*she smiles brilliantly, dressed to the nines in stiff pink and white chiffon and lace, threaded tightly into the dress over several petticoats, hair curled and pinned perfectly. She pauses to write before leaving with Paul*

Dear Diary,

Today is a day of the good and the bad. The good is that Father is home again. The man that had him banished for thirty days has gone now, and allowed him to return to us. I am so relieved and happy to have him again, though I heard he was injured. I have been assured that he will be alright, though. I'm on my way back home just now. Things will be so much better now. Father shall aid me with my problem.

My problem is an enormous one. Uncle Benjamin has told me that a young lady named Felina of Lyndette searches for me, and wishes desperately to speak to me. He says she claims to be my sister. When he told me, I did not recall having a sister at all. But something about the name bothered me. That night when I slept, I had a dream. It was not a nightmare as the others have been, but a very vivid dream that seemed to be more a memory. I was sitting upon a blanket in an apple orchard, peering up into the tree above me, and catching the fruit that someone in the canopy above was tossing down to me. I felt happy, and familiar with the place. I was laughing, and it was the laughter of one younger than I. I was I, just some years smaller. The one in the tree climbed down just then, and I thought I was staring at myself, only some years older. She appeared to be a mid adolescent. But as she got closer and dropped down beside me to share the fruit, I noticed difference. Her face was more oval, with higher cheek-bones and a more generous mouth. As well, her eyes were a baby blue, but her hair was the same mixture of colour as mine. I thanked her for the apples, and called her Felina. She replied, "You're welcome Mairin". We ate in silence, then heard someone approaching and calling our names. He sounded angry, and I felt frightened, Felina looked frightened, as well. She picked me up and we retreated further into the trees. Then I awoke. I have a sister then. I know she must be my sister. And now I must see her, for she's come for me, but Uncle Benjamin and Aunt Alianna do not trust her. I shall speak to Father and seek his advice.

Sincerely,
Mairin Carazzi

--Journal entry 7 August , Mairin Carazzi

:::::: Once again he sits alone in his dark cramped room, a single lantern his only light as he opens up his journal to write. He wonders to himself if she found his note. He wonders if she understood it... what it meant to him. How could she when hehimself does not know for certain his own thoughts? So simple it would be to simply walk up and introduce himself to this angelic vision... this Rowsy~Sinclair. Why then can he not do so? A sad sigh escapes his lips as he begins writing of his own sadness.::::::

My mind is eclipsed in the shadow of this weariness. A sadness is now laid upon me by an unseen hand clenched mercilessly around my tired heart. God, what is this pain? why is it suffocating me? I am broken and sore from this depressive state. But I can't let myself give in, I've become to strong. Laid to rest by my passion, and kept alive by my faith I want to know why I'm in this blackened tunnel. I fear what the slashing knives in this darkness will cut away from my life. God, where is my body of light? Why is it so dim? Still broken and sore from this depressive state, crying from the inside, but I can't let it show, I've become to strong. Maybe if I just give in and cry, I can alleviate this pain. What's the point in being strong when all I can do is just hold onto this ledge waiting for someone to save me in this barren wasteland. If I can just make my hands weep...it's tears simply words I don't need to hold on anymore. Whatever it was I was clinging to wasn't a part of me anyway. Maybe if I just let go, it will fall instead of me.

:::::: He stops and takes a deep breath. Maybe he is ready for her to know more of him. Perhaps through his words he can reach her fully and make her understand the true depths of his all-encompassing love. Yes... perhaps. A poem about the beauty of her soft blue eyes, a sonnet about what her simplest touch must feel like, a song about the goodness that he knows her heart must hold. He begins writing again to try and ome to terms with his own cowardice in the face of her exquisite perfection. ::::::

Trying to create a picture through words;
An image seen through blurred eyes;
Now a world of perpetual distortion;
Does clarity exist?
But how much quieter must we be before we can listen?
To step beyond a plane of analogy?
Where the picture is seen and not explained;
Interpretation fades.
Words awaken into thought.
Or is communication meant to be lost as we drift asleep?
Flowing rather than walking,
As we follow a metaphor towards light.
A map within the imagination,
Visible only in illusion,
To those who wish to see.
But beyond which line will the vision blind us,
Breaking our legs when there is no more borders to cross?
The only choice is to stand where the motion is different
And to look through eyes that are built to see.

::::::: Again he wonders to himsef if his mere words will be enough to convey his thoughts, hopes and dreams of this lady to her. It will have to be... for now anyway. He knows he is not yet ready to confront his own inner turmoil. Perhaps she would not feel the same for him. He could not blame her. He is nothing... a wandering bard and would be knight that cannot even muster the courage to talk to a lady. There have been others to be sure... but Rowsy? What is it about her that makes him so nervous? Like a small child on the verge of his first real kiss. He knows not. He simply knows that her image haunts him even as it inspires him to write in her honor. A thought... he begins to write one more. ::::::

Rowsy...

