*Ara sits quietly in the half light of what will soon be a moonless evening. Her things half unpacked in the room she's rented she feels in that placid and unsteady mode of transition and change. Putting her quill to an old nearly full journal she places in it one white feather..*

It feels a sweet place here, a place for a woman whose life is to sing and be heard..And how very pleasing to come onto a new Isle sheltered from the goings on of many far away places and see faces of old..It seems when the Worlds Ended a few others beside myself found refuge here...and rightly so it is a beautiful place. Fortunately for those who become easily restless - yes I speak of myself- it does not go without ailments, does not have that surreal aura of most paradise oases that the isolation makes for indestructable peace. They have shark creatures here I hear, giants and plagues of the heart. Such a vast handful of color and texture as any poet might weave into the odyssey that is life..

How the people are here, so mixed as islands are..Gentleman and ladies, jesters and sprites, the good with the bad. All in all it looks a lovely place to linger, before that North wind doth pull at these locks and nag at this wanderer's soul to lift up and go. Reassuringly, i am not filled with the desire to fully unpack, I am still safely at distance that i might not get caught up in that horrible feeling of affection for any place- worse, love, how we know that to be a plague in disguise, a blemish of a content soul. And..*her luminous eyes fill with nostalgia, past memories..* we will not speak, yet on this lonliness. So many eager faces to enlighten, I look happily upon this challenge. A pleasant night to thee..without moon we do find serenity and safe, sensual quiet, in the darkness...

*Putting her quill down she turns her face out the window, no smile gracing her lips, merely a softening of the eyes..*

--Journal entry 19 August, Arachne

I think, I've found her, this tavern is slightly slower speed, however. The food is good. A new lady, with bright blue gray eyes, is living in his backroom, the innkeeper says. Maester Lucas, hopefully will find Treize, he should come out of hiding now, that I am on a leave. Why am I searching for ALianna....why? Is it infatuation again? My heart is aching even now, but the thrill of this little hunt, is making my bones seem to quiver. Yet, I sense something is wrong...Or is it just Rowsy showing up once more in my thoughts...Oh how I hate it! I cannot stop loving her, just as I cannot stop myself from breathing. But at the same time, I keep striving to move on, but am I just scathing through women...Alianna just to be the next? I hope not.

--Journal entry 19 August, Claude Torrent

::She opens her journal to a blank page as she bites her lip in thought then goes to writing::

I have been finding myself doing things that I wouldn't nomally do. I find myself checking up on Ben, looking into his bedroom at night makingsure he is sleeping well, glancing over towards him during breakfast and dinner to make sure he's eating. Thankfully he is doing both, but I worry that he is working too hard. He doesn't need to work himself to death, that won't help anything, nor solve anything. Perhaps I should go by the toy shop later today to make sure he isn't working himself into the ground.

Perhaps I am being a bit too worriful...perhaps I am pushing myself on him. But what I do, I don't realise I do it until I am at his bedroom door or glancing back down at my plate. But I worry so. I know some of what he is going through and only wish to help him through these hard times. Maybe when I go to see him at the shop I will ask him if I am being a bother, maybe that's the only way to ease these feelings I have of it.

Last eve I talked to him about what Jane had talked with me about, and everything is fine, no reason for her to worry. Well, I suppose I am rambling on.

--Journal entry 20 August, Lina Metallium

*the young girl sits quietly in her bedroom, seated in a chair before her beloved doll house, examining one of the figurines with sad grey-violet eyes. Her eyes drift toward her desk after a moment, and she pushes herself away from the doll house, settling before the neat stack of parchment instead, smoothing frothy layers of cambric and gauze*

Dear Diary,

There is much distress. The delight of having father home again, and my sister come back to me wanes now with tragedy. I am afraid even to see Father. And I am so very confused.

The giants haunt my nightmares now, so vividly that I imagine I hear their footsteps in the dark. Father is afraid of them, and it seemed to me once that he had no fears. I remain indoors, mostly in my bedchamber, so as not to cause father worry over me.

There have been several attacks while Father was at the Pleasuredome, and now he has been injured. I was told he had been healed there, his back saved, and yet he is disoriented. He does not recognize us. What shall I do if he forever forgets me? Paul tries to reassure me, and I do my best to be optimistic as he tells me to be, but I cannot help being afraid. Losing Father frightens me even more than the giants do, especially now, with my sister here.

