It has been many days now since I was taken. We argued atop the High Stair, a circumstance brought about by Guvadan and his arrogant taunts. I greatly dislike that man and his blustering swagger. I loathe his attitude, his selfishness, his lecherous nature. He brings out the worst in me.
What I detest more, however, is someone trying to tell me who I can and cannot talk to. Aakusti did just that, first spying on my conversation and then demanding that Guvadan leave. He even went so far as to nock arrow to bow after I had told him not to do such things within the town limits. Fool!
That is what caused the argument, but Guvadan's provocations certainly did not aid the situation in any manner. In disgust, I left the pair, telling Aakusti that I was done with him, that he was not to seek me out and that I would not aid him further. His response was to ignore that, seek me later and drug me with a poisoned dart. He bound me tightly and carried me away. Every time I awoke, he would simply drug me again.
I am back in Aughaire now, battered bruised and sickened from the toxins in my blood. I tried to get away. I very nearly did, but they caught me. To make matters worse, they stripped me of everything and shackled me to a stake inside his tent. Try as I might, I cannot break free and I cannot keep them silent any longer.
Like old friends, they have returned to me in my time of need. They creep in through the shadows as they always have done before. They whisper to me, making observations and promises. Just like the last time, they promise me freedom if only I will let them in. They promise peace and rest, escape and absolution. I try not to listen.
For so long now have I kept them at bay. For so long I have kept them quiet and convinced those around me that they plague me no longer. I have not even dared write of their sibilant whispers in the night through fear that someone may read my journals and know the truth; the madness never truly left me. But is it madness if they are real? Are they real? It certainly seems so to me.
Their offers are tempting, so very tempting, but I cannot take them. Not yet. Though I refuse all food and water for the time being, though I am cold and naked, shamed by my bare state and crushed by my captivity, I still cling to a small shred of hope: Cyfier....
He promised. He promised before I left for Forochel that he would seek me out. He promised that he would come for me, that he would wrest me from Aughaire by force if necessary. He promised that I would be rescued were I to be taken. For as long as I can hold to the slim belief that he will look for me, that he will find me, that he will take me away from here; for as long as I can hold onto that thought, I will not give into him and I will not give into them.
