For two months, I have lain on a bed. My sister has bathed me, changed me and my bedlinens, fed me and kept me hydrated.
Two months after I took an arrow for a girl I can’t remember, from a man I’d rather not.
When I found out who my father truly was, everything changed. Morality meant nothing. Death could be inflicted at will, laws no longer applied. At that point, I became a criminal. A thief. A killer.
A bad woman.
I woke this evening, fell out of bed. My house is full of strange women, that refuse to give me a moment alone with my sister. I can’t remember anything since I arrived in Bree, and it’s killing me.
But I am alive, and people find this shocking. Was my wound that great?
Ash says I took the arrow while trying to stop an evil man from doing evil things. I know the truth. I was obsessed with someone. And all I know is her name.
I’ve read my last entry. It only confirms what I think of myself.
Ash says I’m a hero. I know she’s lying. Maybe she wants me to feel better. Maybe she wants to feel better about the murdering, thieving filth that her sister is.
I asked her what happened, and I could tell she was holding back. Maybe she thought I wasn’t ready.
She might have been right. My limbs don’t function like they should. I’m sluggish and weak. It’s both pitiful and terrifying.
The glorious irony of it all is the situation we’re stuck in now. I stepped outside for some fresh air and fell down the stairs. Ash, being the kind heart that she is…tried to catch me. We fell together.
As we fell, I couldn’t help but remember tumbling with her down the hills outside Aldburg when we were children. When everything was innocent and joyful.
The irony is… She broke her ankle.
She didn’t leave my side for two months. I’m not leaving hers. I might not be fully in control of my faculties yet, but I’ll do my damnedest to help.
P.S. This hair….is driving me insane.
((The entry is written in a shaky hand. A normally elegant calligraphic style is made sluggish, choppy, and awkward.))
