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After so many years, so many blank paged books filled with words she'd obsessively written down, the redneck sat at her desk, toying with the blank pages of yet another.

So much, there was so much she could fill its pages with, and many more. With a slight, soft smile flirting around the edges of her mouth she set out the inkwell and fountain pen she'd always used when writing before.

For now she left them there, laying in wait. She had to put things in order before she actually sat down to write.

(A journal thread, each reply will be an entry. )

I watch him sleeping and can't help but wonder; if I'd had to do it all again, to lose him again, would I have been able to stop myself from loving him?

The answer is, now and ever, no. All the pain, the loss, that hopelessly empty feeling I carried around with me for years, I'd suffer through that again, and again, for every moment. Every scrap of time he's with me, he's mine.

Once upon a time I'd shy away from committing something like that to words, even here where it's unlikely anyone will ever read it. Where I should feel comfortable enough with myself to let my happily ever after wishes be. I suppose, even with all the warding, all the layers of protection I've had slathered on so very thick around my lands, I didn't trust. Not even then, not even myself.

Now, I still don't trust really. There are a few, a very few that I do have trust in. A paltry handful of people I'd allow within my borders with no reservations. But now, I just don't care how others see me.

I believe in, so many soft and warm and tender things. And I want them all for me, the slices of those things that I'm supposed to have, I want.

With Roan, I get them. At least most of them. Whether or not I ever decide to have children, he's already Fathered a Clan and isn't exactly looking for more offspring of his blood. And I'm not sure how I'd feel about choosing a male to father a child for the two of us to raise.

And yet, I'd not change a moment. Not one. Not the sickening dread years ago when I saw him. When I watched him fading, wasting away moment by moment. Not that last night when I knew that another dawn would once again take away the man I love.

And sure as hells not that desperate too-afraid-to-believe-it joy when Baziou demanded I tell him where his father was.

I knew, as I'm sure he did, that it would be only a matter of time before he Named himself and let the Planes know Roan Vhenguir was still alive. And I knew that in that moment, he'd be tangled in again, spinning his webs far and wide. Retirement isn't the sort of thing Roan can handle. He needs to spark, the fight, the wild straddling of a thousand lines at once.

And he needs me. Just as I need him.

No, I'd not change a single thing. Not when I can lay my head on his chest and hear the double beat, shadowed by the third, of his hearts. Not when I can feel his wings tucking me in close, and watch his eyes roll back in their sockets when I run my finger nails, just along their base.

Hear the catch in his breath, the quiver in his frame. And know that no matter the temptation, the opportunity, always I'm his.

Sal.

Years ago he helped me unload a truck bed full of prank fun. An inflatable four ring high kiddie pool, and quite a few fifty gallon drums of vanilla pudding to fill it. Was supposed to be a wrestling match between two guys, followed by one between myself and another chick.

Didn't work out that way, but that was the longest stretch of time I'd spent in Sal's company at that time.

I'd seen him around, watched him be himself around the MT's porch more than a couple of times. And wondered. Knew he was equal opportunity when it came to who he was riding at the time. There was a really annoying guy who clung to him like a strangling vine, and a chick who tagged along after like it was her job.

Then Sal stopped coming around all that much, and hooked up with Sinjin.

Then my cheese hit the floor and I bolted away, hid away behind closed borders, between the thighs of a delicious pair of Baatezu based tiefling twins, under the mass of a former gladiator with scars latticing his back and tireless hips.

When I came out again, blinking like one of the lost things I'm so drawn to, there were so many of the ones I remembered from before. Right there, and most of them not asking any questions about where I'd been or why. Sometimes that's both a relief and a little, stinging. Sometimes I feel a compulsion to tell, someone, anyone, what the hells happened that drove me away, but I can't force myself to unload the avalanche of words on anyone that I used to use. Not unless they ask. And no one really has yet.

Tangents aside. And there was Sal. Older seeming, much older than a couple of years should have made him. Still with Sinjin, still belly-rub happy with the arrangement. And still someone I'm drawn to.

I know things now, things I refuse to put down on paper here because they're not mine to keep record of. They're not mine to risk. My property is warded to the hilt, not even an Elder Power can break through them before I can escape. But if I'm running for my life, I won't be thinking about taking my journals with me.

I will state, however, that one of the only things that's kept me from accepting his so very, refreshing invitations, has been the very real possibility of not coming out of the experience with my hide intact. I don't mind scars, and I sure as hell don't mind being roughly used (I'll freely admit to enjoying it) being roughly used and scarred however, no.

