Topic: I. Dare.

The Prime Fara

Date: 2007-02-16 02:33 EST
Tonight,

I trespassed against them, those teeming legions and the clouds that threatened. I still lay soaked and hungry and bloodied in my dreams, but it is secondary to the placidity of and pristine place that is my psyche.

War and its turbulance are lived by everyone. Whatever the scale, how meek or how grand it drives. I do not reel from my day's work and the sweat and scar in my subsconcious and skin. I am what I have done and I am my now and I am my future. The unsurpassed reliance I have upon unpredictability and possibility. I love the word impossible, and exceed it daily. I used to, ostentatiously, but I recover it gradually in this age. Such the way its brand on my shoulder is a fierce brown nigh a stark black in time's onslaught.

I am not to stay. Ayenee I will return to with arms open. There I will stay and maybe even open a tavern. But in this now and this current journey and mould I fit for myself I will take the town as it comes. Armies or arrogance, betrayel or mystique. All is beautiful, this I remember. Quietly.

No acrimonious judgements to pass my face. No slaughter by word.

If my enemies saw me would they know me" I've not passed by their evidence or trails of dead in many years. Six years since the Apocolyptic forces drew along the graft of a family I protected with sword. Horsemen and undead in the thousands drifting and there I was. And here I am, ruminating. I have slowed down and thoughtfulness, in me, a new trait, it causes laughter loose and unhurried. I ponder vocations. The fancy of demon slaying. Never was quite a past time and I had the appetite for it. Though the land is real and holds less severerity in its attention to old lore and fantasies. Dragons and Vampires and Elves not holding the same presumption or perspectives upon them are jaded" It is a quandry for those less attuned. I saw it coming. It does not phase me in the least bit. All will be free of history's noose. Nothing is perplexing any longer...

It disappoints me that, as I stare at the page before me, I have been so insensitive to the outrageous, the clever, the majestic. From the troupes and their own vagabond truth and the vulture eyes in the cleave of nobles, pressed tight against one another beneath the same umbrella that I have not been careless but a sheep, those performers and sooth-singers my uncertain gypsy heart compressed and held by, but pitter pat caught on the shielding dome wing above, a gentleman holding its handle graciously. Charity I felt to be loaned to these vagrants, thieves, unhappy meddlesomes. Not true..for I know I have been illiterate in my pursuit, I have? Incoherent in my speech and sign language as I grifted with the devil's and beaurocrats.

I like to think I am free. But thoughts like mine go unuttered, with only the rustle of this paper a subaudible reply.





Fara

The Prime Fara

Date: 2007-02-16 03:59 EST
To Wick,

You are a sole man to whom I mattered and though I feel you, it is not your seed that fathered my babe in years six prior to this very night. Outside it is cold and in my softness I cherish what you gave me in lingering, in coming for me while I was ruined.

I have a child. I was someone's lover once, but someone's mother forever. I feel the halo of our spring when I walk bare foot along a stream and relish pebbles smooth and cool beneath my feet. For you were tender and it scared me. i misinterpreted you. You need never think I tried to dispell your kindness, I had not the chance I mention, because I never accepted you then.



I miss you. I braided Cryler's hair and sung beneath my breath the simpers I grew up with. Those ballads for a winter's morning dreary. I make pan cakes and gather the ripest fruit, sometimes over ripe, in eagerness. Sometimes I get flashes of another kind of fancy and hope you'll be observing.

I never loved you then, so why do I think I must now? I think it is guilt. A lie the body tells itself. Denial the flood to my nerves and emotions in vulnerable disquiet. I turn and peel my scarf away and you are not there. I hope and I sometimes pray, to god and goddess, the within and the without, that might give you to me on a leaf-ridden wind. In golds and oranges your foot prints would be hued...

I have warmed the wax and it cools so I will seal this and send. I snuffed the candle to write in darkness. Blindly I write, promising myself it is so reflections and light do not confuse. Really, it is because I like the chill of it and my hiding. I am sleek and alone and secretive, hoping you're the kind of man who will still come inside when the blinds are down and the door is locked and the window is open.



I should hope to return to Ayenee in the next autumn where I can run with the leaves and be lost in a torrent to your feet.

Fara

The Prime Fara

Date: 2007-02-17 07:31 EST
Tonight,

I am angered. I feel lethargic, the onset of a chill. But more to that, the unforgiving nature of the past. You take a grain of salt and you walk with it, but for long" Is an adulterer always an adulterer" A pedophile always a pedophile" I am always a huntress by heart"

I feel a lunatic with ink and quill and paper my only if my last resort. It is only the warmth soft breaths in the room beside me that awaken me to the softness I cling to in this age. Moving from town to town with our cowls hiding our faces, following a carnival wind, and where do I take my child" What path do I lead her down"

I lay sobbing a few nights back. I reached out at nothing and wept for the chances I have missed. It is this cruel new perception that Motherhood has imbued me with.

