page 183

Everything has gone terribly wrong. I can't think straight or focus, not enough even to write the thoughts down right. There's no order.

Auroran. He's shut me out.

No whispered conversation in my head, no arms actually willing to hug me.

I can't go back to the loft; all I do is think about him, and then I think of Procrastin, too. All he's done is yell at me. He doesn't care about what actually happened, only his version of events. Fuck him. Fuck the rat-ear bitch. Fuck Auroran.

We're all fighting amongst each other and Auroran walked away.

Ley means more to him than me. Everyone is worth more to him than me. What am I?

Where's the family I was beginning to think I had? We're nothing but heckling hyenas picking at each other. And I'm the runt hoping for scraps.

I am going to kill that elf who started this entire mess. Maybe then things will go back to normal. I will finish the job and rip out the rest of his throat. He's taking my family from me.

Every time I feel like I take a step forward with him, with Procrastin, and feel safe, content.

I slide three steps back and fall on my ass.

There's no one to pick me up when I fall.

I need a drink.

page 181

I am a failure in so many ways.

E stopped to talk with me outside the Lamb, to apologize, I think. I was so distracted that I did not pay her much attention. More regret. I received my first assignment today, which is how she found me at all; I was sitting on one of the benches overlooking the well to read the missive when she approached me. 

She tossed a book down the well which got my attention--it was what we had used before I got a new tongue to communicate through. I think a little piece of me died for the symbolism.

I left her there with that mask of hers hiding her expression--it was not too long ago that I had donned my own to do the same, and now I will be doing it again. I am glad I never pawned my gear, after all.

Headed home with slow, painful steps, to think, to pray, to write. It is strange: I thought I would be anxious when I received my work orders, yet the only feeling that settled in the pit of my gut to mingle with the ever-present nausea was one of calm, of assurance. This. This is familiar. I can do this.

I feel like I have been given direction, and it is in something I take pride in, know that I excel at. There will be no more failures. Not like with E or the old man, or with Astarin. Or as a parent.

The darkskin's reply to the Scarlet was attached with the assignment. Soon I will need to return to the cold and ice and that bastard. I just need to collect the rest of the correspondence; still need the rat-ear bitch's and Auro's.

Auro. There's the lightest speckles of ink on the page around the name, as if the quill has spent several moments idly tap-tapping in thought.

As much as I am a failure, he was there for me today, in so many ways. I do not know how I feel about him any longer. My thoughts and emotions shift like sand in one of those hourglasses, except they just sink and sink and sink, weighing me down in confusion because there is no one to turn them over to restart the time.

I think I might be falling

It turns out that E shadowed me home. Stupid of me; makes me wish I could blame my stupidity on age, but there was so much in my head and I was so very tired. I have not been eating with Auroran gone. Not that it is his fault or that I blame him for doing the work he has that takes him away from Procrastin and I; I just cannot seem to keep anything down, and Auroran always seems to make everything a little better, a little easier.

I think he knows I have not been taking care of myself, but we did not get around to discussing that particular failure.

She startled me. E, I mean. Missed all the signs of her presence at first; so many excuses: I was exhausted and my back ached and my stomach kept cramping and there was no relief in sight with my self-promise of staying sober for him. So many excuses. It boils down to: I missed the signs and she got the better of me and it wounds my pride to confess it.

I must not let these become setbacks or warnings of things to come with the assignment.

There is no failure.

If I can be a line of communication between the Scarlet and home, then I can do this, too, and fuck E with her invasion of that home and the things she said to me.

So much regret for how I have handled things with her, with Cadence. I would have preferred the sharp edge of a blade to the things either of them have flung at me instead. Yet Auroran was there in what felt like seconds--although I am certain even by the fastest gryphon it took him considerable time to reach me from wherever my desperate thoughts netted his instant concern.

I had not expected to hear a reply, it was desperation and the deep-seated fear that I had been found somehow. A thousand possibilities, none of them good, ran through my mind in those seconds before I realized who it was that was lurking under the guise of shadows. Then Auroran showed even as I took action in my panic, and the overwhelming relief I felt in that moment to see his shadowed form in the doorway at E's back nearly crippled me right there.

