[A very well cared for book.
The corners showing much wear from being wrapped tightly and riding around in a small bag inside a pack.
The first several pages are crude drawings of common items, with block print below giving their proper name.
Several pages beyond include Untheric symbols in rows, with printed words under them.
Perhaps thirty pages in, begins the first diary entry.
The handwriting clearly written with slow deliberate strokes.]
Never before have I considered keeping any sort of journal containing my thoughts.
Before the mist took me, rescued me from a life that knew nothing outside of fear and pain,
I knew nothing about forming letters to a page to represent the spoken word.
My love [Untheric drawing "Heart"] has taught me more in this time together,
than I could ever have dreamed of grasping an understanding of.
Yet, I have so much more to learn.
Perhaps this will turn out to be a mistake, once more something to use to hurt me in some
cruel way. Some things should never be written or spoken, while other things I simply choose
not to speak. I don't want to hear the lectures, or to be told how wrong I am yet again. I want
to appear strong and clear in my thoughts, able to handle what I've gotten myself into.
Maybe he was right. I was doomed to fail. So much I wanted to prove, as I tried to be something
I am not. It was not my intention, and I had no fore knowledge of the events that transpired.
Tugged, pulled, two directions. How much I longed to be what I tried. Did I not try hard enough?
Their blood is on my hands, and no matter how much I washed them in the lake, rubbed sand between them,
the stain remained. Why is it this blood bothers me? Have I not had blood on my hands before?
The name stung deeply. Is that what I am? I fought it, even presented my side to her. I still do
not fully believe that is what I am, yet doubt lingers. Maybe I am in the end. While I did everything
I thought to do, was in their best interest, deep down what was I? Afraid, but is that even an
excuse? Maybe he was right, I never belonged there. Fear can not be a leader.
He saw my fear of that slithery creature, whose name even sounds as horrible as the sound it makes.
He knows my weakness now, should he ever feel the need to... I must not think that way.
Does he still see the fear in my eyes when I look at him? Remember to keep that hood pulled low.
He thought I hesitated, questioned my loyalty right away. Remember not to hesitate.
Is this living finally, or merely surviving still? The lines have not only grown hard to see,
they are no longer lines at all. At the very core of my soul, my choices are still very much
based on fear. Fear is what drives me, pulls me, and fear is what has made me who I am. Fear is
why every moment of my life I have wanted to pull the shadows around me and hide. If I could have
been able to hide before my life here, I would have been a much different child.
In all the winters I have seen, I have never felt I have a focus. I found love in the most
unexpected place, in a most unexpected person, but I did not feel I knew who I was, what I
wanted, or what direction I was meant to take. I had no focus, nothing to pour myself into being.
That is, until this day. This is why I wanted to write down what I am thinking. Today I found
something to focus on. I learned something that will stay will me, and if they are willing,
will change me forever. I will practice every moment I get, until I perform it perfectly. Perhaps
they will see my determination, and decide to use me as I learn to use them. I will find the way
to appease them. She has only begun to show me the way.
L