Felina acts very oddly. I believe she avoids Father. I doubt if they've ever met one another. Whenever she comes, she talks with me hurriedly and says odd things. Many of which I don't like. She paces and tugs at her fingers. She doesn't seem well. She always refers to us as one unit, separate from everyone else. She's always telling me how important it is that we're together because we're blood. I understand that, but it bothers me how she goes on about it. She dismisses any mention of Father as though he is of no consequence. She often refers to "him" without meaning to. I think she means our father. She says things like, he wouldn't like this, or he taught us better than that. She disapproves of my family, of Mia and Alkane because they are loud and brash, and Lady Vixen because she doesn't behave as a lady ought. Even of Father because of the stories she's heard, and some poem in the paper she's been ranting about. I try to tell her none of that matters, that I am behaving myself and Father encourages me to be genteel, but she mostly doesn't listen. She says she wants the best for me, everything that was taken from her when she was small, and I tell her Father gives me all those things. She had to admit as much, but she did so grudgingly. I don't think she yet realizes that she is free. Perhaps once she does she will not be so anxious about how I live or behave.

It's odd, though. It's as though she wants to be sure I live up to our father's standards.

--Journal entry 20 August, Mairin Carazzi

~sits in her room, early in the morning. sleep not finding her at all this night. covers a yawn, as she pulls out a piece of parchment. but not before glancing to the small window, just to see if the sun has risen yet, knowing she has to prepare breakfast soon. that way her day can be free to spend it with Tiger. she dips her quill and begins to write~

Dear Journal,

I was very surprised to see Tiger yesterday. It was ~so~ good to see someone from home. Especially my best friend. And she even brought me a trunk full of my clothes.

She and I had a long talk yesterday. And it helped me alot. I am worried though, in the midst of everything with Ben and my leaving. I just found out about how bad Alterio was hurt. He is my heart. And I pray he will be alright. I do know he was very upset when he heard I was supposed to leave the first time. And it upsets me so to know he was disappointed in me .... again.

Tiger says I am wrong, when I say I bring so much unhappiness to others. That I should not think that way. But how can I not. I mean, I married Alex and made his life miserable. Then in marrying ALex, going against Alterio's wishes. I created a wall between us, that I do not think will ever go away. And he has been my world all my life. I admire him so much for what he has accomplished. Especially considering what he has been through. He is a wonderful brother, and I am so very proud of him. Although he does not know that. And now that I am here, quite possibly never will. He may never speak to me again after all of this. that tears my heart out. Then the pain I caused Ben not once but several times. And well ....

~stops, feeling the tears sting her eyes as they form. she has promised herself no more crying~ Ben is fine without me. He deserves to be happy. He has to be happy. Because .....

~stops again, closing her eyes as she lays the quill down. and begins to rub her temples. the headthrobbing pain coming back. not eating has alot to do with that. plus the worrying~

Tiger is planning on staying with me for a couple of days. And I am so very happy she is here. But I will be quite sad when she leaves, once again I will be alone.

And I hate to be alone. I remember those times, father locked me in the small dark room. I cried for hours in the dark, pleading, begging for him to come and let me out. And finally, giving in to the fear, I would pass out and fall into a deep sleep. Being alone reminds me of those times. Kind of ironic really. I was locked in that dark room, for not minding my mouth. You would think I would have learned my lesson, especially when Ben had to use the paddle on me for ....

~shakes her head, trying to rid her thoughts of him~

Well I should go, I need to prepare a letter for my brother and Miss Vixen. Let them know I am fine. Or somehow convince them I am. Alterio always knows when I am fibbing. Especially when I am not wanting him to worry. I miss my brother. I miss my neices and nephew.

Miss Vixen, Jane. I even miss seeing Claude. I wonder how he is doing? The last time I spoke to him, things were not going well for him. I tried to help, but was unable too. I truly hope he has found the peace he needs.

He does seem like a good man. He has just been through alot of bad things in his life.

~looks to the window, seeing the sun peek out. she hurridly pushes the parchment aside, pulling out another piece and an envelope. she begins to write a short note to her brother~

--Journal entry 20 August, Alianna Carazzi

:::::: He sits on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands. Tears flow from between his fingers. Tears of his own making. Tears of his cowardice. He loves her. He has never spoken to her and yet he knows this to be true. He loves her. The image of her burned into his mind as she stood before that waterfall has haunted him for weeks. What then will happen now that he has seen her once more. Closer. Closer than ever before. He looks over to his desk, to his tome of poetry... to her... about her. Not yet. He sees his journal beside it. Yes. He must put his thoughts into words, find some semblage of order amongst the chaos of his jumbled thoughts. He wipes his red stinging eyes as he makes his way there and lights the oil lamp that resides there. He opens is journal and begins to write. ::::::