And I do not like the thought of putting limitations on sex. True, I'll tap out, literally tap out, when it's too much, but that's all.

Then again, perhaps, in the case of a few of my other entanglements, guidelines and boundaries and expectations settled and agreed upon beforehand would have saved a lot of ...fck it, hurt on my part.

Again, tangential information, sort of.

Lately I've been working on turning the roof of his home into a ...self-sustaining, food bearing, ecologically sound and friendly, retreat. And even without the help of the garden fae, I'm damn pleased.

More importantly, so is he. There's more work to be done. The roof needs to be finished, and eventually there's going to be something at ground level as well.

I, call him brother because no matter his blood or rearing, he is. One of my heart brothers.

Funny isn't it? That I can, and do, take those predators who make no apologies for themselves, who own themselves and their actions, as close to my heart as I do the ones who'd stand for the prey.

And I'll admit, sometimes, I'm damn tempted to take a taste of him.

I made a promise and the keeping of it, I'm afraid will damage the one I made it to. Damage him beyond, well beyond.

He's already hurt, and I don't want to be another layer over the top of what he's already shouldered.

But, I promised. And I damn well keep my promises. I just, need to find the right time and place to finish it out.

And I know I'm over thinking, over worrying. Or, I hope I am.

I need to suck it up and let the chips fall where they will.

The last little while has been, interesting, entertaining, to say the extreme least.

I have no clear idea where to begin, so I'll start with what's sticking out in my mind farthest.

Skid. I'm not sure exactly what he is, or for that matter who he is. But, at least when it comes to the latter part, I'm learning.

I've seen him around a couple of times, usually jumping on Sal (and not in a sweaty-tangled way, usually) and then they tie up in some sort of fight. Normally, since they're at the Inn, it's not a big fight, more like a scuffle than anything.

And I didn't figure he'd have an interest in talking to someone who wasn't, obviously special.

One day, what I have in me will be totally unlocked and usable and then I'll ..I don't know.

But, here's the really cool thing. Of all the people I've met in the last ten years, Skid's one of those rare people who look beyond the illusion. There haven't been all that many honestly. And while I'm not going on and on like some starry eyed fan girl with a carrot in one hand, a Rabbit in the other, and an altar set up with plushies and action figures at my feet, it's pretty cool.

He speaks, draconic I think. Speaks it as easily as I do Lakota or Squirrel, uses it pretty often. And something about him resonates Lower Planar, Abyssal I think. The chaos is too heavy there to be anything else.

The only reason I recognize the language is because I've heard a lot of dragons use it when they're damning me to whatever Pit they think they can send me to.

He gave me a coin, kind of like his number I guess? Said, last night, that if I just wanted to call and talk, he wouldn't mind it. Of course he also said to be careful because Sal might wind up getting jealous. And that one, I just can't see.

Still haven't kept my promise completely. I could fudge it, skirt it and say that I have actually kept the letter of my promise by looking. I just never said I'd relay what I found there. But that's bullsht, and I'm not really about bullshtting anyone, especially not myself.

I need to butch up and do this. As much as it's weighing on me, it's gotta be heavier on him.

There's more I could put here to both lighten, brighten the mood brought on by that last bit, and to bring it right back down again.

But for tonight, I'm not going to.

I'm trying very, very hard not to record and document everything like I used to.

I want to focus on the things I want to focus on, and not get bound up where I don't want to be.

Oh I remember that face. More, I remember what's hiding behind that face. What's driving it.

I watched, gods I watched for as long as I could remember, the woman who gave birth to me disappearing behind that face. Watched her being swallowed bag by bag, line by line, into that beast.

And now I'm seeing it again in the face of someone I cherish, and I've found something else to fear.

When I was little, very little, Mother was kind and loving, and gave a damn about me. She wasn't perfect, didn't match up with what we're supposed to think perfect moms are, but she was mine and she loved me. Then, as I got older, and so did she, I saw the changes.

The lines dissatisfaction carved in her face, the cheeks hollowing, the way her skin started hanging off of her was the flesh underneath started wasting. And that thing in her eyes, that thing that served me up to whomever had what she needed at the time. Slapped me on a platter and handed me off.

Turned a blind eye and a deaf ear as long as she got what she wanted, what she'd played with until it got its hooks in her and she needed it.

And this beast, now it's living in someone close to me. Already he's served up a friend in exchange for his fix.

