Catharsis, this is what I feel after struggling for so long with these feelings in my breast. But no matter what the sense of dread which has encompassed my being will not fully subside. I am not certain as to whether it is the summer heat which has curtailed my appetite or dwelling upon the night's events.
Still, it was said. And I do feel all the better for it. Who should turn up these past days but the Gold woman, there was a time I detested the sight of her. For the judgements she made, the aspersions she cast upon me. Void of rhyme nor reason for the most part. Her sharp tongue whilst amusing at times very much tries my patience yet it was not until I saw her, hunched over a mug of steaming mulled wine in the Prancing Pony, did I take pity upon the woman that thus far had given me no reason to even give her the time of day. I should not give her the time. But beneath the veneer of cold and cutting sarcasm I see a woman wielding her words as but a shield. An armoured layer against the cold and harsh realities of the world. Thinking upon it, it all makes sense now. Well, it does and it doesn't. The projection onto me of all her father's ills is unwarranted, uncalled for. Perhaps she did not get a chance to truly confront this man in life for what he did to her and now she can find no peace in his death? Whatever the case, I do not wish the woman ill. Though the poison which spews forth from her lips truly does test that resolve. It saddens me, actually. The little I have learned. The emptiness behind the mask. This I can certainly empathise with. The sense that there is nothing left to strive for. The path to self-destruction. And yet, I fear that she will not heed my words.
A cursory look through the noticeboards in town has yielded no returns upon the estate of the self-proclaimed lord I had dispatched but a month ago. Perhaps they are still investigating. Everything points as it were to a cover-up. The question being, by whom.
Even as I spoke so yester-eve, I avoid writing of matters of the heart it seems except in brief passing. My love for my childhood friend is true, this I know. The fears which plague me are new. I fear the thought of this love passing me by more than I do the fear of love itself. They are at war with one another. I had intended to bear my soul in entirety the night I had left the Variag's shop. I had intended to express my desire toward commitment the very next day. We were interrupted, the momentum is now gone.
But to see her lying as she did upon that rock, driven to that state because of me. Driven to drink, I had to say something.
I told her I loved her, I told her never to forget that. No matter what. Even as my body trembled. I should have gone further. I will go further.
Mayhaps the fear will never leave me, but I will fight it.
There is little more to say, no more meanderings that I wish to impart within these pages. No more room to do so.
This is my fate, and I embrace it.
