Brynleigh

I suppose you are half-expecting to read that there has been another significant jump in time given the content of the last page but I must dissappoint you. I am here in my study, quill in hand.

I swear the old adage is true. If my head weren't securely attached, it'd be lost and rolled into a ditch somewhere.

I wanted to talk a bit about the doctor, Raven. I've so enjoyed the conversations we've shared recently. He's been so open with me, and shared so much of his past and his present struggles, and the faith he's placed in me to hear such things has really warmed my heart. I still will not share the details, not even here in my journal, out of an abundance of caution on his behalf. 

I’ve not put a pen to this journal for several days now. I do think I’ve had a good excuse for it. Much has happened…more than I want to acknowledge or recall, in fact. Some things, I will not talk about here, for I wish to forget that they occurred at all. I’m afraid my thoughts, at this time, will be somewhat random and scattered.

Some thoughts are just too blissful to ponder. 

I find myself daydreaming far too often now. 

He doesn't seem to understand why I want him. The reasons are far too numerous to count. 

Left to the sands at such a young age as the Variag describes it, abandoned by her mother whom her master later bid her to murder in order to prove her worth and her loyalty. It is perhaps unsurprising that the dark skinned beauty I have come to know is so cold. Unfeeling. And yet sympathy stays my blade. I have for long enough in the past played judge, jury and executioner when the darkness took me. At first hunting down individuals myself. Then in the hiring of a murderer I thought I could control when my face had begun to be too well known to do so effectively.

What a strange and intoxicating way to wake up in the morning...not quite dressed, and with a man beside me. One might think that something salacious had taken place overnight, though it hasn't. Even in our most amorous moments, he is always and forever a gentleman, tender and thoughtful and ever concerned for my comfort and happiness. A person could argue that my torn dress is evidence to the contrary, but I wouldn't agree. I don't mistake passion for vulgarity. I am hardly an angel of self-control when in his arms.

Yesterday was largely pleasant, though a few moments were as ugly and harsh as anything I’ve ever known. Strangely, I don’t feel the same insecurity, the same regret, as I have on previous occasions. Could it be that I’m finally coming into my own identity, as Fate rakes me over the coals more and more? Am I finally finding my own voice? Losing my fear of offending others?

I know this isn't in my best interest to write any of these thoughts out, and I'm very certain it will backfire horrendously, though.. for my own sake and possibly those around me, I guess I will.