Studies

Whispers, pleading, every book calls out to me begging me to lift it, to read it, to release its secrets into the world. The pages seep through my fingers like water, the words dimly lit and drawing me inwards, and for short periods of time, I am granted escape.

I have resumed my studies, caught in the current of trying to rise to Scribe-dom. I’ve always had an affinity for books and I have had access to some of the best libraries in Ar. Poems, stories, histories, all there, some hidden beneath a heavy layer of dust, waiting for their tales to be revealed.

I have rarely left my room since returning from COS, buried beneath bindings of leather and rence, open tomes bookmarked and laying all around me. I find myself sleeping at my desk more often than not as I try to inhale all the information around me. I have a lifetime of learning to cram into only a few months if I desire to reach my goal by the end of spring.

And for my graduation, I shall no longer wear the safety of brown.

I shall wear blue.

Baby's Breath

Solace has come in the guise of baby breaths so warm and comforting over my cheek. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed the sound of a child sleeping beside me, the soft snores and winsome smiles that appear for no apparent reason, until tonight.

We have reached the island of COS, though I have been discreetly missing from any formal events. Crowds have always made me uneasy; despite the fact that those here have welcomed me. I have spent as much time with Julian as permitted, not wanting to over step my bounds, even though I would like nothing more than to do simply that.

Lucian has been very understanding, more than I ever thought he might. He gives me space while I assemble myself back into the fragmented figure of being. He does not smother me with questions I would rather not answer, not that he needs to since my journal is never hidden, which gives him access to me in more ways than one, access that another would never have.

Forgetfulness is found in droughts of burgundy, private imbibements of neglectful blessings endured when memories become too strong. If only it was true, that I could begin again. But I cannot, for I have not yet been fully purged.

Delusions

Storms haunt me, threaten me and draw me into the past. They play on my emotions, teasing, taunting, terrorizing me with memories I’d rather forget.

A test of pain in auburn tresses. A familiar pang of want. Touch me. Bitter. Sweet. At times a toxic combination, a marmalade of misrepresentation. Physical pain is my lifeline to the living, the leash that holds me fast, my penance. My want, my need. It makes me feel alive and not the thing I have become, if only for a little while.

Blue is the color heartbreak, the color sorrow, the color of blood, neatly packaged in wrappings of pale. The color of calm. Taste me.

Secrets. A house that holds many, locked within the womb of each room. Waiting. Seeking. Decadence. Deliverance. Delusions.

I am still lost and trying to find my way. I am blinded to my path, unsure of which route to take. I am an open wound that refuses to heal, despite the fact that my body proves otherwise.

Family. I have found it again. And I am slowly going mad.

Fragility

I had a son.

Once.
Fragile little creature, dependent on those around him. But the curse that haunts me made sure he would not survive.

Choices.
There is no darkness without light, there is no wrong without right.
And I was dying. Starvation, torture, it is not a pleasant way to go. Be quick, have mercy. Choose.

Wakefulness.
The nightmares do not leave. They stab, they mock and they cut my heart up into tiny ribbons, gnawing at me from the inside out.

Silence.
No screams, no cries, no sorrowful voices soft and low to comfort. Only the cold stark reality of what I have become.

Tainted.
For me there is no redemption no retribution, there is no deliverance. I am guilty. I am doomed to walk the world of the living, watching, listening, but never feeling.

Emptiness.
I have nothing but the vacant shell that surrounds me. I have lost my children, one of which still breathes, but I cannot take a daughter away from her father, when I have already taken away his son.

I have told him everything. Every detail, no lies, no embellishments and he did not turn me away. Instead, he offered to feed me, he offered to take me home. He told me I can begin again.

Home. I’ve missed him.