"Remind me, show me who she is so I can stay away from all of you when she's around yeah?"

I won't. Won't run the risk of being one of those offered up to the altar of someone else's addiction again. And, it already turns my stomach to think that another one of my family is becoming some crackhead lapdog who'll do tricks until he gets his treat.

I don't know how to stand against this.

One of the lessons she taught me over the years she spent killing herself one line at a time, was pain. All kinds of pain.

The physical sort that was easy enough to get past after a bit, the emotional kind that scarred deep, and the mental kind that literally shattered me.

I know that standing against this, refusing to accept it as par for the course, I run the risk of losing that connection. I also know that simply pretending that this is the way it is guarantees the same outcome, only worse. Much, much worse.

Last night he let me bleed him, after I watched the anger clear out of his eyes. Sliced his wrist, cut the artery.

If I thought it'd do the trick and bleed even the want for it out of him, I'd've cut the other. Opened every vein I could find until his eyes were clear and faded yellow like a winter sun.

And fed him my own in return.

But, it's not going to be that easy.

"Don't fall in love."

He says these words to me, the most patient of smiles curling the lips I love spending hours tasting. Tracing the shape of with teeth and tongue and lips and fingers. I have actually, spent hours just tasting his lips and tongue, exploring the shape of each. I've found such, arousal in the listening to the small, stuttered sounds he lets escape his throat and nose when I kiss him and just, sink into the moment.

Give everything up to that meeting of flesh and flesh and... I'm distracting myself completely in the best of ways.

"Don't fall in love." He says this to me, pure deviltry in the curve of his lips. Because he knows. He knows that my heart is already taken. Already claimed and owned. My heart has already been laid upon the ground at someone's feet.

He knows he owns my heart, and has for the last decade no matter that we both tried convincing ourselves of.

"Don't fall in love."

"Well, that's easy. Except, you see, I already have. He's strong, and powerful and talented."

"Get my swor-ord."

"And smart. And can turn me into a quivering, wet, whimpering btch with the slightest of touches."

"I don't think I like this man. I think I need to kill him."

"No, you can't. You're not allowed to kill yourself."

I don't mind in the least that he softens me. I love that with him I have no fear, no worry, no awkwardness attached to showing my, smushy-squishy heart. I know he'll treasure it, guard it, and protect it.

Two years ago he caught me by my chin and forced me to nod in agreement to pretending I didn't know him. Two years ago he promised me death and pain if I got in his way.

If I tried to stop him going after every fallen, lost, or risen Power that crossed his path. If I tried to keep him from taking his revenge on certain parts of my bloodline.

And now. Now I promised to help him slap Suragot back. There's a rule in Orin's pantheon that no one can interfere with another, not once they've reached their place. I can though. I haven't Risen.

But by the end of this, it's damned likely I will have.

I'm scared. I'm so f-----g scared I don't know what to do about it besides keep putting once foot in front of the other and keep moving forward.

I don't want to die again. I'm really not ready to Rise. I don't to watch another friend die. I don't want to watch another friend slip further into madness.

I don't want to have to put him down like the mad dog he is.

Someone once used the phrase "May you live in interesting times." as a curse.

I'd dearly love to stomp a mudhole in their ass for it too.

It's been two months since I sat down to write here, and there are, as always, reasons for it.

Too much has happened that tempt me to venting on paper, to rambling rants and accountings like I used to.

And I'm still trying, so very hard to not go back to that.

Simply enough, Sinjin Fai returned, and things became, dicey. Rei and Sal are, no longer together. And there's no damn communication. It's obvious that they're not talking, and it's pissing me off.

Of course, there's a lot that's pissing me off.

I'm scared. Skid and Sin both say I won't lose Sal if I speak my mind, but. But, I've had someone once before tell me to speak my mind, to ask. And been slapped in the face with the fact that both he, and I were so very wrong. Been slapped down and pushed out and away.

I've lost too much family to chance it. At least, yet.

He'll leave again, Sinjin will. He's said so himself. Said I was right to worry. He didn't give me pretty words or empty assurances. And he volunteered more information than I asked for, when we finally got over whatever twitches we had and took the time to talk.

He's not what, or who, exactly, I remember from the Tavern. And that's, a good thing. I don't think he remembers me much from then either. We traveled in different circles, had different friends.

