The evening was still. A bright moon tried to penetrate the heavy, embellished blue drapes that covered the window, but without success. The only light in her bedchamber given by a dying fire and a candle sat upon the nightstand, almost at its end. Her dog, once ever loyal, took to sleeping outside the occupied tent that was pegged in her lush garden, to guard the man that slept there perhaps, or to keep a watchful eye on his activities. Sleep eluded her. They had enjoyed a meal together and spoke their concerns before he retired, but, thoughts plagued her mind, so as always, she committed them to parchment. A book, splayed open upon her drawn up knees as she rested in her bed, took the ink as if it had an unquenchable thirst.
I have known many in my life thus far. The kind, the callous, the innocent, the cruel, the sane and the mad. I seem to watch, detached by recent events, unable to embrace them. I know why. I've dealt with madness before, with men that have a crusade, to destroy and burn everything in their path for their own gain. I watch. I play the part of an apothecary. A beautiful, finely dressed creature who would never dream of being tarnished by the taint of these lands. It amuses me, it protects me, I will not feel threatened again. Yet, there are those whose memories go far further back than their last meal, who knew me in years past, although I am far from old. They know of the mistakes I made, the cruelty I have shown. Though those who knew me well, long gone. Dead. Missing. Departed. It is like a rebirth, a chance to present myself anew. Sweet Rahvic, even you commented on how delicate I am. It seems queer to me that you have not placed the pieces of the puzzle together yet, perhaps this is for the best. I like your company, I like to be weak around you, it is refreshing. A man who suffered an injury to his leg, walking me home to protect me from those who dwell in the forest. I will afford you the show of strength, I will not take your pride. You ask me not to travel the road, yet, when I suggest the woodlands, you realise your foolishness. I will not have my life intruded upon by some maniac.
The watchers of the town have shown their incompetence yet again. A man released only to run amok once more. Those I know of likely in his grasp. To us, there is no reason, no sense. A madman will kill indiscriminately to our minds, yet to them, there is always a reason. Emirson was mad, his followers blinded with his madness, and he had more power than what is displayed now. My only hope is that this, Wulfthrud, is dealt with swiftly, without too much spilt blood, for there is always blood. I do hope my gift to Briony was of use, foolish girl. She was offered sanctuary along with the baker, I suppose my new life makes me appear as weak as they, little advantage being offered to their plight.
Haritha, you asked what judgment I would have passed upon the man, and seemed content with it. Losing his hands of course, not death, no, just the inability to place his hands upon another person. Yet, my mind now drifts to a man who tried to encourage me to join him, one that gleefully whipped his captives, broke their bones, took great pleasure in their agony. A fitting punishment. You also wished to know what I thought of the rumors surrounding my sweet Gerlof, rather, your part in them. In truth, I do not trust you, nor have I ever. You laid with the man, you became difficult when he refused you. Now, you dare stand before me and suggest it would have been better that I were taken by this madman Wulfthrud? My wealth far exceeding the bakers being your justification? and yet when questioned, you say it is because he would not have survived against me. I wonder what tales have been spilt from Gerlofs lips to his former maid.
I am prepared. My lover has been absent, a distraction I could use this eve, but in his stead I have worked, tirelessly. For Egoldir, for Rahvic, for Gerlof, even the innkeeper, but most importantly, for myself. My stock grows daily, my store of medicines, poisons, at almost their full capacity. Word beyond the Trestlespan has reached me, several more barrels requested. I will rest soon though. Take comfort perhaps in a conversation with Thalfyr. He is a delight.
Blowing lightly upon the pages, the ink once glistening, turned dull. The book closing there after.
