Log #001

The journal is new and fresh: the old one never made is out of the ruins of the Silverguard Halls as they burned to the ground. This one does not have the same magical protection as the last–and Mazikeen doesn’t figure that she’d seek to get any such enchantment placed on this new book anyway (magic has not, as a whole, been her friend in the grand scheme of things). She doesn’t even place a small lock on it: for a rogue, very few of her things are actually kept held away. That, and placing a lock on something only strikes her as if it would be asking for trouble. Instead, she settles for storing the journal between a few stacks and scrolls of engineering schematics, and other stray items.

I don’t want to write. It didn’t help ‘fore, did it?

I don’t want to, but- but it seems like-

I hear a voice in my head now. After what happened when we saved Verrin. I hear this voice in my head and I can tell if it’s mine, of if it’s… not. If it’s his. Durgan’s.

I’ve just been under a lot of stress. Durgan’s gone. Gone. I watched it.

(But I felt what I felt, and gods, gods, why does it seem like for once the feeling seems more real than the seeing and the knowing? Since when have I ever needed to care ’bout what somethin’ felt like?)

He was in my head. The night they killed him, the Knights (while I was useless, my job done, always magic, always got to let the big boys and girls do what really matters, fuck magic) , the night it happened-

Right there in front of ‘em, I felt Durgan in my head, when he left Verrin for a short time. I was so… am so… weak. Why wasn’t I more prepared? Everything in my head felt so open. He dug further in, and Kar’lei was in my ear, telling me to hang on, but I couldn’t, I was losing ground the whole damned time.

The entire time.

Then Alkaiser was there, and I knew he’d protect me (and I knew it would hurt) and I don’t know if it was my hope or Durgan’s hate (or maybe it was both) but suddenly… suddenly I was lookin’ at him, almost like the night I killed him. Only… only I wasn’t any better. Was I any better? He was weak. I made him feel every inch of that weakness ‘fore I snuffed him out. And I liked it. Even then, while I knew I was kneeling down next do my own vomit, I could still feel that dizzy rush of power, of brutal, flesh and blood satisfaction.

And for a second, for a second, shit, for a second- I didn’t know who I was. Which one I was. Of us. We’d created each other. That’s the most terrifying part. I didn’t just create him, didn’t just set up this vengeful spirit that’d haunt me later… he created me. It’d never been like that before, ‘fore him. It’d never felt like that, and I never wanted it to feel like that again.

(And that was it: the Biggest Lie. I’ve always wanted it again. The way my skin felt so burning hot, but all my insides were cold, that sharpness, the clarity that wasn’t just the muddy frenzy of rage… I buried that deep in my head, the entire memory of him, until Aysera helped me drag it out–’cause I couldn’t take the wantin’ and the knowin’ what I want.)

And and- And Verrin-

What he did to Verrin-

I can’t-

He showed me what he did to Verrin. Didn’t just show me. I felt it. But not from. Not from what Verrin felt. (That’d be too easy.) I felt what Durgan felt. The grinning, hateful satisfaction. I didn’t just, it wasn’t. Durgan was in my head (you have to understand, someone please, SOMEONE has to understand) and it wasn’t just-

It wasn’t just that I knew Durgan was pleased with himself.

I felt pleased. Elated. Full of intoxicating power, and it tasted so justified, so right, so deserved so so I can’t, it wasn’t ME but I still-

I felt it.

I love Verrin. I love him and I have to live with. With the memory of what happened to him. From the… perspective of… And it’s not just the memory, it’s the FEELING, gods, gods-

I can’t even ask Ays for help. I could never ask anyone. They can’t know. They should never. Especially Ays. They should never have to see, feel it that way. To be hurt is… to be hurt is one thing. To be the one hurtin’ someone you love, hurting ‘em and directin’ it and feelin’ so damned great ’bout it- having that kind’ve memory… no one should have to feel that.

I feel shaky in my head. I know that I love Verrin, and I know I don’t wanna see him hurt, and I know sure’s anything that I’d never, ever be the one to hurt him like that. I know that. But havin’ that memory with Durgan’s feelin’ mixed into it, it’s… I find myself thinking ’bout hangin’. Or cuttin’ my own throat. And the only thoughts, fuck, the only thoughts that’ve been stoppin’ it-

I can’t let him win

and

Verrin needs me

and

I can’t

(I don’t know)

which one it is that really brings me back each time.

Wasn’t it easier?

Talked with the Silverlord and Verrin last night.

I…

Everythin’ I touch bleeds and falls to pieces in my hands.

I’m so scared. I don’t want to be scared. It used to be… it used to be easier, didn’t it? Even when the world was darker, even ‘fore Silvermoon was rebuilt? Wasn’t it easier then? I came and went where I wanted, and I was helpin’ people. Right?

The Silverlord knows there’s someone else I’m taken with. All I can be grateful for is that he didn’t go ’bout asking who it was. I can’t… I don’t want to be…

He’s my leader. I don’t want him to feel tripped up and like he ain’t ’nuff ’cause’ve one stupid Rogue girl who tends to know the sharp side’ve her swords better’n her own feelings. When he finds out it’s Kaste…

Verrin thinks we should think’ve each other as brother’n sister. That if I can give him my love that way, that he’ll take it. That maybe it’ll help us be close without completely destroyin’ each other. I’m tired of hurtin’ each other. He’s probably right.