Votumas, Decembris 8. Early afternoon.

I have returned to Lithmore.

It is not the same.

The one true regret I left behind has moved on.

I wish him happiness.

I wish her misery.

I hope, one day, she knows the anguish I suffer whenever I see them together. Never mind the lack of grounds for such ruthless desires. No matter that I gave my permission.

Time shall knit these wounds into a scar I can smile fondly at, I am certain. But at present, I shall not cease praying for her suffering, her ruin, and the obliteration of everything he feels for her.

I hate her. I care not that I have precious little reason to.


Lunisda, Decembris 15. Mid-evening.

Merry Yule, everyone.

There have been parties and events galore, though I have only been to one. I went to the party thrown by the Troubadours and the Reeves. Or maybe it was just the Reeves who threw it. I really could not tell you, for I don’t pay much attention, to be honest.

I didn’t stay long. I don’t do well in large crowds, to be honest. When everyone is talking and it’s hectic and there’s a lot of mingling and vocalizing … I sort of just get lost in the shuffle. Not only is it impossible to keep up socially, it’s quite difficult to actually enter a conversation when you can’t interject. Short of shoving a ledger into their faces, of course.

I don’t mind too much, however. It was lovely just to stop in and see what had been done. To dress up and feel beautiful, even with this wonderful, ungainly belly.

It was actually a good thing that I didn’t stay. I remained in the venue, but across from where the festivities were being held. I stepped out onto the dining porch to eat alone. Quieter. A lot less overwhelming for me.

While I was gone, a mage attacked a few women near the stage, turning them into hags. The rumor says toads, but hags sounds just a bit more plausible. Their looks were just … stripped from them. I expect they were hustled off to the hospital, the Reeves went to quell panic and I? Well, Nalite and I fled to the church where I proceeded to cower for the rest of the night. Better there than walking the streets toward the bank where I had left my keyring for the festivities, having no place to attach it to the gown I wore.

All seems to have calmed, however, and life here in Lithmore is back to normal from what I can see. Not that normal isn’t subjective, but for me, it’s all settled down.

I’m back to debating names, tending the tavern and worrying about giving birth. Good times.


Solisda, Novembris 18. Midnight.

Once more I lie awake, trying not to groan, not that it would disturb anyone should I try, in pain. My back feels as though it is being sat on by a mountain goat, and not a particularly lightweight one at that. The pressure is phenominal sometimes, and I do not use the word as an expression of awe.

I’m rather full of thoughts this night, first and foremost is the thought that screams at me, telling me I have still yet to choose names for my child. I don’t even have any inspiration for names. I suppose a large part of me shies away from making such a decision, since it was something Cadeyrn and I enjoyed brainstorming about so often. When I lost him, I lost the ability, the desire, the strength to try and brainstorm on my own. It hurts to try and not to hear his comments, not to know for a fact if he would have approved.

But the simple fact is, I cannot have this child referred to as “boy” or “girl” their entire life, so, painful or not, difficult or not, I need to choose something.

But I have no suggestions. I don’t really even have friends to bounce ideas off of save H. Maybe R as well … I will need to ask her. As it currently stands, I am completely at a loss.

Tentative Names:
















I can think of nothing else at this moment.



Circadi, Novembris 15. Early morning.

The baby kicks as I lie awake, unable to sleep. I am close now, with only two or so months to go. Although this time is precious to me, I will be happy to walk without pain again. And even as I write that, I know that the moment I give birth, I will wish I were pregnant once more.

I’m not good at setting my thoughts to paper. Isn’t that rather amusing? I think it is because I must write to communicate so often, that merely thinking is preferable to yet more writing. But sometimes writing does help pass the time, though I doubt I will do it often.

I’m thinking of writing a book, however. That may be fun, simply due to the nature of it. It is a different form of writing. Informative. Perhaps, if I do it right, I’ll have someone to sign with one day. As it stands, I write to communicate, or Nalite translates for me. Either way seems to make people uncomfortable, as if they’re uncertain how to respond to me. It makes me feel bad for them, because it must be rather disconcerting to be thrust unexpectedly into a situation like that.

I’ll admit though, part of me also just wishes to tell them they’re allowed to be normal. I ran into one old woman who, upon realizing I could not speak, proceeded to yell in my face, making outrageous hand gestures as if mute were synonymous with deaf. My reaction? I just laughed, which, I fear, only caused her to think me simple.

Truly, people, you can look at me when Nalite’s translating, you can direct your questions to me, I promise I can hear you, and please. Don’t yell in my face, because there is a high probability while I am still pregnant that your breath will make me vomit on you.

On that pleasant note, I must rush off now to find the wash room, courtesy of my unborn child. Ah, but I do love them.