::::She sits up in her bed, white lace-edged linens surrounding her, fluffy pillows and feather-filled covers blanketing her, the candle bedside flickering its warm light, her only source this night as she reaches for her journal. She rolls over onto her side, shifting a bit closer to the light and, propping her cheek in her palm as she folds up an arm beneath her head, begins to write::::

Ahhh....the wonderful fury of storms. The winds whip outside my house, brutally thrashing the trees and everything else in their path. Deadly? Yes. Frightening? Yes. Exciting and fascinating? Oh, yes!! I love storms. They exhilarate me.

::::She grins a bit, the boards on the window rattling violently as she glances over before continuing::::

Well, it certainly has been an interesting few days. I have a house guest who sleeps on my sofa as I write this. As it happens, Camden...Lord of Masks...was not far from the cottage when the storm hit. I was busy boarding the windows and such when there was an urgent rapping at my door. I ran swiftly to open in and, lo and behold! There he was! Soaked to the bone! I pulled him inside and locked the door and, together, we quickly secured the cottage as best we could. Luckily, he had just been to town and had quite a store of supplies with him. Fortunately, I had been to town myself earlier in the day and stocked up just in time as well.

So, here we are...the two of us stuck in my cottage, no escaping each other...even if we wanted to. ~grins~ We have spent a lot of time talking, getting to know each other...what else is there to do? And...I find myself truly enjoying his company. I had almost forgotten what it's like to talk and laugh and share...and to like life again, be stimulated and motivated to live it. He has read to me some of his poetry....mmm wonderful stuff. I wish I had a talent for wordsmithing. He has not yet sung to me, nor have I asked him to, but I truly can't wait to hear his singing voice...even as he speaks, the richness of this voice gives me shivers!

::::She stops for a moment, brow knitting slightly as she thinks::::

I have one wish. He removed his mask for me. He is beautiful. Very handsome. Defined features, soulful blue eyes, soft, clear, perfect skin. Only upon closer inspection did I even notice the faintest of scars that runs from his left ear down to his chin. Yet he believes, and has for a number of years, that he remains badly disfigured from a sad incident long ago. My initial reaction was a gasp...of surprise, of course, having expected so much worse and, instead, seeing an extremely handsome face before me. Unfortunately, I think the gasp was misconstrued and he now believes my tolerance for his appearance is out of pity. My attempts to convince him otherwise fell on deaf ears. I could sense his great discomfort so I did not pursue the matter. My wish is that he look in the mirror...look at himself and not see the horrible jagged scar that he remembers, but the very faint line that remains. But...I also know that will take time, he has to be ready to do that of his own accord. I will not force it. I could tell how difficult it was to even show himself to me. In time...he will know in time. For now, I will just enjoy his company, his poetry, his voice, his presence...him.

I almost hope this storm never ends.

::::With that and a secret smile, she puts away her journal, blows out the candle and pulls the covers over herself::::

--Journal entry, 8 October, Rowsy

"Her eyes red and swollen from crying all night, she sits on the floor by Marissa's bed her knees pulled up to her chest starring into the near darkness asking herself silently again "why did she die?.....""

Damn you Mumphra! WHY? She was just a baby. WHy did you kill her??? This Island- is - cursed and now we have -YOU- . We should never have stayed here. When will they realize we should leave? When we are are dead...one by one we die...

"she screams as she gets up quickly and runs from the room and out of the manor into the darkness, unable to be in her room any longer"

--Journal entry, 9 October, Vixen Blade

:::is aroused by a loud pounding upon her door. Wakes, shuffling towards the door of her cabin, only to be met with a messenger. Taking the scroll, she sits to read it:::

How is this possible? How is it he can get around and kill people without being anywhere near them? He will pay for the death of Marissa. This cannot go unpunished. This will not go unpunished...even if it costs me greatly. Cost doesnt matter...she was just a child. A baby. How could he do that?

:::tries to calm down before heading to the dome to check on Vixxy:::

I am free. The collar has been removed. It is no longer around my neck. The divorce is supposed to be granted today. I am waiting for some sort of acknowledgement of that being accomplished. Thank the Gods that is over. I am so relieved, now my life can go back to normal.

::thinks about the last few days:::

Otherwise, everything has been wonderful for me. I have spent time with Taelie. I have seen him every night. I cant wait for him to be able to stay with me all the time once again. I love him so much. He means the world to me.

:::sighs and stands, leaving the journal to dry, as she heads out in the rain to the dome, to check on Vixxy:::

--Journal entry, 9 October, Lyrias Dreams

:::::: He lays, restless, upon the sofa in the sitting area of Rowsy's cottage. He tosses and turns, trying to get comfortable but simply cannot. Finally, as his mind moves quickly and unwittingly from thought to thought so that he may not get to sleep, he sits up and lets out a soft sigh. He lights the single candle on the table beside him and reaches for his journal, seemingly his one and only refuge from his own personal storm that rages within, more powerful to his mind than even the one that rages outside. ::::::

Strange. Strange how when the storm hit while I was on my way back home after picking up supplies, I found myself turning towards this place, even though in truth I was equal distance between here and my home. Strange.

