Deredan

“What is it we are doing here Neyaa?”  That was the question he asked that led to that terrible fight that almost cost us our friendship. And now I pose the same question, ‘What is it we are doing here?’

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.

I am beginning to question the usefulness of you oh journal of mine.

Night after night I open you up, put ink to pen. And I sit. My mind a muddle of conflicting thoughts as always it is. Never is it simple. How I long for clarity. Instead, I sit here conducting fully fledged debates inside my head as I have so often in this book. Contradictory as my conclusions can be from one minute to the next.

My Darling Son,

MEGANO