I wish, I wish I could be sure. I wish I could settle in with Sal and say to him:

"I'm afraid for you. Afraid you'll throw over everything you've built, everything you've become, and go back to being the person you thought you were when we had dinner. The one people only wanted around because of Sinjin Fai.

"I'm afraid that when he leaves again, you're going to fall farther and harder, and break more completely. That this time, or the next, or the next, no one will be able to reach you. No one will be able to touch you to help you remember how to come back.

"I'm afraid. I'm afraid of losing you."

But, I can't. I can't. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Because I know better than to trust where the heart has the bit in its teeth and is running with its ears pinned back.

I know better, because this is where I am.

My Roan. My Mate, my Love, my Heart.

Gone, thought dead, for years until found again. And in less than a month after his return, I was his again. Always his. Even in temptation, I'm his.

I have permission to play, but I haven't. Not really. Part of me wants to. And part of me would rather be just his. And another part of me is so very tempted to take someone by the hand, lead them to the Manor Roan's made his city home. Take them to a room and sit at the foot of the bed, watching as Roan plays. Waiting for permission to join in.

I love watching Roan play. And I damn well don't care where either. I don't care who watches, or who turns their head in disgust.

But, I know. I know worry and fear. Every day I still worry that Roan may not come back to me from the front. And every day I fear that the losing of him will break me again.

That I'll slide away again, and let it all burn to ash this time.

And I know, deep down, that I can't. That I won't.

I'll gather my broken and lost ones even closer and let them anchor me. Let them give me reason to remain. To try.

But, not today.

Today, I'll duel. I'll turn to Roan and we'll see who bites their lip and screams with their head thrown back first. I'll play with the ones I've gathered as family and loved ones. And I'll live.

We danced. Literally danced, in the 'DOME. From the floor up into one of the rings while Dris sang, and then while he and Icarus watched.

And as always when I'm there, when Roan's there with me, the worlds fell away. Everything fined down, focused in on that moment when we were moving in time with each other, to a rhythm set by flesh and bone and half heard song.

Then he told me. Without bandying words or playing coy he said to me, where all and sundry could hear: "I love you Thorn." And I told him "I love you Roan."

And those aren't words I hear all that often being said in public.

Now, here's what I mean by that. I mean that I don't hear people saying I love you openly, easily, freely. I say it, and it's only with Roan that it means as very much as it does there. When I tell someone I've taken into my heart as family, it's on a slightly different level. And I'm not going to split hairs of offer up my convoluted explanations because I don't have to. These words are more for me than anyone else.

The dance, the words, and the care he showed me, while driving both of us over the edge, again and again, with an entirely different rhythm and beat reinforced what he'd told me already. It hadn't been my fault, his anger and disappointment hadn't been directed at me. I'd just been the one who approached him first. When it was still fresh and too close to the surface.

And later when he left our bed to walk and see what he could see. When he returned to it smelling of sea air, and his plaything, I realized quite a few things.

I am jealous and territorial, but with Roan I'm not that much. Because I know he's mine. I know he'll come back to me and won't hide anything. He respects me, respects himself, respects us enough to be out in the open. And he doesn't expect things from me that he doesn't expect from himself. At least not in this regard.

I could explore this for hours, days even.

Instead I'll go down a different path.

Sal and Rei, split. Their relationship couldn't hold up between the illusions Rei spun, and Sal's, nature. His lack in certain areas.

And to be honest, Sal takes what he wants when he wants it and doesn't, maybe can't, think ahead to the consequences. More so in the Autumn, but the rest of the year he'll do the same. Just not as frequently.

They've been writing notes, letters, back and forth for a little while. Since that's communication, I'm glad to hear it. Even when Sal's biting his nails and looking twitchy and concerned, I'm glad to hear it.

I'm trying to stay out of it because I don't want Rei to feel as though he's being pressured. And because I want Sal to get up off his ass, quit hiding behind the excuse of whomever he's fucking, or trying to fuck, in that moment and talk to Rei.

I love him, but he pisses me off. And sometimes, when I feel like I'm not important enough to spend a lick of time with, without some excuse, because we haven't fucked yet, I want to kick his teeth in. When I have to tempt him with scaring some pretty guy just to come visit a home he damn well knows he's welcome in, I want to wear him like a shoe.

And because of past experiences, I say nothing.

Even when it feels like I don't really matter all that much, unless there's nothing to stick his dick in around.

"I'm not in this."

And I don't want to be.

Missteps, and miscalculations and dickery combined with two dominant males of differing ages and styles, who are both arrogant and strong and confident and very emotionally charged. Beautiful to behold. And terrible.

