Her eyes flutter open from a fitful sleep, long lush lashes flickering as she blinks awake, adjusting to the darkness of the room, the soft embers of a fire all but extinguished in the fireplace across the room. Finally focusing, she sees him standing there, in the dim light of the room, and rolls over slightly, leaning on an elbow.

She opens her mouth to speak to the shadowy, silent and unmoving form, only the blue and whites of his eyes revealed from beneath the mask of black silk, but no words come. She sits up fully, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, and looks to him, finally managing a whispered, "M'lord...you're here."

He steps toward her with an apologetic gesture of the hands, the rich timbre of his voice apparent even as he speaks quietly, "I could not sleep. I wondered if you were. I am sorry if I woke you, m'lady."

She smiles to him softly, idly wondering how long he had been watching her as she slept, seemingly unfazed that he stands here now, uninvited, in her bedchamber. Strangely, she is not at all afraid, nor even uncomfortable for that matter. On the contrary, perhaps even secretly pleased. She tugs a little at the hem of her nightgown, pulling it to cover her thighs as her gaze moves slowly down his form, then up again to his mask.

"I don't mind," she replies in barely a whisper.

He steps closer still, his scent preceding him as he moves to stand directly before her now, and drops to his knees between hers. His blue gaze meets hers meaningfully, large hands landing softly just above her knees, the heat of them almost searing through the thin cotton of her nightgown. She swallows and reaches out to his face, stroking the silk of the mask over his cheek gently with her fingertips, murmuring a soft enquiry, "May I?"

He nods almost imperceptibly though she can tell he is uncertain. She begins to peel the mask of silk up over his face, revealing, first, his strong jaw, the scar along his jawline barely visible...then his full lips...chiselled nose...well-defined cheekbones...finally, black hair peppered with white, pulled back tightly in a ponytail, leaving a noticeable widow's peak to punctuate the smooth, clear skin of his forehead.

"Perfect." She mutters matter-of-factly in an almost-inaudible whisper as her fingertip lightly traces the features of his face, placing then beneath his chin to tilt his head up slightly more as she leans to press her lips to his...

::::She bolts upright and blinks a few times, her bearings lost to her momentarily as her eyes dart around that same bedchamber. She quickly tosses the covers aside and jumps from the bed, crossing the room swiftly and descending a few highly-polished wooden stairs to look down into the living area where he...Camden...Lord of Masks...lies on the sofa, apparently fast asleep. She sits down on a step and takes a breath, only then realizing how quickly her breathing comes::::

--Journal entry, 10 October, Rowsy

"looks around the empty manor then goes to her room and throws some of her clothes into a box..she sits down at the desk to look out the window then picks up the quill and opens the journal to a blank page"

Everyone is right. Its time i get away from him. He doesnt know me, i dont think he ever did. Calls me names, throws a glass at me and accuses me of not grieving for my baby. Bah! He has no damn idea what im going through. How can he? He has never taken the time to know me or how I feel. Im just another object to him. Something to have around but only when he wants me around. Something to own.

I stopped at the construction company on the way here.

Their doors were locked. I wanted them to build me a home, somewhere, anywhere but close to him. I guess I will have to stay in the office at Dome til i can get one built. I cant stay here, not near him. And not in the home he bought for me. Its to damn close to the manor.

Its time to stop thinking with my heart and start thinking with my head. Im not a whore and i wont be treated worse than one by him. Im not a slave and he doesnt own me. I wear no collar and i never will. I will be no mans slave or whore!!!!

Yes im griefing for my baby. HOW dare him to even incinuate that im not???? That just proves he never knew me. All women to him are just an object to be used. He cares not for their feelings.

"she shakes her head and glances around once more then rises and closes the journal, she picks up her clothes and slips out of the manor as quietly as she entered"

--Journal entry, 10 October, Vixen Blade

::From the small keep he's staying in, he uses a nondescript lantern for light as he takes out his journal. Allowing himself a few hours' abstinence from the rye, coherency begins to kick in.

He doesn't much like it. And gets what he can onto the parchment before he chokes up and tries to drown the pain in his rye once more.::

They call themselves friend. One called herself my mate, or lover, or whatever the common-law term would be for non-wed people who share children.