My own inattentiveness and panic did the rest so that I practically limped over to him while he glowered down at her. The indecision of who to protect, who to defend, all melted away.

Auroran is my family.

This group that I have signed myself to is my family.

I owe them all, even the Scarlet, my devotion and loyalty.

It has been bought and paid for a thousand times over.

I was saddened yet filled with further relief when E left after spouting so many hurtful things at me. Auroran insists that she was only manipulating me and my trust for her--what little had remained when I realized it was she that tailed me and made me feel so unsafe in my home.

Knight in shadowy armor. How very much like an infatuated little girl, to think of him that way.

He tended to my leg, said nothing when I dared to wrap my arms around his waist and pretend it was okay to do so. Warmth; companionship. The pulse under my ear. We 'spoke' at length for some time despite my growing sense of shutting down again, of nearing that finite point where I would sink as stone into unconsciousness.

That boy has so many fears. More kinship between us, to sense them, to know them, to hear them. I took the hands that hid his face from me and held them so he could not hide again.

I told him he has nothing to fear, not from me, about the things that weigh him down so much. Him and Procrastin both. Nothing ever to fear, not from me. It does not matter what they were before I knew them, or how they behaved--to each other and to others. I told him as much, and was surprised that it was truth and not comforting lies to a friend. I am uncertain whether he believes me, but he thanked me in such a desperate tone, as if he needed to hear it anyway.

There was a moment I think, where we almost kissed, and I do not know what to feel or think about that at all. Surely it was not imagined, how our faces were so close and the way there was this shy, slight smile on his lips. I wish he would smile more But I recalled my fervent promise, my fealty I gave to Procrastin. I could not follow impulse and find where it led. Auroran is not mine. Neither of them are mine, not in the way I might wish.

The Scarlet has taken away enough of Auroran from Procrastin. I will not add insult to injury; I will not fail these two I have come to care for so much by coming between them. At least it puts the fiasco this morning into perspective, with stealing into Procrastin's bed for company while he slept and having him mistake me for Auroran.

Either he read that hesitation in me or he felt it too, because the opportunity passed, died in our arms as we stared. He pressed his lips to my cheek, instead, and I let go of hands I had not realized I was still holding.

Then Auroran held me again, and I felt contentment, even though it was not the same.

----

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page 180

Things of import today that occurred: I delivered three of the four letters that were sent back with me, met the man called Grin and those stupid chickens of his I hate animals, and was given two very special gifts.

I CAN TALK. This is written boldly, in large letters, as if an effort to convey his excitement.

Things today that occurred and hurt in more ways than I wish to admit to anyone: Cadence apologized for her behavior toward me as of late but decided falsely that I do not care for her or her apology, and some strange human woman trailed me, from the Bay where I delivered the Scarlet's letter to his bedmate boyfriend wife? husband? man, all the way to the Lamb's front steps.

As I do not really wish to write on the hateful refuse that stranger spat at me--two separate occasions, no less, in the same evening!--nor wish to dwell on how easily I lose friendships and how very tenuous any of them really are, I will focus on the good things from today.

Meeting Grin was an event in and of itself. The man is built well, for a human, and no amount of dressing down hides it. His hands have tremors that were most noticable when he shared a cigarette with me SEE SCARLET SOME PEOPLE ARE GENEROUS but it was not until I recalled the Scarlet's words on him that I felt anxiety at all.

According to Campion, this man is a collector, mainly of debts. My realization of this fact had me scuttling out of there the moment he finished his reply to the letter I delivered.

During his writing, however, I fear I allowed curiosity to run rampant and spent some time inspecting everything in the wonderful little house he lives in. Grin grew upset with me at first, and I still do not understand why. I was just looking, it was not as if I was going to steal anything even though I thought about nicking a few of the nicer weapons.