So terrible.

The day had begun well enough, damn well honestly.

Between the night before, and letting some aggression out there, and bleeding Sal, everything, fell away. At least for a little while.

Fell away enough that when he pushed me up against a wall, I gave him one hell of a hand job. Used both hands and some tricks that, I think may have surprised him a bit.

And for a while, it was good.

Better when I realized that his blood, even in the Autumn, doesn't break me down as quickly as it used to. Still burns like a bitch, but it doesn't tear me apart nearly as fast as it did the last time I came into contact with it. Guess that's a bonus from the fight with Suragot.

Hells, I just realized I have no clue how to actually spell that fucker's name. Suragot, Surgot, either way, same dick drip. And that's completely beside the point.

I'm changing a bit, maybe more than a bit, I don't know. Sensation is becoming more of a temptation than ever before. I very nearly tasted Sal's blood yesterday, despite having a bit of a clue what it'd do to me.

And even that, isn't the point so much.

Last night was a tournament.

And Roan confronted Sal. And it went, straight the fuck down hill from there.

I don't know if they'll manage to salvage a friendship after they're done, or if they'll ever be done. But I do know there's anger and rage between them now. More on Sal's part than Roan's, at least at the end of last night.

I stayed out of it, didn't try defusing the situation, didn't try talking either of them down. Didn't rush in to save one or the other or both of them from damage or pain. Or anger.

One is my Mate, the other my brother. I'd say I'm pretty damn invested. But.

By the end I had a headache throbbing behind my left eye, a heartache squeezing in my chest, and contempt.

At home, on the veranda, where he caught me trying, yet again, to smoke the same cigarette I've been trying to smoke for the last two days (I'm at half now), before I finally gave up and snapped what was left of it to pieces, we talked.

And what I learned there, I keep in my heart.

I did ask for a promise though. The same one I sent along wireless paths sometime after dawn today.

"I'm not in this, I don't want to be in this. Leave me out of it." From my Love I was given the promise, from the other only silence.

Though I'm fairly certain he's still raging and pissed. We'll see what there is to see in a day or two.

And then, Roan and I tucked up with a lovely bit of Nightmare between us to pass the night tangled together like a trio of kittens. And the evening got a lot better then.

So much happens so quickly. So many things change. But, at the core, they're really the same. For the most part.

I gave back my privilege to play if Roan isn't directly, right there, to either watch, or be part of. And being the stubborn woman I am, wouldn't take his back in return.

I'm just as afraid as he is, of the same thing, but he is what he is, and I am what I am. I'm born of humans, he's born of Succubus stock. There's a big difference there. As long as I'm not expected to ever take second fiddle to one of his toys, we'll be fine.

Celin's back in Rhy'din for the winter this time. He'll be staying damn close this year, he has to.

I have to learn to control it, or it'll control me. The island where we faced down Surgot, is now lush and wild again. There's nothing man-made up there. When we fought, when Dave was morphed and he, wisely, bailed, I was, gods. Shredded, literally, shredded. Torn in pieces, screaming and still trying to get up to fight. Roan had Sheshara handled, until I distracted him. Called out in need for more. More power, more of a reach, something to keep Surgot back and at keep the fight at a standstill. That's when I stopped fighting it.

That's when my subconscious took over and reached for what I've been fighting against ever since I learned it was in me. I Rose.

Almost two months ago, I finally accepted the burden and price in my blood, and stepped up to protect people I love from a fate worse than, well. It's cliche but still true.

And in those two months I've hidden it from pretty much everyone, even, especially, myself. Now, because winter's on its way and that particular season always has me on edge and territorial as hells and, yes, I have to learn, and I have to do it in a hurry.

Have to learn not only how to reach for, consciously, what's in me, but to take hold of it, to form it, and to wield it. To bend it to my will and not have it shake me like a rat in a terrier's mouth. Celin's helping me with this. Though, so far, his instruction takes the form of randomly jumping at me and shouting "grabit!"

I've been getting to know a woman, in the way of getting to know someone who may become an actual friend. Cass, she's, interesting. There's shadows and pockets in her that make me want to reach out and hold her close and safe and warm. And there's a strength in her that keeps me from offering just that until she's ready to accept the offer as it's meant to be taken; friendship and compassion. Comfort and ease.

