Where Two Ain’t Two

Verrin spoke with me last night. He wants me to tell him, in honesty, that I’ll never love him. How can I know that? How can he ask me that? What gives him the right to ask anythin’ he asks me?! I keep my life neat and ordered ’nuff ‘fore all’ve this, and now I can’t even look into my head without gettin’ lost or feeling vertigo dizzyness, like down is up and two steps ain’t always two steps, sometimes its five or three or one or I ain’t movin’ at all–

And then there’re nightmares. The only way to keep ‘em away is to fall ’sleep so exhausted that nothing can move inside my head, though that don’t even work some nights.

Chrysalis is ‘pparently gonna try to ‘help’ Verrin, and when I found out that she might intend to kill him, I was… angry. If anyone gets to kill him, it’s me, and that ain’t even an option that I’ve given myself after… after the day on the beach. He betrayed me, not the rest of them, not anyone else. His blood’ll be on my hands, if that’s what it comes to–though I’ll work for every inch’ve me ‘gainst that too. I trust Chrysalis though. She told me she wouldn’t kill him.

The Silverlord wanted to speak with me, and though I tried to avoid him, he eventually came down to where Chrysalis and me were in Silvermoon ‘gainst my assurance that I’d be fine, and that he didn’t need to get his hands dirty with anymore’ve it than he’d already be expected to with the ‘trial’ comin’ up. He was understandin’, even when I told him that I would’ve killed Verrin when I found out.

And we talked a little earlier, and the Silverlord… made some confusin’ remarks. I think I’d be angry if I wasn’t still more shocked than not. Angry ’cause for some damned reason it’s gotta be when a girl’s fallin’ apart that she gets so much attention. S’when you’re feelin’ vulnerable and broken that everyone wants to dig their claws into you. Maybe people wanna feel like heroes or saviors, and maybe they can smell vulnerability like sharks can smell blood in open water. I just want to be left in peace to lick my own damn wounds.

Kaste kissed me… more than once in the past few days. The first time ’cause he wanted to make the point that we both don’t feel nothin’ for each other, least not romantically. ‘Course we don’t–but I could’ve practically coughed up my own beatin’ heart when he surprised me with it. And then he had me help him with some other damn version of an ‘anti-love potion’, which backfired (thankfully not to the same scale, ’cause I was prepared for it). I knocked him out, and he seemed to come out’ve it well ’nuff; he’s tellin’ me that his friends… or the people he talks to, don’t know if they’re necessarily his friends, keep tellin’ him that we should be together.

‘Cause clearly, two people can’t enjoy each other’s company less they’re really only lookin’ to knock boots–even moreso ’cause he’s a troll and I’m an elf, and certainly there’s even less room for friendship there, right? I ain’t sayin’ I’m a mysterious woman, or that I’m hard to figure out, but I’m tired of people speakin’ on my behalf. Don’t matter if it’s Verrin (who’s master, Kiros, ‘pparently thought he could make a slave out’ve me) or Kaste. If I don’t know what’s goin’ on in my own damn skull, how in the Nether do other people seem to think they do? Even if they’ve got the best intentions (not that they all do), can’t I just get left ‘lone?

Verrin says he’ll try to stop askin’ me questions, and I don’t know if that’s really gonna help or not. It’s what I want, but what if be givin’ myself time to cool down and let things settle in my head, I just mess things up worse? What if it’s like a mess’ve broken bones, that if they ain’t set right to begin with, grow funny and crippled till you gotta break ‘em all over? I get upset and tell him that he’s got to grow from his pain, while I hide from analyzin’ anything inside myself. Hypocrisy ain’t my aim, but I’ll be damned if it ain’t the path I’m walkin’.

Do You Know Why I’m Here?

The writing at first seems larger than normal, more neat–almost showy. It looks that special care has been given to the lettering, as well as the gramatical structure of the sentences (a contrast to the general laxness of old entries). However, it seems that the author has struck out the writing, though the words are still legible.

I’ve progressed a shocking amount in the last few days. I’ve learned how to mix poisons to coat my blades, and I’ve also taken up engineering as a profession. I’ve been spending a lot of time in Hillsbrad, and it’s a quaint place if it weren’t for all of the humans and dwarves.

The script becomes smaller, almost jagged: more difficult to read, as if written in a frantic haste.

I need to be away from Hillbrad, don’t think I can spend even one more night there. It ain’t an ugly place, but something ’bout it just makes my insides hurt. I keep feelin’ like I’ve been here ‘fore, but there’s no way I could’ve. I’m not even a century old, and only maybe ventured s’far as Lordaeron to see my father before the plague hit there. Even those trips I barely remember, I was so young.

So why… why do I walk these roads like I’ve been here before? Why does everything seem so damned familiar?

In the early hours of the morning when I sleep, I have dreams that leave me to wake in a cold sweat. I can never remember what I’ve been dreaming–only that it’s an angry dream, and my mouth tastes bitter and metallic, like’ve been chewing on dirty bullets. Something always feels like its pullin’ me by my gut, pushing me somewhere abouts north–it’s a feeling that only comes on me in the moments where I’m still half-sleeping, and only in Hillsbrad.

I know what’s to the north–never been there (no, no I have never been there, I can’t have, that wouldn’t make sense) but I know that somewhere north is where the Dalaran mages stood against the Scourge. I know my father spent his time there before the Third War, though what he did I haven’t the slightest.

I won’t go there though. I won’t indulge this… whatever this is. I have not been here before. I have not been to Dalaran, and I know it only s’far as what I may’ve seen of its troops in passing in Silverpine.

Last night I had one of those dreams again. This time… I remembered a bit more. Right before I woke up I heard, “Do you know why I’m here?” and for this life of me, I can’t get those words out of my head. Just thinking ’bout it makes my stomach turn. Was my own voice, too, asking. Do you know why I’m here. And in that second… in that second it hadn’t been like dreamin’ but like rememberin’.

I can’t stay my nights here any more. I’ll look for work in the next continent; anything to get away from this feeling. And then the dreams will stop.

Just let ‘em stop.