I admit I spent little time puzzling over his reactions. There was much envy and bitter jealousy for all the things the Scarlet and he have, and I wish I had simply sat still and stared at the floor rather than notice how cozy, how much a home this shack in the Bay is for him, for them. More to hate the Scarlet for, I guess. He left all of this behind. What a fucker.

I left Astarin. Is that the same thing? Am I as stupid as the Scarlet, to give up

The two gifts I received were from Ruepert and Procrastin.

Ruepert, the dear, kept his word about bringing me things to make the loft look less uninhabitable. I am not sure what fist-sized glowing hunks of rock say about me or the place I am staying, but the crystals--all the way from the Un'goro Crater, no less!--were a very sweet gesture and really very beautiful. Almost prettier than the shine of newly minted gold.

I can talk. It is not perfect yet: I sound as if I have a severe cold and I am struggling with not hissing my sibilants. But I can speak!

Procrastin gave me the finished model of the experiment he had promised to try with enchantments. The moments of pain in piercing the remnants of my tongue with the little metal stud are completely surpassed by the elation I know right now.

The darkskin watched the entire thing. I think he was amused at us. He referred to Procrastin's experiment as 'playing dentist' on multiple occasions. At least now, perhaps, he understands why Procrastin was poking around in my mouth the other day with a pencil. I cannot believe how flustered I felt when he made innocent, dry remarks about my lack of gag reflex

I can talk.

There seems to be additional notes written after, likely when some of the initial excitement has worn off for Merosiel to better gather his thoughts.

It feels very peculiar to have the cavity in my mouth filled again after so many years. I keep accidentally biting down on the new tongue, but Procrastin is so very clever.

However he's managed to, he's apparently designed it so that there is not any possibility of physical harm to myself or of accidentally damaging it. Each time I feel the unpleasant sensation of my teeth sinking into the glowing mass that makes up the enchantment, its form disperses and reforms seconds later. It is as if a wind has disturbed a candleflame and briefly caused its shape to gutter.

There is no taste still, of course, as the prosthesis is not designed that way--I doubt even someone as intuitive as he could create something so intricate that would allow true taste and returned sensation. It does not matter. This is enough. More than enough.

Guilt distracted me long enough to not focus on the self-loathing, and so for the first time in a long time, I looked in a mirror. My appearance startled me a little, although not because of the way the false tongue lights up the inside of my mouth, rather as if a swarm of blue firebugs have amassed in my throat to form it. The way my teeth are outlined darkly against this glow looks a little peculiar, I must admit, but it is no brighter nor any less difficult to hide than my the eyeshine elves have, so it will certainly do.

I have lost a lot of weight. My cheekbones are too defined, even for me; my eyes look sunken, their lids bruised; and my neck seems almost fragile, as if a single blow might snap it. When did I let myself get this way?

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page 179

Ruepert found me at the harbour in Stormwind. Is everyone keeping tabs on me?

I was grateful for the company, perhaps more than he knows or comprehends; he brought the gift he got me with him, that I had accidentally left during the 'incident' with Ley. Procrastin tells me I should move on, move past, stop dragging dead weight around. I guess of anyone, he would understand the terror that does not quite ever let you go, sinking its claws in when you least expect. I do not think I can ever forgive that mage for what she did to me, for how she haunts my dreams.

But he does have a point, at least. I may dislike that rat-eared bitch, but she had no way of knowing how many horrible memories it would bring back.

I do not want to focus on it. Ruepert's gift.

The story he told for it is as charming as he is, and I am delighted to have something more permanent to write upon. What a clever little gadget. I wish I could think of something appropriate to thank him with in turn. Perhaps something will come to me in the interim.

As much as I may hesitate to spare any thought for the remainder of the events at the harbour, it has merit to mention regardless. There is some strange kal'dorei who has a vendetta against Ruepert that I do not quite understand, nor need to. He threatened Ruepert. No one threatens Ruepert. He escaped before I could drive the point of my throwing dagger into the base of his skull, but we found him later on when he attempted manipulation of one of Procrastin's girl harem. Kicked his sorry, scrawny ass to the stones.

