May 2 -- It's only half past the point of oblivion
Dear Diary,
Yesterday, my cousin Llew married Sidoni (formerly Sherbourne, now Wheaton, I suppose). I remember very little of the ceremony or what followed, which is a horrible admission from Llew's sole living relative, but perhaps I'm simply that horrible of a person. They're both really happy, which is what matters, and I hope they stay that way. I hope that they don't burn brightly and burn out. I hope their first year--and every year that follows--brings them joy when they think back on it. I hope most of these things for Llew's sake... he deserves happiness.
It's funny, I think, that their wedding took place on Oliver and my first anniversary. I couldn't help but compare the two events. When Oliver and I married, we did so under the cover of night, on the fly, and with barely anyone attending. I didn't have many friends back then (still don't, to be fair) and Oliver had more than enough enemies, so we kept things small and quiet. Initially, Dad was going to perform the ceremony and it was going to be something naval-related... we'd marry while touching his ship or something so that he could perform the ceremony as captain. Stehl found out, though, and insisted that he perform the ceremony himself. I don't remember our vows, but I do remember that Stehl wasn't shy about saying that he thought we were both idiots. Still, I know he was happy for us and wished only good things for us.
It's been one hell of a year, that's for sure. Three days later, when we should've been on a honeymoon or at least just enjoying our life (and unlife) as newlyweds, Patrick Morgan came along and kidnapped my husband. He tortured Oliver for... Light, was it just three days? It felt like an age. And then started a riot with the intention of publicly executing Oliver as the climax. I saved him, though. Oliver, I mean. Patrick Morgan can rot in hell.
For those first six months (roughly), life was an ebb and flow of tragedy and peace. We'd enjoy a few weeks of calm seas followed by storms that nearly tore us apart. Patrick Morgan remained an unfortunate but consistent theme for several months until he eventually faded from what anyone cared about. Other minor hells took place. We both lost control, broke each other's hearts, returned to each other. We've both learned a lot about ourselves in this time.
September brought Dizzy into our lives, a change that I'm not sure was for good or for ill (I am a horrible mother). She brings us happiness sometimes and enables us to pretend to be normal, but she's also brought us another chapter of hell that's only just recently ended. It pains me to admit that she's the only thing we ever seriously disagree about--I think the blame for this rests squarely on my shoulders. I should be able to cope with the situation better and be happy about things regardless of how difficult they are. I shouldn't fear her so much. Oliver thinks I hate her, and this isn't entirely true. I don't hate her. I hate that I have to remind myself that she's not Ariadine. No mother should have to pause when she sees her child and remind herself that said child isn't about to start torturing her.
But Dizzy is at school now, and Light-willing, she'll return for the summer soon enough and have grown more than her progress reports lead me to believe.
Dizzy aside. Patrick Morgan aside. I'm thinking of Oliver today. I'm thinking about how insane I am to be with him... he is, at the core, a beautiful monster, capable of killing me with a carefully-placed movement or even thought. His very blood is poison. It's a miracle I'm not dead already, dead or undead.
Sometimes, I wish he would kill me. Sometimes, I can tell that he wants to, just as a passing thought... it's part of our shared madness. If I died, he would be able to bring me back to unlife and we would be eternally together. I don't want undeath, not by any stretch of the imagination. The idea of spending eternity as an undead monster doesn't appeal to me, but the idea of having more than another sixty years with Oliver does appeal to me. At least now that I'm damned for performing necromancy, I won't have to worry about being separated from him when I finally do pass on. He'll follow, I know, not too long after. Perhaps the Light will show us some mercy and allow us to suffer damnation together. That's what I hope for.
What a horrible thing to think.
It's occurred to me (at least partly, I think, because I was highly drunk today) that the only person responsible for my happiness is myself. I can sit here and complain about the way life has gone for me, I can sit here and stew in this depression that's taken hold of me since November (maybe? Perhaps earlier, I'm not sure). I can let my life exist under a raincloud or I can try and look at the silver lining of it all, and the best silver lining I have is my husband.
Through it all, through this hell, he's been there with me, and I've survived because of that support. I've tried to support him as well, though I've no idea how well I've succeeded. He's stronger than I am, though he believes me to be the stronger one. I'm not strong. I can't put on a happy face and pretend I'm alright when I'm not. All I can do is become a horrible bitch to everyone I care about because I trust that they'll understand... they aren't what makes me angry. Life is.
But Oliver is strong. He's been through a worse hell than I could ever dream of and he's able to smile and be good and kind to people despite this. He's despised and tortured, but he bears it with a smile and forgiveness for those who've done him ill. He's a monster, but he still has hope that he can be redeemed (even if he doesn't admit he does... he wouldn't persevere in doing good without that hope). It tortures him daily, what he is and what he's done, but he still gives and gives of himself until there's little left to give, and it makes him so beautiful.