There's parts in both of us that recognize the like in the other. She's an alpha, just like I am. Even when I wear the Fool's Mask and people assume it's the truth, I'm an alpha. Happily enough we don't have to dance around the fact that we both see it or pretend. And I enjoy her company, quite a lot actually. More than I usually do a woman's presence.

While so many people want to share their issues with the worlds like it's no big thing, I've learned better. What my mother did to me, allowed to be done to me, helped turn me into, not everyone needs to know. Ask me just right and I'll tell you, but I'm not going to wear my tragedy on my sleeve in an effort to gain sympathy or ass.

I'm better than that. I'm worth more than that.

I'm worth more than a lot actually. But, that's beside the point for the time being.

I like her, she doesn't pretend, she doesn't sugar coat things, and she's not above telling people were they can go. She doesn't coddle people or shelter them from the consequences of their own actions.

She's also Sal's sister. Adopted.

She, understands the point I'm at, and isn't making excuses. It's refreshing.

The first night Celin was here and made his presence known, I wound up being made male again. Once more fully functioning, male. At the end of the evening Roan, as a female, myself, and Celin went to strip clubs.

This was after I'd buried my cock in Roan's throat and my hands in her hair. Felt her tongue on my sack and her drool spilling down my thighs as I ground against those gorgeous lips of hers and emptied myself. And before I had her pressed against the glass of a shower stall, snapping my hips to slap against her just so to make her slick and hot and have her head lolling and her eyes rolling with a scream building in her throat. The dancer who we'd actually paid for to work herself inside the shower for our amusement, enjoyed herself nearly as much as we enjoyed each other.

I think she came again when I reached down to slide my fingers along Roan, gather up more than a bit of a taste, and offer the first taste to Roan, before I finished licking my fingers clean.

There are things happening that I'm not ready to write about. Things that I'll need to record the majority of as concisely as possible.

But for now, I need to remember to let someone know that I'll cut a new hole in his cock sheathes if they ever look at me in a manner I don't like again. Whether I'm male or female.

So much has happened just this week. And all of it, easing. Painful, terrifying, stressful, but easing.

Skid, another brother of my heart, and one who has quickly become so very dear to me. And in him, literally actually, I found secrets and reasons.

He's been, nervous around me, scared for me, since I told him of my Rising. And he knew. Knows. Knows how that sort of abrupt distance cuts me, rocks me in ways I can't seem to put properly into words. How such a thing, small as it seems to be to so very many, makes me wonder and fear.

And then, he took me into his mind, my mind into his, and showed me why because words, wouldn't have been clear enough. Even for me.

He's. Gods. I can only be what I am, and can only temper, for now, the need to offer comfort. To soothe him, even though it'd be more for me than for him and I damn well know it.

He showed me what could happen to me at any time, after he defeats me in actual battle, between now and the time he acclimates to my Power.

I jumped right in, didn't hesitate to meet him in the place of his choosing. Didn't think twice about letting him into my mind (that eye, that portal, is the bluest blue I've seen outside the rose in Mor's gardens). Didn't consider the dangers of putting my hand in his so he could lead me out of the borderlands between his and mine.

But when I saw the last thing he had to show me, I held back. Fuck, I flat out back-pedalled and tried to drag him with me. And now I know why touching him for the last week, or so, has been almost like touching a pissed off hedgehog.

Chains, black as pitch and still seeming bloodsoaked. Barbed and spiked and twisted and sleek and smooth, hooked to latch on and take hold. Those things, want to take me. To... I can't.

Writing this much seems too much. Skid's secrets are his to keep unless he chooses to share them with another.

And the price I paid for this knowledge was simple enough. "a page from the book of you and me." A page from the book our friendship was writing. A page that would always be, and never come into reality. Once removed that page would never, ever be written, no matter how many times pen and ink met page.

That page would have held the perception of, the ability to recognise and see the inking on his face. I know what tongue that was written in, and know that I may never be strong enough, or old enough, to even see it safely.

Just looking at his unmasked face (and by the dead gods of a thousand worlds he's as beautiful as my Roan, in a different way), seeing the script there, nearly killed me. This is no exaggeration. I felt it, worming and burrowing its way into the center of my mind. Felt the pressure building, felt the killing migraine working its way to life. Felt the pulses in my mind slowing, misfiring, going haywire and tearing into themselves.

I felt my brain coming apart at the cellular level, and felt it knitting itself back together again in the same instants. Had I looked upon him much longer, I'd've had died screaming with what was left of my brain leaking out of my ears, eyes, and nostrils. And I'd have been a long time about it.