I am undecided on my future and know I cannot possibly continue to give my own this nomads trek. It is unfair. Having to readjust, acclimatise, adapt, I'd not have liked it as a youth. There is only so long that new smells and welcoming, stranger's faces and winds of billiard can hold mystery and titillation. I would not have my offspring disillusioned so young. I already see it pass over her face that gentle look of "Oh, but I have seen this before..." as it registers to a nubile mind, fresh and ready for its being steeped in experience, exprience ravishing in its newness but no less discouraging and difficult when it becomes habitual. Which I fear it has and why I am anchoring ourselves here.

I stood by the window after putting Cry to bed and pondered my reasons for giving her the middle name I did; Levity. Cryler Levity Bosenleir. I would envision that word like solitaire cards and my guiding hands setting the pattern, knowing the arrangement of the letters at the back of my eyelids as I sat in deep consternation or prayer on a cliff face in my days of remoteness. Each tattoo on me a sigil of my solitude. That word, levity, joyous always, and I live this through my embrace and meals and tokens, that I appreciate her life. That I give mine over to seeing hers beautiful. As it can be. But I have my prices to pay, maybe because of the lives I took. How I can be so loved and so close to my daughter, or known by many, in the swirls of friendships, and feel tired and angered as I do now.

Completely alone. Unmoored. Dislodged.

I think Cryler manages perfectly. She is detached from each life, city and kinders, leaving off and moving in with the ease a fiddler skips from sombre to shrill; an assurance, a sophistication, and so young. As for myself, I do not write or process in this ink that I live with ghosts, for I'm not that nature, I don't drag those memories or regrets like carcasses behind me. I don't need shoulders. But I know that without the purpose of being a killer, a precision, that independence is no function and has no place in my life of import and I burn. That I need to hone my skills in an area and have something to fight for. A place for my rage and fearsome strength. It is there, and I know it not to grow dormant, but see it might claim me in my sleep and I awaken bitter, beyond repair.



Fara

The Prime Fara

Date: 2007-02-17 07:56 EST
The morning,

Cryler found me teary eyed and as I took her onto my lap and wiped sleep from the corners of her delicate, sorceress eyes, filled in possibilities and so rare and clever on a child, she looked at me and seeing the letter by my elbow on the table, by the mess of dried wax put the pieces together and with a newfound tongue, so sage

"Mother, it's on paper now. Out of your head"

The nine wisest words in seventeen seconds of a life that has spanned the gruel of that salt grain. I pulled her against me and stroked her scalp, kissing her forehead with feed of my thanks.

The preservation of a pristine mind and for her a clear nursery was vital, absolutely imperative. Daughter like Mother, we are peculiar souls, reminding one of the other in secret moments, I thought as I watched her features as she awoke to another day, the morning light, the smell of tears and wax. If only I had over written it with pastries and juice. I don't want for her to learn anything before her time, for children like that eventuate into adults that are either making up for or stuck in their pasts. I want only for her a pleasant now, every day of her life.

Needless to write pastries were bought; that I took her to the Markets and let her carry the basket, her favourite thing to do, and I let her select the nicest peach, feeling the velvety skin for hardness, moulding grapes and figs in her tiny palms. I encouraged a forgetfulness of the unmended. I wear glamour, like that of Faerie, every day for her. I do not lie I simply conceived early on in my pregnancy that she would know only me as her Mother, not a killer, not a fiend.

I can only hope I am doing so successfully. And that those unexpected moments like this morning, when she glimpsed my pain, it was her seeing Mother.

I fear for her in my sleep, on my walks, while bathing in the stream. I encourage positivity, I know the errors of my life. I wish for her never the dungeons I have known, rank and fetid air, that disgusts and can be recalled at whim.

I am her solipsist; her desire I bade to. A child must not be spoilt, and I am fortunate she is noble in her aspirations-not candy or syrup before bed, but to carry the fruit basket and select the fruit and put me in my place, that glistening in her eye of satisfaction. She'll be the one to care for me. Love me with a sincerity and immeasure no man can hope to enact. I do not believe it is possible. I know what a good spirit she is already. It is true in my bones, as gratifying as when I killed a man that deserved his pre-death torture. I can be morbid, but life's beauty is often precursored by blackest silk coating, such as I imagine privately; it is the contrast that has us appreciate, such as my being inherently dark, as it would seem, and her very life, the light. I live these days to compliment her pale, shying my currant hued fetter from her.

