than they already are.

After Trith, Ark was like coming up for air, all unfettered desire and experience. In his brashness, he actually paid one of the employees of the tavern to clear out the little back room with the smaller stage. I think it is this that I like most about Ark. He never hesitates to do what others are too shy or afraid to do, caring nothing for rules, taboos, propriety, or danger. He is not afraid of darkness, and in his presence I give myself permission to indulge my darker desires as well. Well, that, and I will never again look at the stage in the Scamp in the same way!

[Carillon]

I continue to travel with Brian in secret, but it has become painfully clear that eventually we will be caught if we continue like this. When we are with others, we pretend we barely know each other. When we are alone, we are by turn like giddy young lovers or like cats and dogs at each other

[Carillon]

I continue to travel with Brian in secret, but it has become painfully clear that eventually we will be caught if we continue like this. When we are with others, we pretend we barely know each other. When we are alone, we are by turn like giddy young lovers or like cats and dogs at each other's throats. Alatriel's shadow continues to fall heavily over us, though we struggle to escape it.

There is darkness in all of us. I told him that the other day, to comfort him. Certainly, there is darkness in Njord I had never seen before. I have seen it now. I have watched him torture a man, peeling back the skin of his fingers bit by excruciating bit. He is frighteningly competent at what his old life trained him to do, and though he is ashamed of how easily such horrors still come to him, I fear the day will come when I will use his talents for my own ends and reckon the cost to him later. Already, I use him. He is teaching me the silent tongue of thieves, that subtle positioning of the body that allows speech without others ever realizing one is even communicating. My control over my face and body and my talent for mimicry makes for easy lessons. I am forcing him to teach me all the phrases I can think of that might one day save my life: stop, danger, knock him out, stay back, follow me, help me, unlock that, guard me . . . Dozens more, repeated to perfection and practiced in the heat of combat. I wonder what end goal I see to this endless practice with him, repeating and repeating the dance of combat until we know each other well enough we barely need to speak. A storm comes, and I can only presume my practice with him means that some part of me believes he will be at my side when I weather it.

Still, we must be more cautious. The last time I left the Dragon Isles with him, we ran into Trith. Thank goodness Njord was behind me in the shadows. Trith seemed to sense a lie (though I don't know how he did) and we quarreled about it. Elgon wandered by just as he had made me angrier than a spitting cat. Poor Elgon, walking in on the middle of that! Seeking to give me an out, he asked me if I could talk to him a moment, and Trith snapped that I was busy. I nearly sent a column of flame towards Trith at that moment. In retrospect, I almost wish I had, though knowing him it wouldn't have touched him. He's like Brian only in that he can avoid most of my magic.

Trith and I didn't part well then, but he caught up to Elgon and I later when we were with Izzy in the crypts. Again, he wanted to talk, and again he thinks I will heel to him like a cowering cur. He is sorely mistaken, but if it makes my job easier I can play the part from time to time. It wasn't hard to get him to reconcile, but I won't be able to push as hard for secrets for a while. No matter. Trith seems bent on showing me off to the world as the prize on his arm, and also proving to me what a man he is. It pleases him to show me his fine things and how brave he is in the face of danger. It pleases him to hold my hand and put his arms around me in the company of others, and to stroke my hair as if I were a filly to be gentled and broken. Brian strokes my hair from time to time and others too, but never does it feel so condescending as when Trith does so.

I think it is hardest to feel the eyes of my former lovers on us. Brian at least knows the truth of it, but the others only stare and wonder what I see in Trith. Hardragh's grey gaze is particularly hard to stomach. And yet Trith provides me with good opportunities to practice my casting, though none without a degree of danger. There was an unfortunate moment in the Misted Village when I thought for sure I would die. Coming out of that place, Trith and I were slightly separated from the rest of the group and were set upon by a half dozen bandits at least. Trith bid me run and tried to lead as many of them off as possible, but one or two followed me. In any other place, I would have used the Al'Noth to make myself unseen. There, I was powerless. Or so I thought, but I refused to go gently. I ran, and found a rocky outcrop to hide behind, near the entrance of their hideout. There was a deep crevice in the rock there by the entrance and I slipped inside. I could hear their voices as they looked for me, and dared not move at all. For several hours I dared barely breathe, and wished my heart would stop for fear they would hear the deafening drumbeat of its rhythm. And then, quite suddenly, the sounds of fighting and familiar voices, oh, familiar voices indeed!