Time there, and proximity. As I grow stronger, and gain better control, he'll be able to get used to this in me, and what's in him will be less likely to continue reaching out to take me.

As if I didn't already have reasons to work as hard, and as fast, to learn all that I could.


And when I returned home, and after falling into an exhausted sleep for, very many hours, I woke up to Branth kneading my stomach.

He too had a lesson to teach me. Something to show me. Between his methods, and Celin's, with the right combination (and maybe the exhaustion helped, made it easier for me to let go instead of fight for control), I finally figured out how to take hold of my power. How to reach out and touch it at will.

That was, Tuesday.

Wednesday evening, while I meant to watch the Duels (Sal and Skid are on a team for the Iron Fists this year), I couldn't continue to put off the debt I owed someone.

I tracked Dave down at the hovel of a motel he'd made is home over the last two years. The woman he'd made into a substitute for me wasn't there.

And from the way his hands clenched and twitched when I made him promise me that win or lose, fail or succeed, she lived, made me very happy she wasn't.

Desperation and blind luck have always been my blessings. In desperation guided by blind luck, I slipped into Dave's mind.

Hunted down all those broken paths and shattered corridors walking backwards down each one. Rearranging the shards, laying them piece to piece to end to end, filling in the gaps with something that was sort of like gold, but not quite.

It took me almost all night. And I didn't even try to rebuild those things as though they'd never been broken. I just, added to them here and there as they needed it. Reinforced them.

When I was done, I saw for the first time in over two years, sanity in Dave's eyes. The sorrow and regret, and disgust, wasn't tainted or tinged by the madness that'd been forced upon him.

He saw where he was, how he'd been living, and almost cried. When we were leaving, after he told the woman to leave, he left her a note.

"Thank you.
"Looks like we both get to live."

He's not going back there, and I don't know if they'll be together again or not. But for now, I can't worry over much about...damnit yes I can. She helped him when very few others would have. She helped keep Dave alive, even when she'd gone with him hoping he'd kill her and end her misery. I owe her.

Anyway, he's at the Den now, settled into his old suite, with the tiefling women from the Vale to help him in anyway he wants, or needs. And in at least one I don't think he considered.

It was sheer will and the power madness gives a person that kept him going, that gave him the strength he needed to get through each day. He's damn near emaciated now, his skin hangs loose over his bones, and what little muscle's left. His skin is, or was, filthy and just, wrong. He didn't even remember carving the signs and sigils into himself. Not clearly at least.

It's going to be a long, hard road for him to come back down. But, I have faith that he wants to.

And this brings me to Thursday, when the final, uplifting experiences of my week happened.

I'd been, randomly reaching out to grab my Power, and holding it for indeterminate periods of time. Just to get used to it I guess. And because I honestly thought I should practice. I was, thanks to Branth, shown the error of my thought process on that.

Doing that was why I'd been, so exhausted for the last couple of days. Between foolishly thinking I needed to keep practicing, and using abilities I have no training in, I'd wiped myself almost completely out.

This was when, after I confessed my foolishness to Roan, he decided it was a great time to work on my discipline. Without any of my rings, even the one around my rib. Spent two days learning how to maintain my control, my place in my mind, sitting in the middle of a fucking desert. No shade while the temperatures climbed over the one and a quarter mark. No shelter or fire when they dropped down around freezing.

When he decided I'd had enough, we came back. Came home again to the Villa. Settling in to rest, and recover, and heal, beside my Love in our bed.

Then he disappeared again because Mihail cornered me.

Honestly, I should have spoken to him before. Should have owned up and apologized. And just, listened to him. Taken the time to get to know him this time, and quit letting what happened before choke me.

"I don't blame you. Even when I was beating myself to death against the inside of that tank. Even when I was bleeding out on the front lines of the Blood War. I never blamed you.
"I loved you, and that was why.
"If I had blamed you, you'd already be dead."

Once upon a time, when I first came to Rhy'din words like that would've made me rethink my relationship with certain people.

Now I find them so very comforting.

Slightly less serious, but no less important:

I dueled in Magics for the first time, in a regulation Duel, on Tuesday night as well. Branth cheered me on. Sal would have, but there was a big to-do and the Isle makes him twitchier than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs on a regular night. That night, he bailed before I'd found my courage.

Braced a big assed Red Dracolich. He handed me my ass, but knew I'd been there.

