Wed Apr 26, 2017 6:47 pm
Everything about this scene was familiar, from the old desk that bore an old blood stain, to the books and dim lamp light that made it impossible to tell night from day. But under her ink spotted fingers and the quill that scratched it wasn't some citizen's file, a ledger, or even some missive - though she owed several of those to a select few individuals as well. In this space, alone, she wrote for herself.
Walter returns to Thessilane taking Daryl for several weeks. I suspect it is unlikely that he spend much time tutoring him on architecture, as the summer quickly approaches. I seem to recall, the solstice festival tends to be debauc exceedingly lively near the coast. And they're both... young men. While I certainly support the educational aspects of their sabbatical, for a time I will find myself alone. Oddly, it has been quite a while since I have been alone in this sense. It is difficult to explain how or even why it unsettles me, it could be that their presence often serves as a welcome, sometimes necessary, distraction.
Perhaps this disquiet arises from the lack of internal quiet I have become accustom to. Words and those tiny bells have long gone, but still they merrily chime as if she braids my hair. I had help of course. I suppose I found sanity, or developed it. Would it be an appropriate analogy to liken it to a scar? A wound that had to be cauterized before it healed, I think. Then again, this presumes healing has taken place; does the infection remain?
The page has no answers for me and now I find myself to be atrocious company.
I have never been fond of journals.
Sat Apr 29, 2017 8:01 am
My last entry deviates too far from usefulness. I will say, that for what sanity I now possess, I believe much has come in the skill to recognize most of the thoughts that are not my own. It once was overwhelming, a flood with no distinguishable contributing streams. The water still comes, but I see the paths, and now I can tell the source as if each has it's own color or temperature that somehow makes it quite unique. It was no small feat learning to feel the textures of thought and develop a skill for which I know of no natural ability. I wonder if there is anyone else truly like me. To say it has taken time and patience is a mild statement, it has taken years and madness.
Occasionally I still question myself, some of the streams are obviously Ariane, Gloria, or Catch, but Rhaena is burrowed deep into the folds of my mind. I wonder if it is her love, her memories, her motives or my own. Do I still miss Glenn because she remains?
In truth, these kinds of questions are futile and frankly, unproductive. I am all of what they left and myself together; the fear of them was stolen long ago and I will not let the work since be wasted. I must have faith, as there is much to do.
With Aloisius’ approval of the meeting house renovation and Walter’s design we will build a grand structure. While I feel the intent she always had, I know this is a better way to improving Myrken. Slow, natural, and on terms of their own. Improvements throughout and an attached school that doesn’t rely on priests, that teaches inquiry, letters, arts, and trades. What could be salvaged from the library resides in my office now, joined with my personal collection it makes a fine start. It will take time, but slowly I will fulfill the hope she had; the hopes that have become mine as well.
I have two other tasks, the first which will require a missive straight away - seeking Kals will need to be done before Walter and Daryl return.
Best I do it now, it seems the day is nearly done.
Fri May 05, 2017 11:34 am
It is embarrassing now, as I am keenly aware of how overt and obvious my feelings must have been. Rhaenea can be blamed, but only to an extent. And yet, it was so long ago, even he writes of how vastly different we were. Rather than avoid one another’s glance and ignore all that brought us here, I would see us friends.
It feels rather pathetic that it took so long to speak plainly to Glenn about the convoluted feelings I had harbored. The missive took nigh on a year to summon the courage and send, but then again, there was really no other purpose before now. Accompanying a matter of more importance seemed justification, but to my surprise the quick reply I received spent little time addressing the task.
The contents of the letter are better left unmentioned here, but it was painful to read of such history. There were many deeply unsettling experiences I did not, and could not, know but then again, somewhat touching to hear his perspective on many of the events I was privy to.
He remains very similar to how I remember him, not the heartless, clever, but well-intentioned politician he paints himself. He is still a conversationalist, even on the page. Then again, I suppose we all see our past selves askew; reflections from our vantage point are always backwards and ill-proportioned. Perhaps if I could show him how I saw him, but then again, I think he has some idea of it. Else he wouldn’t have conveyed such a complete history in a tone I might best described as sympathetic.
This entry dwells too much on a letter that has preoccupied my mind for the last several days. I have sent my reply and will think on it no more given the risk of distraction. Our expedition sets just before dawn tomorrow, requiring final preparations be made. The information I have obtained suggests that Kals resides in a part of the wood that is most unfamiliar. Knowing that even the familiar swaths hold dangers I have a hired sword and guide to ensure safe passage. Optimistically, it will take several days and I am uncertain what, if anything, I will find.
After all that, and the thought that comes readily to me, is: wouldn’t he be proud of such efforts? I think myself grown and still my instinct is for approval. Better I remember he is dead, and it matters not what he thinks, what I do is not for him. It never should have been.
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