It has been so long since I felt that elation I wanted to hear the gurgling and the crunch of his windpipe under my boot but satisfied myself with Ruepert's promises of killing him barehanded if he didn't leave our family alone.

Our family.

Ruepert was such a dear to include me in that kind of statement.

The pleased, satisfied feelings faded quickly, however, when those two girls of Procrastin's followed me all the way to Ironforge, onto the tram, off the tram, and nearly to my doorstep. At least they eventually had to turn aside to go to their own homes.

Strangely, Ruepert asked to see where I lived. I felt kind of humilated at first, thinking he would find my small little room office room the loft beneath him. How quickly I forget his nature. He gave me that bright smile of his, patted me on the shoulder, and promptly started discussing what we could stuff the place with to give it a more 'lived in' look. He seemed to believe plants were in order, as well.

And then he fell asleep.One minute he was sitting next to me, shoulder to shoulder, the next he'd nodded off, chin tucked to his chest. I did not have it in me to wake him or turn him out, so I put the quilt Auroran has gifted me with over him.

The entry appears added to afterward, most notable in the different colour of the ink.

Brewfest and the cascade of events after it all continues to come back to haunt me in so many little ways.

Ruepert spent the night at the little office loft with me. The constant thud of his heart against my ear was a comfort I had not realized I would miss, so much so that it felt as if it would choke the air out of me. I did not know how well it made me feel until Ruepert was right there to remind me of a much colder, smaller body and a more sedate, inhuman heart that beat so sluggishly, slowly.

Spending time with Ruepert and being his friend like he claims I am both fills me with such a sense of peace and an overwhelming sadness at the same time. His curling up next to me under Auroran’s quilt was the best sleep I have had in a very long time, even more so than when Auroran prayed over me. It was the feel of someone else physically there, of breathing--snoring in his case--and all the sounds and scents that make up a person when you lie next to them and just listen.

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page 178

Whatever was written for a next entry is shredded, stained, an incomprehensible mess. It picks up midsentence on the following page.

and despite it, at least the sunrise sunset sky was a brilliant blend of colours over the horizonline. I do not know why I allowed Procrastin to drag me out to the middle of the Nagrand plains, not only just to 'talk' and 'get fresh air' but to sit suspended thousands of feet up on the grassy flats of a chunk of floating island? Sometimes I wonder about his sense of humor. Fresh air. Humans.

We talked more, he and I. He wants to plan things out, to make order out of this chaos that is my life, and to an extent, now his, too. So quickly the three of us have had our lives intersect and become entangled. I wonder if he resents me, even a little, for taking up some of Auroran's time. Or what if it is the opposite? Occasional mindlinks and shared thoughts hardly mean I know either of them, nor they I, whatever secrets we have all shared.

He left to run errands or do scholar things or maybe chase after little girls, I have no idea. So now I'm here on this little island by myself, left with my own thoughts. I spent a while with my back against the roots of the tree that, inexplicably, is alive and well on this floating hunk of earth, and my palms on my stomach while I pretended I wasn't thinking about the things Procrastin suggested I actually think about.

I have to figure so much out and there's no one to make the decisions for me. This is a responsibility I have to face.

A list of shorthand, unfinished questions and notes, all unnumbered, follows in no apparent sense of order save perhaps to the journal's writer. The majority has been scratched out, doodled on or around, or apparently added to after the fact.

Procrastin says to find out what he wants, too. I wonder if he knows yet. Probably, by now. Windila has a big mouth. Do I talk with A? 
Whose choice is it? Mine? His? It's? Nobody's?
Keep it? What kind of parent could I don't want it It's a part of me.
What will he say?
Does he hate me? I do. What would he Would he name
Do I want everyone to know? No
Go with P and Au? What do I say?
Would anyone notice?
Do I hate him? A little Not hate but No
Who do I listen to?
corsiel zeresar kirunna sarannael kagalis iostoer kirihael mirhael
Is it alive? A soul?
Which is it? Which do I What do I want?

I feel so alone right now.

----

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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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