page 176

The past few days have been an unpleasant yet enlightening blur. Being sober is almost physically painful like this.

Starting from one end and working my way to the other perhaps is the best course, but writing any of it at all I am still such a superstitious fool. Writing it down is the same as speaking on it, and makes it real, undeniable. Makes it fact.

I told Procrastin. Everything. Not all at once, but more and more of myself has slipped out in pieces between us, as much as it has with Auroran. At first I resisted this, dug my heels in, and believed if I just tried hard enough that I could get away with only a single person even a tiny amount aware of the truth of things. Unfair of me, and stupid, too. Auroran is a half of a whole, and denying his partner keeping Procrastin in the dark at all is unrealistic; I should have realized this from the beginning, the moment the truth bubbled up inside me and spilled out into Auroran's mind.

His lack of reaction to the first truth was somewhat anticlimatic yet a relief at the same time; all he did was ask questions. Such a scholar. I imagine I have perhaps become a fascination for him in this regard. I can only hope he does not decide to dissect me in my sleep or something--the frequency with which he speaks so about his experiments and anatomical studies, along with the sketches he has shown me that are not just of Auroran sleeping are hint enough that the mind behind that human face is calculating and far more intelligent than both I and others give him credit for. It amazes me that a human can have such a rational, logical mind and at the same time be such a burning inferno in temper and held grudges.

I kind of enjoy our common ground in hating the Scarlet for all the good things he has and is tossing away for Faith. Faith does nothing for anyone, except give false hopes and dreams, and inspiring despair in its absence when it is like missing a tail when you've never been born with one.

Faith is illusion. Elune exists, of that I have no question. But the rest, as I have heard many farmers in my travels say, is horseshit. Liars know liars. Liars know when the show is nothing but snake oil and mirrors. And empty promises of peace.

Off track, yet again. It is even more difficult without drink to order the thoughts and keep them in line.

I had a long talk later in the evening with Auroran, and little of it turned out well. I enjoyed the quiet words we shared and the way his body felt nestled against my side as we sat, took comfort in his implicitly implied understanding of me and my unhappiness just by simply being present; and as with everything I spend time with, it soured too quickly. I  seem to consistently go from one extreme of shoulderbumps and shared, quiet laughter to his quiet disappointment in me and the temper I think he has but will not show.

He is the reason, though, I am trying so very hard to not drink. I wonder if it will kill me.

But the disgust in his voice, the abject horror that he stared at me with when I told him more truth, of how I wished I had the nerve to simply rid myself of my 'problem.' I do not want to see that face ever again.

Every fiber of my self screams to fix this, to carve it out of me or to, like Procrastin later suggested, seek out hedgewitch or alchemist and have them concoct something to do so for me. Yet his words tumble in circles, endless, in my head."You are selfish, to want to throw away a life like this." "It is not just your body any longer." "He or she was never given any choice in the matter, and you were. It isn't right." "You have what some people would kill for."

I think of that last and am reminded of his quiet, guilt-ridden whispers of how he is so very jealous of my situation, my body, of me. I wish that we could trade, he and I. It would solve a lot of problems.

After Auroran left me alone on the stone ledge we often sit at now, Procrastin must have decided it was time to drag me with on another of his annoying little saunters around town. I would not mind so much except he's constantly including one of what seems to be a gaggle of young human women--how does this not bother Auroran?--and I dislike every one of them so far.

He wanted to go to another bar, and this made me reluctant. I could feel my pitiful resolve weakening even more at the very mention, much less the sight, of the tavern. Cadence was waiting for us ran into us just outside and stopped me with such an urgent, furtive air about her. I think she reads too many dime spy novels, or has spent too much time listening to the talk of Defias, because she seems convinced that Auroran, Procrastin, and many of the others I have met are going to hurt or kill me.

I trust Auroran completely regardless of his ever-shifting moods, and by proxy, Procrastin as well. But I must confess that her whispered words recalled to mind how convenient it seemed that hardly a day passed from Campion's stabbing outside of the Lamb to being drawn into so many casual 'meetings' with people that all seem connected in one way or another. All innocent on the surface, yet I cannot help but feel a sliver of doubt, of concern, that my own misgivings and Cadence's are intertwined and that there is more at work here than I know.

There is little fear. If they are some kind of cult or mob I have other things to fear more.

There were arguments between Cadence and one of the girls that trailed after Procrastin, sniping back and forth with him egging them on like it was high entertainment. I lost my own temper, nauseous as usual and tired beyond belief. Procrastin decided we should find some place quiet to sit, and it did sound appealing.

One thing that occurred briefly before we set out into Stormwind's streets again was the kal'dorei woman that sauntered past us in the most atrocious getup I have ever had the misfortune of witnessing. There was barely anything hidden at all, the scraps of cloth and flimsy bits of what had the shame and audacity to label itself armor allowed more skin to show than could ever be considered even remotely proper!

Predictably, my human friend stared and leered and flirted with her. What a lecherous creature he is. How does all that intelligence fit with his libido smothering it? He questioned me after she left and well after he joked--Mother Moon, was he joking?--about having a three-way in the nearby bushes. Apparently my flushed face and discomfort led him further on a path of confusion as to my preferences. Not that I particularly felt it was his business, but I told him the truth anyway: I dislike have no interest in women.

Perhaps I should have lied, because the first thing out of his mouth once we settled down at the gate's canals was to question me further, asking if there was something between Auroran and I. I couldn't find words, even mangled ones, at first. Too mortified. He pointed out, so calmly, that surely I could see from his side of things, that to walk up and find hisAuroran cradling my head in his lap and holding me so close and yet to not have any suspicions at all would be expecting a little much.

I was practically falling on myself by then to explain his error, the false image that we that I unwittingly have been painting to him in my desperate need for comfort.

And that is how the rest of the truth came, slipping between us like the most disgusting of fish that he had stopped trying to catch barely moments after we sat down on the grassy little hump at the water's edge.

It was painstaking, for me, and frustratingly slow for him, I imagine. But it was so difficult to form the words, to write them. It made it so very real. It made it true.

Elune save me, it made it all too real for me.

Auroran's words circled back into my head like restless sharks in shallow, tepid water. All of a sudden Procrastin was holding me in his arms and talking to me so softly. He held me and I buried my face against his shoulder so I could pretend a little longer that I was not crying and mourning my last shreds of dignity and masculinity slipping out of my grasping, desperate fingers.

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