Found:
One bottle of spiced rum.
I've never been one for the stronger drinks, preferring a good mulled wine over any ale or spirit, yet tonight I find myself in need of this wretched concoction. The spices, at least, make the taste more tolerable whilst the burning alcohol, I hope, will go some way to numbing my inner pains.
The retrieval of my cache at Eordion's house was ill-timed. I thought him gone for the day, yet he returned to find me there, digging beneath the foundation of the building. When he invited me inside for a drink, I reluctantly agreed. What harm could it do, after all?
Plenty, as it turns out. To be within that building, that house, with him... That place is as near to a home as I have ever known. The memories we made there, the words spoken and tender embraces shared... it suddenly feels so bitter, alike a lie tangible enough to choke upon.
He had the gall to question whether I truly feel any emotion or if I just bottle it up, even going so far as to offer me a shoulder to cry upon! Hah! My preference for veiling my vulnerabilities behind humour and avoiding the masochistic love/heartbreak cycle that most people allow to consume their lives does not render me an unfeeling automaton. But to cry before him? This man who has hurt me so deeply - twice now! - asks me to leave myself exposed? The absurdity of the notion is insulting! Perhaps one day I might have been secure enough, comfortable enough, with him to truly open up, but certainly not now.
I've tried to make it easier for him, to assuage any guilt or sorrows he might feel at what has become of our relationship. I've tried to keep my own hidden so as not to make it any worse. The isolation and despair this has caused in me has driven me to confiding in Seaver. Seaver, of all people! I still dislike the man a great deal but it's better than talking to Eordion.
I need to get out of this town! I need to leave this all behind me once and for all. This lingering is torturous!
***
((The writing upon the page is now less precise, more sloppy, as if the person wielding the quill is inebriated.))
Did it! Finished it. All reminders gone.
He wasn't home. I checked before I went in. Gave me plenty of time to find what I needed. My coal - representation of my dried out little heart - was in a dresser. Found the Barrows map too, the one I made. Had it safe in with his books. Threw them both in the fire before I left. Stayed long enough to make sure they'd caught the flame.
It's better this way. All ties severed. Little things that meant big things don't mean much of anything now. Nothing to remind him of me. Nothing of mine left behind.
The page is spinning now. So's the world. Need sleep....
