I think I should be happy…

…but I ain’t all too positive that I am. Maybe I ain’t happy, ain’t content, but I’m gettin’ the feelin’ that… I dunno.

When I found Kaste, one-armed and still bleedin’, and saw the Silverlord heal him up (I got his heart goin’ with those jumper cables, but that didn’t take care’ve the major wounds), it was like…

How can I possibly write this? It sounds selfish and stupid. It was like seein’ something goin’ wrong. ‘Course I was glad for him to be alive and okay, but there was just that feelin’ that everythin’ was tumblin’ so far out’ve my control. Like my life wasn’t mine anymore.

I kissed Kaste on the cheek, and he asked me if I would’ve done more’n that, if the Silverlord hadn’t shown up, if he wasn’t gettin’ married, if-

Just like seein’ your life start goin’ wrong, and then it keeps on goin’, gettin’ more and more messed up.

Was the same the night I took Verrin to the battlefront. Lustin’ after him, after what we’ve done to each other, what I’ve done to him? Gods. Another time I just couldn’t help the feelin’ that I’d done something that I shouldn’t have. I don’t even believe in fate so much, but it was like the feelin’ that if I have a destiny, I was workin’ away from it rather than towards it.

Ysabelle stitched her soul with Kaste’s, or whatever it was, and didn’t even ask him ’bout it first. How can you do that to someone? How can you betray someone you say you love so damned deeply? A rogue’s life is built on privacy and bein’ maybe a bit solitary. Didn’t even ask. Gods. She must have… had good intentions, but…

I was so angry, but now… I’m just confused.

Kaste still has feelings for me. I wouldn’t tell him if I did or not. How can I? What he don’t know won’t hurt him, right? And if he never knows for sure, that’s better. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe Ysabelle did the right thing. I mean, the idea’ve it just… it drives me crazy, makes me want to spit and scream on Kaste’s behalf, but maybe that’s why…

Maybe that’s why things are goin’ right, now. Maybe the reason I don’t get it–or the reason it makes me so mad–is the same reason that Ysabelle’s better for him. I mean, she sure’s hell wouldn’t go runnin’ from him. She don’t gotta worry ’bout usin’ him as part’ve a double life, or some such–he is her life.

I couldn’t give myself like that to no person. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t, too, which is maybe sadder. And people deserve to be loved like that, fully, not love that’s always got a foot out the gods-damned door.

Same with Chrysalis. I asked her if she loved Verrin, and she said yes, though in some different words. She said she hadn’t told him.

Chrysalis is a saint. This is somethin’ that should happen. When I broke Verrin, didn’t it tend to fall to her to pick up the pieces? And what has she got to show for all’ve it? Just standin’ there, bein’ a good Knight, holdin’ her love in even better than maybe I have. That ain’t right. She’s too good. She wants the best for Verrin. I would never, never come ‘tween that, not by choice.

Would never toy with Kaste or Verrin, when I know damn well they each got people that care ’bout them more wholly…

There is a large blot of ink, and then some scratched out words.

I’m broken anyway. But this feels like maybe things will go right. Gods, I hope they do.

What doesn’t kill you…

Roughly three pages are completely filled with what seems to be the same phrase, over and over again. The letters are disjointed, and standard punctuation and spacing appears to be used very infrequently. In one of the more legible cases, the phrase reads as: ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’. Eventually, more coherent writing emerges.

Or maybe that’s just what people gotta tell themselves, so they can feel like they’re movin’ forward ’stead of in circles all the time. I don’t feel stronger. I just feel kind’ve… broken.

I hate this, I hate all’ve this.

Events are cowards. Can’t ever fight alone.

Mazikeen sits in the corner of a small inn room, exhausted and slumped in her chair. The journal is open on her lap, and it seems to take a great force of will for her to move the quill tip across the pages. A little further off a figure sleeps fitfully on the bed, tossing and mumbling.

It started a few nights ago. Alkaiser said he wanted to speak with Zaliron, and I s’pose I just figured it’d be a few harsh words. Guilt ain’t anything new to me, but I should’ve done something. My luck though, interfering then would’ve just made the situation worse.

He didn’t show up at his house that night, and I guess I didn’t think much of it. I know what it’s like to have business that runs over-long. The next day I found a note in my mail from Verrin, the new mage, askin’ me to meet him. It was as vague as that, and curiosity ain’t something that can be easily denied.

He wants me to teach him how to fight dirty. I don’t know what to make of him, only that something ’bout him makes me feel uncomfortable–not because he don’t understand what I am, but because he does. I… well, to make short of it, ’cause it ain’t my primary concern right now, I said yes.

A voice rose from the corner–murmuring something incoherent about demons and fear. Mazikeen roughly brushed a tear from the corner of her eyes, which fell and smudged the ink on the paper.

I can’t believe what they did to him. It ain’t right, you can’t… Gods. I talked to Alkaiser even, and I’ve never imagined myself as someone to do anything like the sort (I might not be the most ardent follower, but I try to keep my peace, ’specially under leaders).

A leader doesn’t break someone that pledges their life to him–or allow a second-in-command like Arathael to do it. It’s… it’s pathetic and wrong and the worst kind’ve betrayal. And I know what it looks like–I go to Alkaiser and he assumes that it’s just ’cause me and Zaliron take our nights together. I ain’t stupid. I know that Zaliron is arrogant, and I know it’s gotta be fixed.

But they didn’t do that. He’s… he can’t even go near demons. He’s been staying in an inn.

Damn them both.

Damn myself for not being more forceful when I talked to Alkaiser. I shouldn’t've settled for what he thought were rational words. He made a mistake. Nobody ever deserves to be hurt like that by someone they’re s’posed to trust. My faith in the leadership of the Guard suffered s’first blow, and I guess for that it stings even more.

I got Zaliron to come out here to Farstrider Retreat, away from Silvermoon. Fetched a few pillows and robes for him, tryin’ to help him get comfortable. Looked like something had ripped through the house, and his demons weren’t happy that I didn’t leave ‘em with any answers. I ain’t much’ve one for conversing with demons, and the only thing I could tell ‘em was to wait some more. And at least get the damned door back on its hinges.

I want to protect Zaliron, and I want to see him better, but I’m sore over some of Alkaiser’s words. He told me that I was a good influence on Zaliron, and I wanted to spit something hard and mean back in his face, but I was too busy cowering and being ’sensible’. I wish people weren’t so damned sure that I’m a good person–well, I mean, it ain’t my job to fix anyone. I don’t want that responsibility. I can’t bear that responisibility.

‘Sides, why in the Nether should it be MY job, or ANYone’s job, to fix the messes of our humble, righteous leaders?

And now? Now I’m angry. All I can do is sit and seethe while the rest’ve the Guard take their digs at Zaliron, and if I speak he looks weaker, or I look over-protective.

Part of me doesn’t care. Part of me wants to say to the Nether with ‘em all, and the next one with a snide comment about Zaliron will get their tongue skewered to the roof of their mouth.

I want to see him strong again.

I will see him strong again. The rest’ve ‘em can choke on dynamite. I’d even be so kind as to light the fuse.

Mazikeen sighs, the momentary rush of anger fading and leaving her with less energy than before. She closes the journal, tosses it back into a bag near her feet. Looking around, it is still very dark inside of the room, save for a few small candles near the bed (she didn’t want Zaliron to wake up in darkness in the middle of the night)–it won’t be morning for a few more hours.

And, from her seat, she knows they will be long hours. Thinking hours. She leans her head back to the wall behind the chair, and watches over the troubled Warlock.

She does not sleep.