These grusome, clumsy egresses obliterated in my smile. Things no child should know. She shall harness that brilliant disposition, I will be her friend, as she is mine. To the end

Fara

The Prime Fara

Date: 2007-02-18 21:42 EST
Today,

I awoke early, to a start, dreams of a family of men and I was courting each of them. It was peculiar and I am certain informed by my subconscious, all my aspects, having to reconcile with the now and the new life that bleeds into the future.

There is no greater present than this moment and I am absorbed and collectively healing with this as a fact rather than some abstract notion. Such ideas were trifles to me upon being a singular solitary shark woman pacing the wastelands with death in my stride. I think it was not healthy and that last night was much needed, anti thesis, with the aspects of me that still struggle. Yuki is a fine man, a noble sort, and I found pleasure indulging in conversation and closeness with a musician. They operate on an entirely different level than I do, however I appreciate his nuances and welcome his perspectives and song and style.

I have been undecided as to whether it is well or even due to introduce my dove to society. Not in any formal way of course, but I labour over this decision, I am restless with it and cannot picture her any other way but frightened and hid behind my legs inside my coat, clutching on for dear life. She is more socially inclined and adept than I ever was, now or at her tender age, and naturally I worry, but perhaps as I have needed interaction with a different side to life so should she. To be open to all qualities. I wish only to not misrepresent her. It is this unmarred protection I seek. I am more firm and fit as a guardian to my blood than I ever was to the royalty I proclaimed my own, when by blood or ilk we were incomparable. It is nuisance and nonsense to believe it should be so that strangers are closer. Cry is dear to me, but I do think some part of me resists the mass and options for her to know enemy or stranger by look and smell and speak better than her friend. It does not sound wise on my tongue as I mouth these words I write, however it rests easy on my conscious.



I will visit the Inn tonight. I will bring my own with me and allow her to blossom as she wishes, with those my instincts are not prickled by. She should be radiant and I'd be the last to hide her genes and bewreathed hair, strewn in dandelion and babies breath that I plucked with her and then tied through her long oak coloured hair. I should like her to make friends. I have a history and though it should not repeat, someone may yet have a grudge and I must have stage wings to access for her should my sword be drawn and blood spilled for the succession of what I portend if only in second nature; unpredictability tempered by instinct.

I will bathe in the stream, soon. I would like to relax and feel the ice old waters at my skin and the peekaboo sun on my bare legs if only for a while. I take these small joys in great doses when allowed.

Fara

The Prime Fara

Date: 2007-02-19 02:27 EST
The afternoon,

I waited for the hint of moon, a faint beacon, before I returned to our home. Cryler was playing with some kinders from the neighbouring villas and as soon as I got there they all ran up and began pulling at my damp cotton and begging for me to play hide and seek. We all ran around laughing and yelling like hooligans and I managed to be caught first so was always who they called "it!". Cryler was very fond of these children. I asked her about it as we strolled hand in hand back to our nest and she said she loved their clothes and that they were always smiling. It was nice, I recalled, when getting along with people was not a chore or for maintaining appearances, but a pure and raw experience shared between those not at arms; but still I do wonder of her affinity. I do know she senses places and people more readily than I, as children do with their jaw gaping and eyes wide. I think she likes it here a lot, already, and the more I take it easier and smell the roses as those minstrels say, I am growing fonder of home, here, myself. The stream is convenient, the nest is more than adequate for two girls, one being a child at heart I had gathered, after the raucus ripping and tearing through the wind in the day's dying glow. It was something else, feeling all sweaty and pooped like that. It was exhaustion from enjoyment. These simple privilages. They feel like that to me, after what I have done. Somewhere along the line I must of done something right to be afforded this. This opportunity, which is part my hand's lending and two the mission of fate, serendipity, excelsior...

After bathing we sat to listen to the insects buzzing eventide. In not too long I'll head out. I felt like writing about today for it felt like this is how the rest of my days should be. At least for a while. I'm smart enough to know the way the wind blows for a woman like me.

I had an interlude with Wick and I am confident in the wind's taking him again. And unregrettably, I am relieved. He is and always will be too little in scope, too distracted, too petty. I am better than that, and I have learnt the past should not be revisited. Now my energies are poured into moving forward. No looking back. If not for myself, this is for Cryler, my Levity.