The storm rages outside, loud thunder and bright lightning. Wind that can take a man from his feet and carry him a short ways against his will. Storms... in those ways a lot like love. Cannt the right person sweep you off of your feet and carry you through life as if floating on the wind? Cannot the words of your love crash over you like thunder as they ring, good or bad, in your ears? Cannot love sometimes flash briefly before your eyes and then be gone like lighting, a fleeting thing? Yes, storms are like love indeed... and how my heart rages like a maelstrom now, being so close to Rowsy, and yet... still not close either. Again... strange.

:::::: He pauses for a moment as a shadow crosses his face. Then wit a suddenly heavy heart and hand he continues. ::::::

I removed my mask. For her. I told her I would do anything for her yet still she seemed to doubt the sincerity of my words. She was wrong to doubt. I did the only thing I could, to prove to her how much she meant to me. I showed her my face. My thoughts, my heart, my pulse, raced as I stood behind her.I removed it slowly, hesitantly. I nearly stopped... but I needed to prove to her my love. Even at the risk of losing her as she looked upon me. I held the mask out, over her left shoulder to allow her to see what I had done. She turned slowly, so slowly, and lifted her gaze to my face and then...

She gasped.

What did I expect? I know the horrible scarring my visage bears upon it. I suppose I expexcted her to scream or run away, to cast me out into the storm as some monster, for is that not how I appear? Yes... a monster. Instead she looked at me and said the words that surprised me more than anything else ever had in my entire life. She said, "You're beautiful." Beautiful? Me? I looked into her eyes and then sighed.

Years... it's been years since anyone has looked upon me, years since I have looked at myself and still I will not. All of these years I wondered what it would be like to show myself. It never mattered because I knew I would not. Then Rowsy. The only person who could ever make me even consider it. Of all the things I expected as she looked upon my face... shock, horror, hatred, sickness, fear... the one thing I didn't expect is the one thing I received and it hurt more than I could ever have imagined. Pity. She old me I'm handsome. Words of pity. She ran her finger lightly along my scar. The touch of pity. She leaned up to kiss me, softly on the lips. Oh how I wish that were not the taste of her pity.

:::::: He stops her for a moment to wipe away the tear that has mysteriously appeared on the page before him. ::::::

I have hope. Hope that perhaps her pity can become something more, smething true. Perhaps she can learn to look past my affliction in time. She did not turn me away when she saw me. I suppose that is a good sign. We have talked of much these past days. I've told her of some of my life before the mask. I told her my name, my full name. I've even told her how I came to bear the scar upon my face. In turn she has told me some of herself as well... though perhaps not as much as I would wish.

This storm has been good for us I think as a whole. We will speak more often now. I will still write her poetry, as is my way, bu now I will read it to her in person. She seems to enjoy that. Perhaps we will begin going out a bit more. I think I would actually enjoy that. I have been here, alone, long enough. Perhaps being at Rowsy's side will give me the courage to speak with some of the others here. We'll see.

For now I will simply take things as they come and hope..yes, hope... for the best. Yes, over all, this storm has been more a blessing for us than a curse.

In a way... I kind of wish the storm would never end.

:::::: He sets his journal down on the table to dry and looke towards the stairs leadng up to where she sleeps. Though it is not the reason he loves her, he longs for the day when he may be able to wal up those stairs, hand in hand, with Rowsy. With a soft sigh he blows out the candle and lays back on the sofa. Still not able to sleep, he simply stares up into the darkness of the room towards the ceiling... and... he... Hopes. ::::::

--Journal entry, 9 October, Lord of Masks

This last atrocity was too much.

That svartalfar obscenity of a Mumphra has gone too far. It sickens me to see everyone treating his whims as something that must be endured. It is a thrice-damned obscenity and must be opposed. Mumphra is no god, not even a man, it's diseased svartalfar and deserves nothing more than to be expunged from this isle.

This time it caused the death of an innocent babe of four months. How many more such deaths need we see before they realize that to do anything other to oppose that thing is to tacitly support it.

As Khlamar is my witness I shall not stand idly by to see that thing corrupt the soul of my home and friends.

*Puts the quill down and blots the sheet with fine sand before affixing his signature*

--Journal entry, 9 October, Halfdan the Black

~hastily scrawled, the entry is a short one, simply written in late darkness, as she's on her way out to see to some business~

Of course. The baby is dead. Of course. Mumphra is responsible. Of course. So now they sit up and take notice. Of course. However, now is not necessarily ideal to start arranging attacks on the island's supposed "ultimate source of evil". Wait, wait...wait for the right moment. Of course not. It's a pity it took this death to get them stirred up enough to fight. How long have I been ready? How long have I been warning? How long was I unheeded, smirked at? Of course. Well, what can one do. They'll fight now, when the time is bad. Of course. And they'll curse me for not helping. Of course. I've things to see to before I can even think of it.

Jane

~pulling on her cloak she steps out into the wet, chilly, windy night~

--Journal entry, 9 October, Jane Maichen