I sat. I saw her there, a vision, a godess. I sat. I watched as she sat alone nary a word spoken to her by any of the patrons. I sat. My heartached for her, for her lonliness. I sat. She tried to put on a brave face, smile to those around her.. but I could see te sadness that resides in her eyes. Still I sat. She ordered a brandy and sipped it slowly, glancing my way every now and again as some lady tied to speak with me. I sat. I tried to avoid the questions I was asked as best I could and afterwards I apologized for my rudeness to the lady. I must admit that I do not recall her name. I do not even know if she gave it for my eyes, my heart, my very soul were transfixed on the fair Rowsy. I sat. I tried to write as I watched her yet my thoughts were in a maelstrom. I'm sure nothing I wrote made sense. Ahh well. I sat and watched as she ate a bite of her fruit. I watched as the small piece of melon brushed against her full red lips...*sigh*. Still, I sat. Then, as I watched, she raised her hand to play at a single amethyst rose in her hair. The rose I had given her earlier that day. I ever there were an opportunity to speak wth her, to let myself and my feelings be known, this was the time. I sat. I did nothing. I am nothing. Wait, that is not true, I am... a coward. I sat. Then... I left.

:::::: He drops his head to his hands once more, butno more tears will come. He has cried away all he had...for the moment. He knows he has missed his greatest and what could be his last opportunity to speak to this woman, this vision, this Rowsy. He looks beside his journal to his tome once more. He knows he is only truly able to put his thoughts together if he does so through his poetry. He is a bard... but not a bard. He does not sing.. anymore, perhaps never again. He does not play... anymore, perhaps never again. He writes. His poems, his thoughts, his hopes and his dreams... of Rowsy. He writes. So this is what he does now. He opens his tome of poetry once more and... he writes. ::::::

Why must we hide behind the veil,
And shy away from the light of day?
Against the morning do we rail
and in eternal night do we try to stay.

If we stay in the darkest night
then our eyes never really have to meet
we can speak words of love without fright because we can't see each other... so discrete.

We can swear our vows if it's into thin air that way it's obscure and insecurity wins because it could be to eachother or another fair so we no longer ask if it's for us or them.

Know no matter the trial life sends our way And no matter the distance I have to sail I will not rest until that blessed day
When either you or I cross over the veil.

:::::: Why? He knows not. Perhaps he should write once more to her. To give of himself, to give a piece of his soul to her once more. That is after all what he does. A piece of his heart, his soul, his very existence goes into every poem he writes for her. Only once before has he ever been so driven... so passionate about giving of himself so freely and without hint of reservation. Roxanna. No. He must think of her for she is the past and Rowsy is..what? His future? He does not know that. He only wishes it to be so. He still loves Roxanna. A part of him always will. Once you love, truly love, that love will never go away. But the object of that love can. And sometimes the love simply changes, can even become less. Everyone loves, everyone feels the loss of that love when it withers. But you must be able to move on. Those who live in the past and cannot move on from their love lost are simply fools. A lost love cannot be recaptured, should not try to be. Accept it... move on... live in the now... plan for the future... but let her go. Yes. He knows that is the right thing. If only it were that easy. It matters not. All that matters now is Rowsy. He decides that yes, once again he will write to her, deliver his heart to her in the form of his words with a rose to symolize how his love has continued to bloom for her since that day... and shows no signs of stopping. Heonce again dips into his golden ink and writes... ::::::

The language of the heart is all I can speak when I address an angel true
so why should it alarm in the least
that this is the only way I can speak to you?
If I try to put to verse
that which my heart knows well
then I would do but insult
to the one I tell
If I should write the greatest verse
then I would fain to do justice to
my heart's truest expression
that it wishes to give only to you
You are close to me
in a way that all others fail
for none but those who love
will walk close beside you on life's trail
I have never known one
who effected me this way
that this prideful poet
would have nothing he could say
So until the first time
I take your hand in mine
and look in the eyes
that reflect the divine
Take this as your poem
for it is all I can give
"I care for you dearly
as long as I live."
I have no verse
nor mind for wit
to make a phrase
to explain beyond it
So until we meet
hand in hand
take this one verse
and it's feelings more numerous than sand
And sleep you well
this warm summer's night
and see me in your dreams
through heaven's light
And I will give proper verse
to you so fair
so close your eyes
and I'll see you there
Goodnight.

~Rowsy. you are always in my thoughts, my dreams, my heart... I wonder if you think of me, ever? ~Lord of Masks~

:::::: A soft pink rose adorns this message as he once again finds himself before her door. He sees the vase holding all of the roses he has given her just inside her window. He wonders briefly how they can still be so beautiful after all this time. He knows. They have taken their cue from her. How can anything help but stay pure and lovely in her presence. Hmm... he wonders what effect she would have on him. Would he once again feel bold enough to walk about without his mask? Perhaps. Likely not. He has not even found the courage to sign his letters to her with hs true name. Maybe, someday he thinks he may. If there is anyone he would allow to speak his name that he abandoned so long ago upon their lips, it would be her. For now, he simply takes a deep breath and turns to head home once more... still a coward, not afaraid in the classic sense but afaraid of his own heart. The worst kind of fear. ::::::

--Journal entry 20 August, Lord of Masks