Fara

The Prime Fara

Date: 2007-02-19 05:32 EST
Awareness,

I stalked home tonight, like I had a storm in my heels. Poor Cry as I led her inside lecturing about the hour and how I had let time get away. Wasn't fair that I expell my own sourness on my dove, but I was ridgid, prickly, not comfortable in my skin. Like as warm as I tried to be I kept envisioning myself the last twig of winter, shivering in my private malice.

Yuki asked me how I felt about the sunrise, which spurned my incredulity of him. What kind of question is that' To me it was and is ridiculous; it is what it is like anything in life. No matter if someone hates me or loves me I'll have brown hair and blue eyes and tattoo's and scars and a sharp tongue. It doesn't change. I don't put much stock into sunrises and strangers.

I am so impassioned. I need productivity, and I think tomorrow I shall take charge and look into my options. Slaying the ghouls and goblins spices my blood like a charm. Just the thought...

Yuki lays healing in his room, now. He was shot. Some dart came out of nowhere. I'm already fading backwards from this gloom. No more bleak circles concentric. No more of it.

Fara

The Prime Fara

Date: 2007-02-20 04:33 EST
Accosted,

I was incensed by the idea my new life here was to be threatened. It is of good fortune for little Yuki that I had not the inclination to bargain his life between needle point and stitch; I've a horrible appetite for endangering explicitly those that cross me. His idea were profoundly suggestive and came from a man who is greatly uneducated about me and my particular strain. I am a killer. I just take it easier these days. If I had told him it may have lessened the blow, but I was not for words in my state.

Earlier, I lay holding Cryler for a while, curled up beside her in bed. I wanted to lie there all night but it was ridiculous to be prone to a mini-minstrel's weakness induced diatribes. I am uneased yet, if only that be my old work's having me belligerant in moments as these. Crlyer is my darling and I will not have her harmed. Of course my first week here brings about a drama, and I write this with a steady hand.

I have the weaponry now I need the employer. How does Death advertise herself? This is was perplexes me. A simple equation in a most unusual town.

I am finding that writing out my day is helping to shape the following. It is remedial and important for me, now, for my mind to remain crisp. I have seen that I have an entire side to my self that is passionate and romantic and classically alligned; thoughtful and an idealist. It is almost shocking, but it is carved in ink on paper now. I should think such a side was first explored with Periill, the night we made Cryler. We spoke of symphonies and sonatas and spring, such illuminated stages of life, days in luxury with the art. I found it intoxicating then and hypnotic even now, however I am no artiste', they are a breed all their own. They often inhabit the worlds they write of, while I am so attached to reality, it is an impossibility and not one I wish to exceed; I see it as unhealthy and dillusional. While I can appreciate the deep thought in a certain extract, it is acknowledged in passing. Which is why I respected Periill, for he held me in place, largely against my will in the initial stages of friendship, but I needed to be be given the proverbial slap around, and be looked in the eye and leveled with. Compromise, what a concept. And an ugly word.

Inamorato, Periill.

Fara

The Prime Fara

Date: 2007-02-20 21:43 EST
Sitting,

I feel like a lady in waiting. Though the outcome of my abstaining from travel and removal of units and fixtures of this anchoring I do not know. I will not bargain with the trifles as I once considered them and place any worth of mine upon feeling. I am a woman of action, and so this too frustrates the mover in me or rather, the essential part of my nature that responds best to constant movement. It is less paranoia and more habitual, as is much according to me and what it is that I must break.

I substitute my urges for the sensation of wholesome love as I hold Cryler and stare at the passing strangers in the Marketplace or watch her and the kinders go ragtag. I am learning, even in these years, this my twenty-seventh near Spring the importance of patience. At nineteen I was flamboyant a fighter and knew nothing of pace other than I walked too swift for the foe and had no time to waste. It was all about my will and my way and being unchangeable and steadfast despite the seasons.

I am comparatively distant to whom I used to be, and have grown into certain traits more than others. Fortitude, sovereign, temperance, jubilation my main four in all times. The latter being the one I most liken myself to beneath my calm. I feel my spirit is festive, festooned in colour and confetti. My imagination has ripened and the more I write and stare at these quickly crinkled pages I note the drastic and wonderful evolution I have come into. I still place much emphasis on Periill and Cryler as having made me better for their kind hearts and no limits love, but I know I have always been strong and steady and my self sufficience was always my own doing.