Time stands still for me
My cries were quieted by your presence
Where are you?
Screaming emotions deep inside
Spoken now in silence
Reaching out for your hand
It's so dark
I can't see you reaching back
To help me, to hold me, to save me
Changing back into my past
An instant seems like an eternity
But I need just a second to relinquish this pain
Built by silence, strengthened by fear
Holding tighter and tighter
For just one second
I want to shed a tear
I'm dying alone
Please just wisper
One breath is all I need
I can't see across the universe
Where are you?
I'm being broken down
Because I fear your death more than my own.

:::::: A strong chill runs thrugh his body as the last words are written and the quill falls from his hand. He is drained, emotionally.. physically... spiritualy... drained. No more will he write today. Perhaps no more for a short time. Who knows? He never knows when her sweet spirit will move him to put his feelings down on paper. He simply knows that somehow... someway... this fair maiden...this Rowsy~Sinclair... holds his heart within her soft hands and does not even know it. As has become his recent routine, he blows out the lantern and stumbles over to his bed in the darkness. He lays his head down and allows the moon's soft light to come in through the window to his face... bathing it, caressng it in it's calming light. He looks up at the heavenly apparition and fleetingly wonders if she is looking at it at this moment as well. Another soft sigh and then sleep... and dreams of the lovely blonde lass. ::::::

--Journal entry 8 August , Lord of Masks

::::She sits at her writing desk, gazing at the ethereal light of the moon through her window, a crumpled-up piece of parchment laid flat on the table before her, then reaches to smooth it out further before bringing her brandy snifter to her lips for a luscious taste, the warmth of it heating her insides as it courses its way down. She sets down her glass and picks up the quill as she opens her journal, penning a single word before re-reading the note for the umpteenth time::::

Interesting.

::::Her eyes rest on the words of the letter for another moment before she closes her eyes, bringing the note closer as a subtle scent, something exotic and unusual...passionate and sensual...continues to waft to her nose teasingly, her nostrils flaring almost imperceptibly as she inhales more deeply...the aroma so subtle, yet inexplicably strong to her, filling her senses as she breathes it in...the redolence of him...the author. She picks up her quill once more as she sets the parchment down beside her journal, seemingly unwilling to let it from sight::::

Interesting indeed. Seems to be my week for letters. First, Claude left a note...an impassioned plea, really...presumably for my return, though I doubt very much he feels the same now as when he wrote it...considering the events of the other day.

Now this. Curious.

::::She stops to think, her gaze drifting back to the moon as it illuminates her face and the journal page before her, then continues::::

I found this letter at my doorstep when I went to investigate a noise outside. I saw no one...although the brush some distance away was obviously disturbed, still shaking as if someone had moved through it quickly. Yet I saw no one. And would likely have dismissed it as my imagination were it not for this note, crumpled as if disposed of, at my feet. I stooped to retrieve it and...

::::She stops again to recall, a slight smile of pure amazement playing at her lips::::

and, to my astonishment, a delicious warmth emanated from the note as my fingers curled around it, warming them...not heatedly really...more...soothingly. How can I explain? I doubt I can.

I unfolded the note and read it...then re-read it...and read it again. I might have brushed it aside altogether as not even meant for me...had it nor borne my name. First, beautiful words, albeit somewhat cryptic...then...

"Rowsy...you are all of this and so much more to me.

And I too, am yours...if you would have me."

Then the initials...

~LoM~

::::She weighs those words carefully, then releases a perplexed sigh as she unwittingly begins to write directly to him...words he will never see::::
My good lord...who are you?
Do you know me, dear sir? Do I know you?
Your scent lingers on my fingertips, though not familiar.
Your words stir me, though enigmatic.
Your soul calls to me, though I cannot answer.
Your touch beckons, though I cannot feel its intensity.
Who are you?

::::With a gentle shake of her head, she attempts to free herself from the subtle spell and draws a deep breath::::

I can only conclude this is who has been asking after me. But why? What are his intentions? Should I be afraid? And...who is he to offer himself to me just so...without so much as showing himself to me? A mystery...will he always remain so?

::::She taps at the tip of her nose thoughtfully with the idle end of the quill, his scent invading her once more as it drifts from her hand, then sets it down and reaches for the chain around her neck. Slipping it over her head and looking to the ring that hangs there for a moment, then stands and moves to a dresser...opening the top drawer, she drops it in, a soft peal resonating as the chain snakes around two small gold bells resting there::::

--Journal entry 8 August , Rowsy

Lia sits up late at night in the manor, her condition causing her biological clock to be badly thrown off. Surrounded by her 'colors' the same sort of wax sticks Alkane has, and the blank and scribbled over volume from previous inward ramblings, she sets to the difficult task of both holding her thumb in her mouth and holding the color. She frowns a little, her face slowly contorting, fine motor skills thrown off even without the frustration. She settles on checking on an unused stick- a white one, which, how could anyone color with that, anyway?- and forming out a nice story-picture of the events that trickle in her mind. She seems to have healed enough on her own, the magic aids and healing charms from the others extremely beneficial. She is well enough to move about on her own, though the distance from the manor to the dome is trouble enough. She scribbles instead of writes this evening, brilliant and flickering sea-green eyes half open as she studies what is beginning to form in front of her...