They walked right past me the first time. I can only think it luck, as I have no great skill in hiding myself as Brian does. And yet Sallaron, who I know for a fact has sharp eyes, saw me not, nor did any of the others until I revealed myself. Trith took me into his arms then with great abandon, not caring who saw his relief that I was alive. I am certain he believed me dead. It is curious to see how strong his feelings are for me already, actually. He challenged Tobias at the Crossroads later, though Tobias didn't seem to think him worth the effort. So strange, to have a champion I do not care for at all. And yet though I let him defend me against minor annoyances like Tobias, when it comes to the important battles I still fight alone. Trith may leap to my defense now but when he learns the truth of my interest in him, I may yet count him among my enemies.

[Carillon]

Njord and I spent two blissful weeks together on Corsain: the first and last week of the year. For two weeks I gathered herbs and practiced my magic and he trained, and we swam and talked and were together without obstacle. We had discussed how I might send a message to him but even so I was fearful it wouldn't work. Nonetheless, I had to try, and I had to be on Corsain anyway to fulfill the Magus's order. And so I sent Njord a false contract, giving the location and date of the meeting: a box of ginger and a box of garlic, to be delivered by the twenty-first day of the last month of the year. I gambled that he would remember where it is I gather those two herbs and recognize the deadline as the date of the meeting. I dared not sign my own name, so I signed the parchment with my mother's name: Alaìs Ceìndráel.

Like a charm, he came on the evening of the twentieth, just after dusk had fallen. I had been there three days already, digging ginger roots and garlic bulbs for the Magus and preparing each to perfection. He demands nothing less of me. It meant the camp was set already: tent up, provisions stowed, furs arranged for the bed. I even had pike and herring cooking over a fire. I find fishing to be a simple pleasure, and always enjoy catching my meals thus. Nonetheless digging herbs, even in winter, is dirty, sweaty work and I was relieved to set the fish to cooking and slip into the lake water. It was cold, of course, but refreshing and dark and still. So absorbed was I in the feel of the water on my skin that I did not even notice Brian had come up behind me until he was right beside me, catching me up in his arms.

Have we come full circle to where we began ... what now? Four years ago? Five? The night he took me to the Lake of Dreams for the first time and swam me across to a quiet glade. And now, less than half a dozen years later, how changed we are. Bound together, more sure than ever in how to wound each other but more open too. Four years ago he did not know who his family were, nor would have spoken so openly of them. And four years ago I would not have sung to him a melody from my childhood as he rested with his head on my lap, languorous by the fire as I ran my fingers through his hair, nor thrilled at the simple security in the warmth of his body as we lay dreaming together in the shelter of the tent, thick pelts to shield us against the cold as the fire slowly died. Thus did Njord and I bid farewell to the past year and greet the new one.

[Carillon]

To say life has been uneventful these past weeks would be a lie, for truly my life never seems to be dull. However, as the events of my days do not include unsolicited visits from vampires, struggling to draw secrets from Trith like pulling teeth from a crocodile, or playing pawn to Muireann and Hardragh's temple games, I shall count myself blessed.

I successfully made my delivery to the Magus at his warehouse. The herbs were fresh and perfect, and I had little to fear, but meeting with Del'mar is always unpleasant nonetheless. Brian, always considerate, helped me get an entire box of spotted mushrooms so I knew the Magus would be pleased. He toys with me as always, though, discussing the "interest" on my debt and suggesting I might pay with my tongue again. Unlike the last time I was unshaken. Like Isabelle, it is best to be polite but firm with the Magus. Respectful, but unafraid. To show fear is to show they have you, but both are too powerful to risk antagonizing. It worked amazingly well with the Magus, at least. The next time I see Isabelle I will strive for the same calm serenity and see what comes of it.

Speaking of Isabelle, I have seen Connor again, shortly before my meeting with the Magus. I ran into him in the magic hall. It seems he is an alchemist as well, for he was making potions while AnnaLee watched. I think they must be a couple, for I rarely see them apart these days. It was nice to see him, but I was struck by a pang of guilt at the sight, just as I was when I received his second letter:

Jaelle,

I have been wondering how you are faring and whether or not you have had further contact with Isabelle. I hope my last letter was helpful to you. Let me know if I can be of any more help, with the matter of Isabelle or in your magical pursuits.

Connor

I wanted to reply to him so badly, but Isabelle's threats hang heavily over my head. I know she will kill to have her way or if she feels threatened, and I know seeking help in Connor would threaten her. I think he understands what is going on, though, and he has made it clear I need only ask and his aid is mine.