Yet who was there when I lay the child to rest? Not one of them. Only Paul. My hired hand. Aye a friend, but someone I give gold for services rendered.. ::Shakes his head:: I would have at least expected Vixen to show me she gave a damn, for even if she was sedated and taken to bed, that one of her so-called friends would've sent word on her behalf my way, asking what arrangements would have been made for the interment. The eternal laying to rest of our infant daughter.

Had she shown a whit of interest I'd have delayed the interment. I'd have asked Paul to bring the baby's body to my market. To preserve her for when her mother was ready. Morbid? Aye, but I would have given her the chance to bid farewell.

Damn you, Vixen, you owed me your presence there. I should NOT have been alone then. You owed Marissa that warm kiss on her cold cheek, a mother's love. Are you even capable of that? ARE YOU?

Nannies are not maternal replacements: They might change diapers and feed, but should a nanny have accompanied me, or should YOU have been there...Damn you, how dare you get haughty with me. You have shown where your priorities lie. In drinking in the Pleasuredome and having fun. Not with raising a child.

Gone is the little girl, the firstborn to the Shore. Gone are the toothless smiles and brightened eyes. What's left behind? The woman who birthed her, giggling and having a grand old time with some new man (Ferror)..I truly wish my blindness had been permanent, when I saw what I saw. My eyes also drank in those that call me friend more concerned with their own trivial disputes and bickerings. They didn't join Paul and me as we placed her into the volcano. Hell, they didn't even pay verbal respects. It's as if the child ceased to ever exist.

How simple life was once. Well, complicated by some peoples' standards I'm sure, but it wasn't too hard to manage being married to Kate, and entrusting Lily-Anne with Carina. Or thinking Mia and Alkane as that other man's children, and looking after them as a friend of their Mother's. How soon these 'friends' forget that it took Vixen FOUR years to tell me I sired the twins.. But again, I am the "wrong" one. Never the "Wronged"..just the wrong.

How easy it was still, considering that Nimi, Breuse and Chris were born within a timeframe that would've had some women battering me over the head with iron skillets..but the women tolerated one another. And the children were babies, and life was predictable, all was well.

What have I gotten here? Carina has gone back to the Mainland, with a Cursed, young woman Nimi who should not be more than four years old now.. Breuse..::sighs:: he too suffered the Curse. I learn that Mia and Alkane are mine yet they show me little in the ways of respect, although I've given them everything. Mairin..my gods..I am now to seek her while suffering the loss of Marissa..

But how simple -was- it really, this is all a bout of deja vu I guess..When Mirell died with our stillborn Maribel.

But at least I knew that had Mirell lived..she would not have been frolicking with her cronies, and effectively sealing off my heart from anything that might've touched it.

They blame Mumphra for this 'change' in me. Not the fact that I've suffered many a loss since arrival. Not the fact that this particular woman has driven me beyond drinking, but now into fury.

Don't blame Mumphra. Look a bit closer, and you might find the 'true evil.'

I wonder if these 'friends' would even realize it if I up and left this Isle without a word. Perhaps I'll find out.

--Journal entry, 10 October, Sir Alterio A. Carazzi II

*writing as he gets overpowered by conflicting emotions*

The time has come, I have delayed my search for my brother long ennough, god knows I didnt want to stop searching for him.... But my heart wouldnt silence in its crying for lyrias. I hate to leave her again especially with what is currently happening on the isle, but I must. I have already spent longer waylayed than I had planned.

*sighs as he redips his quill*

Lyri my love, hopefully there shall be a day when all that keeps trying to pull us apart will realise what a pointless task it it.

::A note for Lyrias left at the cabin::

I waited for you love, I waited as long as I could but the winds were changing and it was going to exhaust Azorah too much if I waited any longer.

I love you lyrias, I wil return soon as I get a chance. I pray you manage to keep the children safe.

Love Taelie

--Journal entry, 10 October, Taeliesyn

****sits outside in the late evening light after returning to her home from Pleasuredome, at the small table she built, with her journal, ink and quill, poised to write****

Per'aps Laddie twas right aft'r all. I do need tae get outta the 'ouse more often. I did so this eve. I spent a bit at the pleasuredome. I think tha' I may begin tae visit more oft'n. I did enjoy m'self.

