The hill which houses the great hall once founded by a man I respected very much stands overlooking the whole village from it's vantage point. Even my house. There are many in this place that know me, or know of me. So why, did you then choose to reside in this place. As ever, I feel a pull in two different directions. One tugs me southwards in the direction of those Southern shores. But I also feel a desire to remain close by certain individuals. I informed the Captain's daughter of my desire for the former. I often feel as though I am a man with nothing left here. I discovered that she also felt this pull. The desire to leave this life behind.
Do I stay, do I go? The two women which plagued my thoughts mean little to me. Merely bedwarmers the pair of them when all is said and done. Regardless of infatuations. I was trying to replace the one I lost. But I have to remember that I did leave her in the first place. I fear the naivety of that red-head, though it differs from the self destruction which ended in a cut throat it will result in the same fate, or similar. She is a firefly as much in that same regard. And I have no desire to be there when the light is snuffed out on this occasion. I do not wish her ill do not get me wrong. But I have been hasty. I need to remove myself from this situation.
My investigation into the killing is over. I have made peace with those I suspected. I do not have the heart for it, nor the will to draw myself into potential conflict with those who may not even be guilty any longer. I think I may have an idea but I have endured such sleepless nights. It can most certainly wait for I am struggling to function at my best.
I think I know why I am here, in this village. Though I do not wish to confront that reason at this particular moment in time. I am tired, it shines through in my every encounter with others. The fire within me. It is dimmed. I spend my days walking along the riverbank and watching the water from the conveniently positioned gazebo. Eyes are on me, I find. Who is the strange blond man that keeps to himself, whom smiles when he passes you by. I can almost read their thoughts.
I have no desire for them to find out. They can gossip all they like, it is humorous. Of a more harmless nature than I am used to.
Every time I walk up to that hall, a place I have come to prefer in recent days to drink rather than visit the town. Where the rumours surrounding myself are of the far more unpleasant variety. I find my gaze drawn to a certain house as I wander by. It is a house I feel compelled to knock the door of. But I do not. I walk on.
I will stay here for a while. In this village. Plagued not by the ghosts of my former home. That manor of mine, that house. The woman, the child. The dead girl. The memories.