He's made me a better person. I've met so many people and seen so many relationships this past year that weren't like that... where the individual participants made each other worse simply by being around each other. Where the selfish desires they each had fed and became monsters in and of themselves. And while I'm selfish when it comes to Oliver, he's made me reevaluate the way I was living my life. It's a good and a bad thing, interestingly. A year ago, I would've loved Idle Hands as a company. I would've thought that high risk ventures for profit were the best thing I could do with my time, and what's more, I would've hired us out to be assassins as well as explorers.
But now, I wonder about the cost of it all. Is it really worth risking lives for coin? Maybe I just say this because Oliver and I could likely afford to buy the entire town of Surwich if we wanted, but I don't think that's the case. I think it's just what we're risking out lives for... some people in the company risk their lives for the thrill of discovery and adventure. Others do it for the profit involved. Neither of those things appeal to me... that's Oliver's doing. The things he does, he does for two reasons: either to sate the needs of his blade or to protect and care for others. Sometimes, the two needs coincide. He struggles with working for Idle Hands because it only occasionally meets one of those needs, and while it's enabled him to provide for his family better than any other financial venture he's seen in his life, it's not what he's called to do.
Increasingly, it's not my calling either.
Stehl spoke with him, as did Riley (you will always be Riley to me, no matter how firmly you state that he's dead). They want him to join their military unit, a division in the Seventh Legion. I've heard of them before; from whispers, they're the "suicide squad." Oliver wants to be a part of it... his blade calls for him to rejoin battle.
Battle calls for me, too. The trouble is that I can't walk.
My leg still aches all the time, but Oliver suggested that there's hope, even if Lius was quick to dismiss the idea. A druid--I don't know her name, but she wore the division's tabard--suggested that perhaps she could help. Either way, it will be ages before I can fight again the way I used to. Perhaps I can work through it myself. Perhaps I have more hope than they want me to believe.
Perhaps.
It's odd. A year ago, I would've given up, honestly, and resigned myself to being trapped in a motionless body for the rest of my life. A year ago, I would've simply accepted this as my fate. But being with Oliver has changed me, within and without. He's given me reason to feel hope. He's given me a reason to make myself happy. He's given me a reason to be a better person.
And really, no one can ask for better in a marriage.
-S.
Yesterday, my cousin Llew married Sidoni (formerly Sherbourne, now Wheaton, I suppose). I remember very little of the ceremony or what followed, which is a horrible admission from Llew's sole living relative, but perhaps I'm simply that horrible of a person. They're both really happy, which is what matters, and I hope they stay that way. I hope that they don't burn brightly and burn out. I hope their first year--and every year that follows--brings them joy when they think back on it. I hope most of these things for Llew's sake... he deserves happiness.
It's funny, I think, that their wedding took place on Oliver and my first anniversary. I couldn't help but compare the two events. When Oliver and I married, we did so under the cover of night, on the fly, and with barely anyone attending. I didn't have many friends back then (still don't, to be fair) and Oliver had more than enough enemies, so we kept things small and quiet. Initially, Dad was going to perform the ceremony and it was going to be something naval-related... we'd marry while touching his ship or something so that he could perform the ceremony as captain. Stehl found out, though, and insisted that he perform the ceremony himself. I don't remember our vows, but I do remember that Stehl wasn't shy about saying that he thought we were both idiots. Still, I know he was happy for us and wished only good things for us.
It's been one hell of a year, that's for sure. Three days later, when we should've been on a honeymoon or at least just enjoying our life (and unlife) as newlyweds, Patrick Morgan came along and kidnapped my husband. He tortured Oliver for... Light, was it just three days? It felt like an age. And then started a riot with the intention of publicly executing Oliver as the climax. I saved him, though. Oliver, I mean. Patrick Morgan can rot in hell.
For those first six months (roughly), life was an ebb and flow of tragedy and peace. We'd enjoy a few weeks of calm seas followed by storms that nearly tore us apart. Patrick Morgan remained an unfortunate but consistent theme for several months until he eventually faded from what anyone cared about. Other minor hells took place. We both lost control, broke each other's hearts, returned to each other. We've both learned a lot about ourselves in this time.
September brought Dizzy into our lives, a change that I'm not sure was for good or for ill (I am a horrible mother). She brings us happiness sometimes and enables us to pretend to be normal, but she's also brought us another chapter of hell that's only just recently ended. It pains me to admit that she's the only thing we ever seriously disagree about--I think the blame for this rests squarely on my shoulders. I should be able to cope with the situation better and be happy about things regardless of how difficult they are. I shouldn't fear her so much. Oliver thinks I hate her, and this isn't entirely true. I don't hate her. I hate that I have to remind myself that she's not Ariadine. No mother should have to pause when she sees her child and remind herself that said child isn't about to start torturing her.
