Going Protected

Dear Readers,

I have made the difficult decision to make this blog entirely protected due to a growing uncertainty as to whether or not these posts are being used against my character icly. Please do not ask for passwords, as they will not be given. All current passwords will be changed.

I will make public the benign and positive posts, but the rest will remain safe and protected.

Thank you to all of you who have followed this blog so faithfully. It’s been touching to receive your tells or comments about how much you’ve enjoyed reading it. Maybe I’ll feel comfortable making the deeper, more emotional posts public again one day, but for now, I just do not.

Sil

Farewell, Lithmore

I sit here with my back against the city wall, which still holds the warmth of the day. You lie open in my lap, journal, and my hand moves automatically across your page.

I don’t really know what to say. I never thought this day would actually come. The day when I left Lithmore for good. But it has, and it feels… very anticlimactic. I thought it would affect me more than it is, hurt more, pull at something inside me. I thought it might feel like a relief, even.

But all I feel is numb.

It doesn’t feel like much at all. It’s just another stepping stone, just another place, once loved then lost. I’ve known many. Why should Lithmore have been any different?

Most of those I love are long gone anyway. I suppose it is fate that I should follow. The city’s too cold now. Too cruel. Too unforgiving, unfriendly and painful.

I see Eamon everywhere I look. I hear Yra’s songs in the sighing of the wind. I feel the breath of Ary’s whispered pleas every time a summer breeze caresses my cheek. I see those friends lost to death watching me from the corner of my eye. There are so many memories, many good, but right now, the painful ones are crowding in. Drowning me in a sea of anguished tears I cannot escape.

I cannot stay here.

Some might call it running. I don’t really care. I call it taking time to breathe. Retreating to a haven where I can heal, far from the stone walls that cradle my anguish like a basin from which it cannot be drained.

What will I do now?

I’m not entirely certain. Assist Marigold and Keric. Use my knowledge in trade to help out where I can. I’m sure I could save them a lot of coin by making much of what I know they are forced to buy. Raise Lorcan in peace, where he’ll not be faced with prejudice based upon his guardian’s race or social status. He deserves better than that.

I can hear the sound of a wagon on the broken road. It may be the one Keric and Mari sent.

I don’t think I will write again, journal. This ends yet another chapter of my life, and I am not keen on looking back upon it just yet. I thank you though, my dearest and most treasured of confidants. You have held my secrets well, and you will always be utterly cherished.

Farewell, journal.

Farewell, Lithmore.

I wish you all the very best.

Hands And Feet

(A minute infant hand has been traced onto the page with a charcoal pencil. Beside it, a tiny foot has also been immortalized on parchment. Each is no longer than the index finger on a petite, feminine hand. Beneath the tracings, several lines of text have been scribed.)

Lorcan Edward Ryden Zerelia

Maius 24, 371

Two weeks of age.

Lorcan

Lorcan Edward Ryden Zerelia arrived on the wee hours of Maius 10, 371, a full month before he should have done. Ary, my lovely half sister, survived only long enough to say goodbye and to place her son into my care before fading into the arms of death to join the Lord of the Springs.

Life has taken many a turn for me, some positive, some negative, some my fault, some not.

I have been blessed with a treasure I never expected to hold after losing Eamon. A baby. I have been given one last chance to truly grow and learn.

For Lorcan, I will give my all. For Lorcan, I will change.

Chessboard

This chessboard I have just finished carving is either going to sell well or kill me. I wish I could run it by the Grand Inquisitor before dragging it over. I am rather proud of it myself. We shall see how it all goes. I suppose the depictions are none too different than tapestries of war; so long as they do not proclaim heretical beliefs, which this does not, I think I should be all right.