*****recalls vividly the look upon the slave-girl's face at the simple ball of light***** Wha a look o'pleasure upon 'er face. Twas delighted tae see it, I was. I am so glad tha' she enjoyed it so much, controlling the small ball of swirling color and light. I 'ope tae bring more smiles tae the faces around 'ere. Seems e'eryone tis so sad.

Ahhh...but, I do need tae spend time upon m'spells. Mother willna e'er leave me be if'n I donna study and get them right. She will fore'er haunt me I swear.

***starts her thinking upon her Mother and Father****

I swear tha' Kiralyn and Duncan Flynn willna e'er rest peacefully. Or they willna e'er let *us* rest peacefully. E'ery time I do something wrong..I 'ear me Mother a wailin in m'ear like some bleedin' banshee. Da right beside 'er tellin me tha' soon 'e will be takin' 'er on a vacation...so tha' Laddie an' 'is Lass can be wed. Tha' day canna come soon enough. I swear tha' she is gonna put me o'er the edge one o'these days.

****Tika****

**with a sigh, and a glance at how late it has become, she leaves the journal open to dry, upon the table, as she rises, and retires to her home for sleep**

--Journal entry, 12 October, Tika Flynn

Well I've -finally- managed to find the construction company doors unlocked. I've ordered a large house built on two ocean view lots. The largest lots they have and away from other homes. Now I just have to wait til its completed. I dont really need 5 bedrooms but maybe i can use one for an office/library.

"sighs as she rereads the note from Lyrias"

Alterio isnt going to like this one bit. She says Thirlia has asked her to be her mother. We adopted her after Torlin died. We love her like she is our very own daughter. But she does need a more stable home life and family than what we have managed to give her. Our constant arguing and separating isnt good for any child. Arguing over nonsense mostly. Ive told him over and over I dont want to fight any more but it just doesnt stop. Although, we never argue in front of the children, they can see when Alterio and I arent getting along. The silence between us, him leaving for days at a time, the tension between us.

Hell, Im tired of living that way, so i can imagine what the children are going through. His accusations that i have lovers, when i damn well dont have. IF he would open his eyes he would realize that. The way he turns on me every time something goes wrong. I get blamed whether Im involved or not.

The way he blamed me for Mairin's death. I had nothing to do with that. I wont take responsibility for something i didnt do. I argued all along against sending a child into the volcano. From the very first time Jane mentioned it, i said no. Yes, i was there that night, -but- it was Jane that went to get her. She didnt even want to tell the rest of us where she was going or for who. She finally told us -after- her and Lina argued a bit. By then it was to late to stop it. I was trying to keep Alterio under control at the time. We had to get him back to normal before he destroyed all of us and the island. By then there was no turning back.

Mairin did what she did out of love for her father. She didnt like what he had become. But he doesnt see it that way.

"she glances around the empty dome and sighs as she closes the journal and rises to get a cup of coffee"

--Journal entry, 12 October, Vixen Blade

~She smiles faintly as her father returns to her once more, pale, shivering. "Father...you've come back again." ~The words are soft. She blurs a bit. When she comes back into focus, she whispers, "Why are you so sad?" Her large eyes well up with tears of communal pain.

~Suddenly she's far away, sitting by herself, her hair falling damply across her face. "It's so lonely here...so empty...Father..." She tilts her head toward the "sky", and looks around blankly, seeming empty herself.

~Then she's nearby, courage in the lines of her frail body. "So much lost...I won't go away. I'll stay here...with you...forever." The smile wavers, flickering like a candle flame, and is suddenly snuffed out.

~Everything blurs, and she lays silent on the "ground", her hair neatly curled, her hands folded on her chest, seeming asleep. Her voice drifts gently through the air. "I love you, Father. If it's too much to bear...I shall go."

~Suddenly she's up again, looking concerned in her quiet way. "Oh, you're hurt...it seems a deep wound...so many!" A small kiss is applied fondly. "They shall get better, but they will leave nasty scars." And she begs... "Please don't change...don't become ugly with the scars...please? Don't become like him." A vague image flickers into existance, an unfamiliar man, but you get the sense it is her birth father. Then it's gone. "Please..." Just breathed.

~And with that lingering sense of desperation she is gone into the darkness, vanished, melting into shadow, her eyes lingering before they fall shut, the dream over.~

--Journal entry, 12 October, Mairin Carazzi