But Dizzy is at school now, and Light-willing, she'll return for the summer soon enough and have grown more than her progress reports lead me to believe.
Dizzy aside. Patrick Morgan aside. I'm thinking of Oliver today. I'm thinking about how insane I am to be with him... he is, at the core, a beautiful monster, capable of killing me with a carefully-placed movement or even thought. His very blood is poison. It's a miracle I'm not dead already, dead or undead.
Sometimes, I wish he would kill me. Sometimes, I can tell that he wants to, just as a passing thought... it's part of our shared madness. If I died, he would be able to bring me back to unlife and we would be eternally together. I don't want undeath, not by any stretch of the imagination. The idea of spending eternity as an undead monster doesn't appeal to me, but the idea of having more than another sixty years with Oliver does appeal to me. At least now that I'm damned for performing necromancy, I won't have to worry about being separated from him when I finally do pass on. He'll follow, I know, not too long after. Perhaps the Light will show us some mercy and allow us to suffer damnation together. That's what I hope for.
What a horrible thing to think.
It's occurred to me (at least partly, I think, because I was highly drunk today) that the only person responsible for my happiness is myself. I can sit here and complain about the way life has gone for me, I can sit here and stew in this depression that's taken hold of me since November (maybe? Perhaps earlier, I'm not sure). I can let my life exist under a raincloud or I can try and look at the silver lining of it all, and the best silver lining I have is my husband.
Through it all, through this hell, he's been there with me, and I've survived because of that support. I've tried to support him as well, though I've no idea how well I've succeeded. He's stronger than I am, though he believes me to be the stronger one. I'm not strong. I can't put on a happy face and pretend I'm alright when I'm not. All I can do is become a horrible bitch to everyone I care about because I trust that they'll understand... they aren't what makes me angry. Life is.
But Oliver is strong. He's been through a worse hell than I could ever dream of and he's able to smile and be good and kind to people despite this. He's despised and tortured, but he bears it with a smile and forgiveness for those who've done him ill. He's a monster, but he still has hope that he can be redeemed (even if he doesn't admit he does... he wouldn't persevere in doing good without that hope). It tortures him daily, what he is and what he's done, but he still gives and gives of himself until there's little left to give, and it makes him so beautiful.
He's made me a better person. I've met so many people and seen so many relationships this past year that weren't like that... where the individual participants made each other worse simply by being around each other. Where the selfish desires they each had fed and became monsters in and of themselves. And while I'm selfish when it comes to Oliver, he's made me reevaluate the way I was living my life. It's a good and a bad thing, interestingly. A year ago, I would've loved Idle Hands as a company. I would've thought that high risk ventures for profit were the best thing I could do with my time, and what's more, I would've hired us out to be assassins as well as explorers.
But now, I wonder about the cost of it all. Is it really worth risking lives for coin? Maybe I just say this because Oliver and I could likely afford to buy the entire town of Surwich if we wanted, but I don't think that's the case. I think it's just what we're risking out lives for... some people in the company risk their lives for the thrill of discovery and adventure. Others do it for the profit involved. Neither of those things appeal to me... that's Oliver's doing. The things he does, he does for two reasons: either to sate the needs of his blade or to protect and care for others. Sometimes, the two needs coincide. He struggles with working for Idle Hands because it only occasionally meets one of those needs, and while it's enabled him to provide for his family better than any other financial venture he's seen in his life, it's not what he's called to do.
Increasingly, it's not my calling either.
Stehl spoke with him, as did Riley (you will always be Riley to me, no matter how firmly you state that he's dead). They want him to join their military unit, a division in the Seventh Legion. I've heard of them before; from whispers, they're the "suicide squad." Oliver wants to be a part of it... his blade calls for him to rejoin battle.
Battle calls for me, too. The trouble is that I can't walk.
My leg still aches all the time, but Oliver suggested that there's hope, even if Lius was quick to dismiss the idea. A druid--I don't know her name, but she wore the division's tabard--suggested that perhaps she could help. Either way, it will be ages before I can fight again the way I used to. Perhaps I can work through it myself. Perhaps I have more hope than they want me to believe.
Perhaps.
It's odd. A year ago, I would've given up, honestly, and resigned myself to being trapped in a motionless body for the rest of my life. A year ago, I would've simply accepted this as my fate. But being with Oliver has changed me, within and without. He's given me reason to feel hope. He's given me a reason to make myself happy. He's given me a reason to be a better person.
And really, no one can ask for better in a marriage.
-S.