I enjoyed myself more than I expected, but a bit less than I'd hoped. Have to give it a few more tries before I decide if I'm going to go back and forth between Regulation and the DOME, or if I'm just going to be one of the ones that take the DOME's duels more serious than the others do.

I like dueling. And I like that people take it seriously, I'm just not sure about how seriously they take it.

I like the atmosphere at the DOME.

Though, Sal did say he'd brave the skin crawling at the Isle for me. So that's a bonus.

I know I fell back into my old habit of chronicling events. I've been fighting against it for the last, well while now.

These though, they were too important to not record for later.

I remember this feeling. This worry and confusion and just, building frustration. It's part of what drove me behind my borders after I lost Roan.

No, it's what actually did send me off into an exile some would say was of my own making.

In fact, I'd had enough. At least this time I'm not as wounded as I was then. I'm not mourning so much. I haven't lost as much.

Happily I'm not the least bit interested in gaining rank with the dueling I've been doing. It's lost its appeal. At least, as of right now it has.

As part of the Yule/Midwinter celebration, I was given new journals.
New pages to fill bound in leather I didn't tan and stretch myself. The feeling is at once warming, and... odd.

The New Year has brought changes, as it always does.

And underneath everything else, I can feel the world of my Blood stretching and awakening. Feel Spring taking hold and nipping around the edges of Winter to send it back for another several months until her time comes again.

Within me I feel less angry. Less coiled to strike or evade, less prepared to spill blood to defend those I claim as my own. In truth this feeling's been easing for quite some time.

Helps that those I've claimed, for the most part, do not require that sort of protection or defense. They're fully capable of summoning their own strength to protect themselves. Whether it's literally their own strength, or other protectors, they have it at their disposal.

Life is a series of tides, the ebb and flow that brings both positive and negative. It is often difficult to remember this, to accept this. And just as often it's surprising when we realize that we've grown and changed in ways we're still surprised were open to us.

Years ago, before I ever came to Rhy'din, my fondest wish was to be Real. To be allowed to keep the Moments I saw through hazed, wavy glass thick as my thumb for my own.

And then, after my friends fought tooth and nail to bring me back from the dead, all those Moments were mine. And between them, the ill suited fit of my soul in my own skin, the loss of a love, and all the confused chaos in between and tangled 'round, I very nearly broke again. It was too much all at once.

But I learned, I reached and grew and accepted. Let myself stretch to accommodate these changes, these new things and experiences. For good or ill, I remembered how to take hold of every moment and wring it dry for myself. For no one else but myself.

And for a while, I stopped growing, stopped expanding, stopped actively working to be more. Stopped reaching out to take hold of whatever caught me in that moment. That, did not suit me at all.

With Roan's return to me that changed. Every heart beat of time I wring dry and greedily sip the juice of. Because that is another moment my soul, my heart, my all of me, is throbbing larger and stretching out toward.

I am more than I was twelve years ago. Vastly more.

I am more than I was six months ago. On levels not many understand.

I am more than I was last week.

I will be more, from moment to moment, than I was the last.

I can't get in. The Home of my Blood, I can't get there, can't touch it. Roan, Roan can look through, he can influence because he actually has followers there.

I, I don't. I'm still young and new and, obscure actually, enough that my followers, I think they're mostly all here in Rhy'din. Not that there's legions of them or anything, but there's enough.

What I know, what I know is second and third hand, though definitely from reliable sources. And what I know has me beating my hands against the barrier trying to get in to help. I've never really done much on Coi'cor, it's not my home yet, but it is the Home of my Blood. It's where I'll go when this life here is done.

It's the Home of my Blood, and it's in upheaval. The Pantheon is in shambles, shattered and reborn and split and destroyed and erased. The Pantheon, my Blood, is broken and it's fucked the Realm.

Fucked the people of the Realm.

An Accord was shattered, a god killed another just because he could. It was his trial, his judgement, his sentence that started this. Now there's four dead, and one of them Orin, my grandfather's grandfather, the High God of the Realm. Those left have been changed or destroyed or left alone. It's a confusing thing, and it fills me with both dread and a desperate need to do something.

Anything to help, I finally feel the call of the Realm in my blood and bones and the very center of me, and there's nothing I can do but keep building my strength and knowledge and skill here, and in the Abyss and beyond. These places will be, are, my proving ground. Cellin and Roan and Mor and others, my instructors and guides.

When the walls come down, or when I find a back door in, I'll be ready. I just hope it's not too little, too late.