Today has been a strange one. I woke up this morning to Cirywen sleeping soundly in my den of sin on the bear rug she has so chosen to name 'Mister Bear.' Now hold that thought.
I know what you are thinking, poor reader. Oh, yet another one? I thought you'd come to a realisation when you bemoaned becoming the Bastard father of Bastards, Just like the Bastard father of bastards who sired you, bastard that you are. Becoming like Blince Kolten. Becoming like Hardoleth. Becoming like your father. No, I did not claim what was between her legs. Perhaps I could have. But in this case. I do not know why I didn't do it, I was making a point I think that I was a changed man. But why make this point? What purpose does this point serve? Which direction is your reckless heart leading you in, Seaver. You told her things you shouldn't have. That the carefree rogue you so desperately wanted to portray was a falsehood. I did and have played the part well when it suits. No, I went to my own bed.
Why is she curled up with 'Mister Bear' and in your home. Why did you bring her here? She told me who the man was who spread the rumours again the night before and once more used the language of Eacanwyn, saying that knowledge was a blade. And I was right in my estimations of the source. Amusingly the two suspects I had on description could be confused. But it is the more harmless of the two. I believe Tillie has affection for me and I made amends for the misdeeds that I did on Eacanwyn's behalf that fateful evening. I wrote in a previous entry that this book was a little thin, and I am cautious of this book being discovered all the more now since Taala stumbled into my room the other night. I have taken it to the manor. I've attempted to write before and always burned it because of that. But I have been less cautious of late. That needs to change. Sometimes, I almost want it to be discovered.
Cirywen denied any ulterior motive in first approaching me with accusation as I spoke of in a prior entry. But I do not entirely believe her. I seem not to even care. The mere fact that she seems to understand, is enough. But what will unfold of this? If she worked for mister suspect then I presume she was aware of the character of this fellow. I said in the last entry she was potentially innocent? Yes, quite. That's sarcasm. I then proceeded to block out the information given. She makes me laugh, I have not smiled like that in a long time. If only she knew Mister Bear and I had frequently shared women when I rut. Usually with him beneath the girl.
I inspected the grave I dug. It was sufficient. Nobody would ever know I had committed murder most foul a day ago. Nobody apart from you. poor reader. So I ask you now, Do I just kill her? No, no, that urge has passed. Do I allow myself to love her? Recalling Taala's words that freedom without the freedom to love is no freedom at all. What to call this thumping of the chest. Infatuation, perhaps. You've felt this before Seaver. She took the liberty of stealing something from my home I discovered at the end of the day. After I had left her there sound asleep. Kleptomaniac, is she? I went to play with my son, I worked. I talked and laughed and joked and wore the face I wear when I am out and around others. I am making progress with my work, Dawn sigil firmly in my pocket and not pinned to my shoulder cloth. I suppose I am starting to simmer down, regain control of aspects of my life. I am losing in others. I wonder when I should confront Kríea about her past.
I will now end with a broadly presumptuous statement. It is time I forsake this tomfoolery and be what I am, a solitary man. Said with the firmest of convictions.
Next entry I will be writing love poems.