A vast blue gray sea slightly patterened in woodgrain as she is sitting on the floor..layered with angry black swirls, storm clouds and smoke- though if any were actually present is hard to tell- a great distinct green tube with orange flames from its nose seems to rise from the water, easily confused with a dragon this is obviously the Serpent. Stranded and mangled bodies lay strewn on the shores, each with noticable symbols that identify them..Alterio specifically is rimmed with a goldish sort of band, tainted with streams of violent red, a recollection of aura perhaps? It is hard to say. Lia herself and Alkane are perched up on the hill, the time broken up: somehow when the hull of the ship fell, Lia's picture depicts the children as still fine. Alkane with his mass of sandy colored hair lays bent towards Lia, a great scribble where their hands were locked. Lia smiles quietly shading the grass and the palm trees around. A rather squeamish mass of green yellow and blue blurrs about a set of craggy sharp black lines, the broken egg. At last a soft brilliant sun bobs above an angry skyline, for all it represents, where a childs indestructive sense of optimism or the results of that faitful evening, the sun seems unbothered by what goes on below. Lia puts down her now worn wax sticks, she smilex at the waxy coated page, all colored and hard to read. Closing the volume she pads to bed and sleeps deeply.*

--Journal entry 9 August , Thirlia

:::::: He sits in his small home at his usual table with his journal before him as always, and yet... something is different. Is he still haunted by visions of the lovely Rowsy? Yes. Yet they do not haunt him so much now as they did before because he has made a brave decision... he will let her know of his existence. He is not ready to speak with her yet and is not ready for her to know who he is, yet it is time for her to know that someone, somewhere, loves her with all their heart. He remembers back to that morning as he watched the sun rise, the first one he has watched since seeing her that fateful day. He stood on that very spot just this morning and watched... The vivid memories in his mind cause him to write about the sunrise... :::::: I stand here on this hallowed ground, waiting, watching for the first rays of the sun to appear. First a sliver, then a mound, brightening the earth, and warming the land. The

lord of the day majesticly rises. Bands of rose, orange, and gold tint the sky and paint the clouds changing them from white and blue to colors of such fantastic hues, that my eyes begin to water. I stand there for a few moments, letting the sun warm me. And as I turn away, smiling a small scretive smile, I recall the words of my mentor... "To watch the sun rise, is one thing... to experience it, is a quite another."

:::::: He never really understood those words until this morning. His thoughs turn once more to the mysterious woman that he knows somehow that he loves with all his heart. He knows he would do anything for her... lay down his life for her without hesitation. Hmm... what would it be like to finally meet her? Be with her? For now all he can do is dream, and dream he shall as again he puts his thoughts to paper. ::::::

Laying back under a blanket of stars,
I dream of seeing your smile...
My heart beats fast as I think of your kisses,
Your arms holding me close...
Running my fingers through your hair
I smile in total contentment
No one else is as lucky as I,
To have so wonderful a lover...
No other soul has been as blessed as I
To have you to share my love...
Your love for me is unconditional,
And for that I can never say thank you enough...
No matter where I go in the world,
I see you and your love...
The winds whisper your name to me
And the waters reflect your face...
The light of the dawn is the light of our love,
Spreading all over the Earth...
The lovebirds awaken and begin to sing,
Telling the world of our happiness...
The gods may give me the strength to live,
But you, Rowsy, give me a reason...
I love you..

:::::: Once again his hopes and dreams for them find their way from his heart to his journal. Why then can they not find their way to his lips? Why can he not simply talk to her? No... not yet, he tells himself. He is not ready. These thoughts he has penned only serve to inflame his passion for her further. No longer do his thoughts revolve around only meeting her... but of touching her, being near her. Gods he must find an outlet for these thoughts. He begins writing furiously now, unable to stop until all of his thoughts on this matter are out. ::::::

Eyes closed, anticipating the first touch.
Heart pounding as stallions thundering through my soul.
Heat rising from the flames...
No longer contained but burning, devouring my hesitance...
And then the touch, flesh on flesh, heat meeting heat.
Slowly, skillfully tracing every curve.
Every pour opens for her essence.
Her scent rising, intoxicating.
Causing breath to still, holding till the thought of breathing is not important.
Only the fire, the flame reminds me to breath.
Gasping at the pleasure she crafts.
Have all the stars fallen from the heavens and now lay within her eyes?
Has she stolen the sun and uses it's heat to weaken me?
Has she called upon every God of love to guide her hands?
My heart no longer beats, but holds it's rythym at the beauty of her.
Two bodies...seperate.
Two souls intwined in the eternal flame of passion.
Forever and always bonded.

:::::: That's it. He can no longer stand the thought of not being near her. Yet again he is still afraid of letting himself be known to her fully. He will simply do what comes most naturally to him... tell her through the written word that there is someone out there who loves her completely an unconditionally. He takes out a piece of the most expensve of parchment scrolls and a small coffer containing an ink of purest gold and writes this last poem not for himself... but for her to read... ::::::

--Journal entry 9 August , Lord of Masks