August 1 -- Not scared to fall
Dear Diary,
Last night, Marius gave the Sigil his farewell address, at least for the time being. He's off to parts unknown, avenging the love of his life and finding himself again. He told me, when he came to Surwich and spent an evening with us, that his aspects have shifted--he can't mend any longer. They're laced with shadow and ice now, not the golden glow of healing.
Retrospectively, it almost makes me sad. I shouldn't, but I will miss him mending me. My system is far too used to it, I know, and maybe that's why I'll miss it: systemic dependence. Still, I understand why he has to go. How could I not? How many months did I spend trying to figure myself out after what happened? Hell, I'm still on shaky ground where that's concerned.
I know that I am much stronger now than I was, and it's much more controlled than it was, but I fear manipulation too much. I don't want more attention coming my way. I'm working on instinct right now, and my instinct is to be an anonymous shadow of the Sigil and keep them safe, as Marius asked last night. Not to draw attention. Not to be well-known. To have people not remember my face.
Light, I could actually do that if I wanted to. Do what needs to be done and then rip away the memory of my face.
I'd rather not do that.
Two nights ago, the Sigil had a clinic in Darkshire. It was a bad night for me to begin with, since my leg was acting up again (and sure enough, it poured rain the next day in Elwynn. I think I'm becoming a biological meteorologist!) and I ended up taking a few pain potions and trying to sleep it off. And, of course, I overslept. Fortunately, no one seemed to mind, and the clinic seemed to go smoothly: no one bombed anything, no one killed anything.
The most exciting moment of the night came when Oliver insisted that I get the bug bites I received the other night when he and I slept in the same bed (his carrion beetles don't really swarm me very often when he's awake and able to control them, but when he sleeps, they aren't under his control and I'm tasty). I hate having that sort of fuss made over me and I hate having that sort of fuss made over me and then having to take my shirt off.
What a hypocrite I am! I remember telling Ziichi months ago that scars are beautiful because they're a map on your skin of how you're a survivor, but I don't like showing off my scars. Not this most recent batch. Oh yes, I survived, and I'm stronger for it, but the Cult of the Forgotten's symbol is still carved on my back, the purple burns aren't getting much better, and then there are the whip scars, some of them incredibly recent. Thankfully, Aradelle seemed more interested in Oliver and my relationship than in what happened to my back, but it was still uncomfortable.
It's one thing when it's Marius cleaning out my scars. It's another when it's someone I barely know, sweet as she is.
Taking the last bit of cake that night was Wilhiem arriving in Darkshire to talk to me about Shepard's mind. I think he and Moira might have a different idea of what Shepard and I do in our minds than what actually takes place. They, apparently, think that Shepard is in grave danger of being swarmed by shadow ascendants because he dreams lucidly and that apparently takes shadow magic or something? But it doesn't. I've seen what Shepard does, and there's nothing shadow about it, no more than there is about what I do.
Whatever. It wouldn't hurt to get a second opinion on his mind, though it's almost funny how scared Wil is of the place. I wonder if that's a commonality among undead or those who've been harmed by the Scourge. It probably is. I wish I could find some way to make them understand that it doesn't have to be dangerous (beyond the attachments one forms) or evil or even involve shadow.
Still, I think that Shepard would need to call on shadows to do what I do, but he doesn't want to do that. So.
Light, I itch.
I will also probably never speak to Chadley again, and this saddens me.
-S.
Last night, Marius gave the Sigil his farewell address, at least for the time being. He's off to parts unknown, avenging the love of his life and finding himself again. He told me, when he came to Surwich and spent an evening with us, that his aspects have shifted--he can't mend any longer. They're laced with shadow and ice now, not the golden glow of healing.
Retrospectively, it almost makes me sad. I shouldn't, but I will miss him mending me. My system is far too used to it, I know, and maybe that's why I'll miss it: systemic dependence. Still, I understand why he has to go. How could I not? How many months did I spend trying to figure myself out after what happened? Hell, I'm still on shaky ground where that's concerned.
I know that I am much stronger now than I was, and it's much more controlled than it was, but I fear manipulation too much. I don't want more attention coming my way. I'm working on instinct right now, and my instinct is to be an anonymous shadow of the Sigil and keep them safe, as Marius asked last night. Not to draw attention. Not to be well-known. To have people not remember my face.
Light, I could actually do that if I wanted to. Do what needs to be done and then rip away the memory of my face.
I'd rather not do that.
Two nights ago, the Sigil had a clinic in Darkshire. It was a bad night for me to begin with, since my leg was acting up again (and sure enough, it poured rain the next day in Elwynn. I think I'm becoming a biological meteorologist!) and I ended up taking a few pain potions and trying to sleep it off. And, of course, I overslept. Fortunately, no one seemed to mind, and the clinic seemed to go smoothly: no one bombed anything, no one killed anything.
The most exciting moment of the night came when Oliver insisted that I get the bug bites I received the other night when he and I slept in the same bed (his carrion beetles don't really swarm me very often when he's awake and able to control them, but when he sleeps, they aren't under his control and I'm tasty). I hate having that sort of fuss made over me and I hate having that sort of fuss made over me and then having to take my shirt off.
What a hypocrite I am! I remember telling Ziichi months ago that scars are beautiful because they're a map on your skin of how you're a survivor, but I don't like showing off my scars. Not this most recent batch. Oh yes, I survived, and I'm stronger for it, but the Cult of the Forgotten's symbol is still carved on my back, the purple burns aren't getting much better, and then there are the whip scars, some of them incredibly recent. Thankfully, Aradelle seemed more interested in Oliver and my relationship than in what happened to my back, but it was still uncomfortable.
It's one thing when it's Marius cleaning out my scars. It's another when it's someone I barely know, sweet as she is.
Taking the last bit of cake that night was Wilhiem arriving in Darkshire to talk to me about Shepard's mind. I think he and Moira might have a different idea of what Shepard and I do in our minds than what actually takes place. They, apparently, think that Shepard is in grave danger of being swarmed by shadow ascendants because he dreams lucidly and that apparently takes shadow magic or something? But it doesn't. I've seen what Shepard does, and there's nothing shadow about it, no more than there is about what I do.
Whatever. It wouldn't hurt to get a second opinion on his mind, though it's almost funny how scared Wil is of the place. I wonder if that's a commonality among undead or those who've been harmed by the Scourge. It probably is. I wish I could find some way to make them understand that it doesn't have to be dangerous (beyond the attachments one forms) or evil or even involve shadow.
Still, I think that Shepard would need to call on shadows to do what I do, but he doesn't want to do that. So.
Light, I itch.
I will also probably never speak to Chadley again, and this saddens me.
-S.