A series of written thoughts stashed away in a box of parchment, written meticulously and precisely, as if the writer had taken great pains to make their handwriting as legible and clear as possible. The tone of this entry is all over the place - sometimes introspective, sometimes worried and pained, and rarely in good spirits towards the end. The penmanship is a bit sloppier than usual.
There's a drunken haze over me right now.
The stars were already shining by the time I got home. The sun had just gone down over the threshold when I set out from Jasmine Garden, after spending a good amount of time talking to the one and only Tylva, the blunt woman from the Wilderlands. Right now, looking out the window, I can see the faint outline of raindrops scattered across the window glass, so it must have been a few hours at the very least since I came home.
I've said it once and I'll say it once again: Foreigners are a queer lot, but it wasn't her fault for me having gone into a mood earlier in the day. That honour goes to Audea, though I know she meant well and certainly didn't mean to aggravate me on purpose. It all started with a simple question of: "What's it like to like someone?"
It brought back some unpleasant memories, to say the least. Things like leaving Hudd and Ellie behind, arguing by the fire while cooking a meal, nagging on Hudd for his daftness, sighing for the pair's naïvety. I wish I could have found a way to make them understand, to let them know that what was going on in the household would never, ever work out realistically, but every time I brought it up, they resisted and told me it would all be fine. In the end, it wasn't fine. I left without as much as a word and unwilling to have them suffer through the consequences of me getting carried away by the heat of the moment and spilling my feelings out to Hudd. That day, I should have just kept my mouth shut. It was my fault and they'd be right to hate me for it. That's why I left in the first place.
Hilda says she misses me, sweet thing. I told her I'd see about visiting soon, but honestly, I can't see myself coming back to Combe without the fear of running into either Ellie or Hudd. If I did go back and see them, then in all honesty, I would probably be drawn back in and everything would just become even more complicated and messy. Finn wants to know why I can't come home. I just tell him that I earn better and can provide for them better from Bree. It's theoretically true.
No, no no no, this isn't the time to get carried away writing about my own sorry arse, no, you wanted to talk about Tylva.
Oh, yes, Tylva! I used to think she was too literal-minded and quick to judge others, but she's actually quite sweet underneath all that armour.
See, after I gave Audea my own piece of advice, I spent most of the time thinking on, on whether it was as sound advice as I thought it would be when I gave it. It got me into a mood, so when I was dragged into a conversation with the two Dunlendings, Fialed and Bledigg, shortly joined afterwards by Loakee, I excused myself and let Tylva drag me out the tavern when the company became overwhelming. We wound up walking toward that little garden, Jasmine's garden, and Tylva brought along a delicious bottle of mead she claims someone threw at her randomly (We'll never know who it was, oh well), and started talking, exchanging a bit on our own troubles. She was surprisingly patient and listened politely to what I had to tell, mostly about the strangeness of love and how it can hurt you in the long run. She's never been in love before, or, at least, not in the way I defined it - I had a hard time explaining the difference between lust and love, to her.
Then, well, then came the hard questions. Asking me why I left Combe, why I couldn't go back. She asked me if I had an affair with a married woman, and another somewhat inappropriate question that I won't list here. It took me a while (and another few sips of that bloody delicious mead. I have to know where she got it from) to gather up my courage, but Tylva has never treated me badly and shown she's a woman of integrity (if maybe a bit brash and reckless), so I took a chance and told her the gist of it.
It felt... nice. There was no 'But it's unnatural'. No judgemental eyes sweeping over me. No harsh words condemning me. Just a silent, thoughtful 'Hrmm'.
We swapped tales of our ideal image of men after that. To say it didn't make me ecstatic would be a lie. It meant a lot, to be able to carry a normal conversation with her, even with the secret out to her. More than she probably realizes.
I gave her a hug for it.
PS: Ford of the coming days, if you come across this, best burn it, and don't make a habit out of getting sloshed. You know why.
