[the writing is in Aduniac, sloppy all the way through.]

Madaurbeth,

Egfor brought in a kitten! The poor girl is barely a scrap of fur. I cleaned her right up, got Dammon to help me get her a cozy bed. She's currently curled up next to the fire. I fear she has a cold, and I am giving her as much rest and soft food as I possibly can.

Nimraph is still asleep in the bed. We did it again.

I never needed poison. I never needed to hide. I never needed the pseudonym of Mrs. P. I never needed any of these trappings. No, indeed. Sometimes the pen is mightier than the poignard, and so I used it upon Hathostaran, and I will use it here to tell the tale.

Xanderian sat beside the great bronze and crystal mirror, turned to face the full moon from the highest point on Tol Lochul.  She watched the stars silently, occasionally moving her hand through the bright beam of moonlight that the mirror reflected into the sky, like a child playing in a tide pool.

[The writing is in Aduniac, separate sections of the journal entry displaying completely different writing styles, as if written out in different times despite being the same entry.

The first section is informal and sloppy, with many errors in writing and grammar, as if written half asleep.

((The words are not straight, as if while writing this Syllea was shaking. At the bottom of the page are two small water drops, one could assume they are the child's tears.))

Dear Mother and Fath

Dear Me,

Ivan is going with me. I'm glad. I'm also annoyed. Annoyed that I feel so weak and quailing, so much that I feel the need to have him with me. 

But then...if a woman can't feel a little weak over the murder of her own folks, what can she feel weak over?