Thankfully there are more mundane and lighter matters to counter the gravity of the other issues that compete for my attention. I continue to practice my alchemy and have made considerable progress in the field of scribing. Poisons that were once beyond my capabilities I now find simple to concoct, and Brian has a steady supply of the stuff. The rest I sell to a few unscrupulous buyers in the rougher cities and make a tidy profit in doing so. And when my time is not occupied with such dull chores as mixing inks or making paper, there is always a game to be found.

My latest flirtation is with an elf named Razeriem who I like very much. He passes himself off to the world as a dandy and does a fine job of it, but he's more cunning than they give him credit for and there is sadness and pain beneath his merriness. We shared tales by the fountain one quiet afternoon, tossing copper coins into the water for each past grief. I have more than him, but it is not for me to judge the burdens of another, and his griefs are not insignificant. It seems he plowed the wrong field and by misfortune the seed took root. He is banished by his father for the shame of it, and he shall not know the child he conceived in carelessness. Brian finds his story very touching, even more so than I do I think. But then, Brian is very concerned with children knowing their parents.

Razeriem seeks his oblivion through women and liquor. Mostly liquor, it seems, though he claims to have stopped. I offered my company to him should boredom or depression threaten to overtake him, but I think he mistook my meaning. For once, my intentions were innocent, but he wrote me a charming verse the other day and now flushes whenever I glance his way. I admit, I have some fun with this shyness, and was bold enough to steal a kiss the other day for the simple pleasure of seeing him struck dumb with shock. Sometimes I wonder at the sources of my own amusement. Ah well.

[Carillon]

Is it possible that stolen time with Njord is sweeter than when we could be together openly? Why is it that my pulse quickens when he kisses me now, knowing that at any moment we might be discovered and our carefully spun illusions revealed for what they are? Could it be that we both need this dark element, this risk of danger that heats the blood and sets the heart racing? This is the same way I feel when Muireann takes me out onto the water on Revenge's Release and we sail through a storm. Muireann can sail. I still just try to keep out of the way, but watching her work with the crew and captain and feeling the rain stinging my face and the wind whipping through my hair ... it's like lightning striking.

I had the same thrill breaking into a house in Hlint the other day to see Njord. He caught me while I was washing up in the stream. (Gathering skullcap in the swamp tends to leave one a little messy.) We didn't touch anything, just sat by their hearth and talked. I noticed immediately how happy he looked, and that he had speckles of blood all over his armor but didn't seem wounded. At first I thought he'd been in a fight, but then he told me he'd helped birth his own cousin ... Elohanna's little girl. Having a family confuses him but I think it warms him too. He tells me he tattooed the baby in the tradition of his village. She was named Clarisse, which means light or brilliance, so the symbol was a small burning candle. (Njord's is a ram. For a long time I wasn't sure whether it was meant to represent tenacity or stubbornness. Lately, I suspect it's both.) Thinking of this small child I have never met, newly born into the world, makes me wonder for Njord and what he has lost. I have never longed to conceive, and I am certain I would make a very poor mother. But Brian? I think he recognizes this is not a life conducive to children, but I think there is a sense of sadness and regret nonetheless.

We have our ways of forgetting, though. The familiar paths we walk towards amnesia. Before, the thrill of a chase lending in a strange bed might have satisfied me, but lately my path to solace has been darker. As has Njord's. And when those two paths cross ...

[Carillon]

It is unbearable, watching him with her! To see him fawn over her new clothing, to see the way she responds to him though she hides it to the public eye ...

I should not have watched invisible. I know that now. When I saw them together I should have left. But oh, I had to see. And now I wish I had not, because I cannot purge the images from my mind. She calls his place home. Why does she call it such? In all my time with him, if Muireann's was home it was my room or her lounge but not Brian's quarters. They were familiar and safe, but they were not home.

I cannot deal with this. I cannot bear it. And yet I know it is an illusion, and that if I merely can summon the strength I will see the truth of it: that he does not love her. That he does this merely to protect me and aid me, not even knowing my goals.

He heard me as they were leaving. When she begged him to take her back home, the word like a lover's caress on her lips, I could not help myself and though I strove for silence I think a sound must have escaped my lips for he turned towards me ... but she was already going, and though he stayed to listen a moment he heard nothing further.

I know it is a lie, but I cannot stay to watch this. I need to be elsewhere, if only for a while. I need to escape.