But as I finish this off I am heavy with the view I look to every so often as I illustrate this my internal world. The slow wheeling of the wintry blue sky at my window. It is a giant marble that rolls and rolls and swirls and spins and sometimes is so expansive it makes me feel as if I am drowning within its lean upon me. The universe sits in shivers within my gut. I am pregnant on this revitalising essence. Black smoke rises in the distance and I am excited with this wonder within and at the without; a nearing gypsy band? These juvenile thrills I still have, expressed only and ever on page. I am sitting here smiling like a fool, grinning like a Jackie Lantern. I feel Samhain's ghosts walking with me, those of the past shoving me into the future. All Hallowed and incandescent, I feel to travel into that ribbon trail of smoke and spirit to the brisk wind and the scent of sorrowful music woven on a fiddle. My heart and throat grow tight, even now, so far from this. I think I must travel and sit and wait and watch with this quiet amazement deep in my blood, and it is awoken from its dormant flicker by these groves of possibilility. The tattoo of 'Peril' that rides below my upper arm seems so beautiful to me now, as nothing is more exciting than danger cast within tantalizing newness. I feel these words so stark on the page, nonsensical. But it is my truth and therefore valid and real and guiding.

The smoke is fading, the troupe' is moving north, or perhaps south, I cannot quite tell as I do not know which way the wind forces the semaphore. I do wish to take Cryler there now, find a treatment for this caustic tongue and sibilant soul, for just one night. To not say a word, not that I speak much, but to be wholely silent and filled only on the speak and sounds of that achingly slow migration of blue sky and cloud and the myriad instruments which entice.

I should hide this letter, for it reeks of lunacy..

Fara

The Prime Fara

Date: 2007-02-21 17:11 EST
The first day of the last foot in the sand,

I sunk into granules without a way out. I had been standing at the foot of a mountain only to end at its furthest outcrop. High, too high, so my collapse into the woods was slow and meek and left me hid for days. When I was found my a good farmer's wife I was rehabilitated in a cottage to the far South, where Ayenee divided into purple mountains or grassy fields for miles and miles. They said I looked like a young woman with the mind of a distinct; an adept, a psionic, a killer. I told them I was none of the above and my time in solitude was my wanton need to remain solitary and condemned to my faith had led me to an almost death. I lied, I had to, to be healed. Otherwise it would have cost me. Death, almost. So close, too close, considering I had no blades or staff at my hand. It was corruption because I was inadequate in my skin.

When I left them I learn there to maintain my sense of strength in all times. I knew as I trekked the hills that I was succumbing to a tenderness towards places and people that was shocking me and sending me into distress. I have not been an analytical nature, however then I was descending. The inklings of that lunacy I feared.

Yet now, I descend again, torn between remaining steadfastly bold and lean or becoming plump and rich in kindness. I look back on my helping Yuki; preparing him a meal and taking him to bed and how I was punched in the face for it. Whether it is his painful insecurity or his means to creep into my kinder side, I do not know, or even a symptom of his sickness, but he hurt me with his taunts, aimed at my weakest point, the security of my daughter. I do not care for spite, it is a meagre joy for a juvenile heart. We all have a child in us, as I care for my music, however there is time when one must evolve into someone greater. His commentary was outlandish and proposed to me how dearly troubled he is. I asked him to go and he continued to weep and address me. Can I not be clear enough without my blade? Must I be merciless always, has Ayenee taught me that much' Or nothing at all!

I am writing out too that I am reconvening on the slayer's path. I think there are far more noble roles to fulfill. I look on the Slaver's associations that still run rife in Ayenee, last I heard, and as I have seen in passing through Rhy'Din. Perhaps I could stand for what was right, with words, rather than muscle. I do not know. So much I do not understand yet of my own changes. Which way I am to go. I am not in struggle or definition, but I am considering what is best a position for not myself, but for Cryler. What can support her and similtaneuously harness my fighting spirit. There are options and I play solitaire at night as though at tarot, flipping over, preempting what I might find beneath a certain card. There are many hearts. And many spades. I suppose to get to the root of things I must unearth the pain and the pride to get to the drive within.

How wise the intuitive are. I am changing still, at twenty seven, where I believe I know everything there is to me, but I am changing still.

Fara

The Prime Fara

Date: 2007-04-05 01:55 EST
Night,

I have returned from my journey to the mountains of the Kalahi. There I stayed with my daughter and pretended that I did not long for Ayenee and time alone in the wider world, visiting theatre and watching gladiators, pretending to be solitary.

It is a discipline I was not trained for, to be a mother. I behave differently, unique to myself, having a child to rear and protect.

I learnt that I am not necessarily calm. Not in being a nurturer. Yuki made me greatly uneasy, he brought an anger into me that had me so discomforted I fled until this point, these recent days, to write and be known, to explore with word, to process my distress, my freedom. I do not like to think I am so soft that a stranger who bares empty threats can harm my peace. For me to be so weak that I ran away with Cryler because she is everything.

It is a scenario I will grow into, become relatively serene within.