Decembris 12, 373
Gildarts returned today.
But I knew he would. How could he not when I issued such a public challenge to him before all of Lithmore City?
I know I should be awash with fear, afraid to step foot outside my office. But I feel nothing, nothing but mere exhaustion. How I tire of our dance. The lies. The threats. I am no longer even surprised when I feel the cold press of his thoughts within my mind. And I know I should be. But how can I when he has haunted me for so long?
My own personal poltergeist. The liar. The murderer. I still remember the first words he ever spoke to me that night the city burned.
“Excuse me, Miss,” he said as I lie there on the ground, burned by his magefire. Excuse me.
I should hate the cruel fate which drove me into that fire, which bound us together from that moment forth. I will always bear the scar from that night.
But I do not hate fate. I do not even know if I hate him.
All I do know is that he shall be the death of me or I… the death of him.