~she sits at on her bed, Mairin sleeping restlessly beside her, Paul shifting nervously in his basinet, drifting off slowly after feeding. Her eyes are raw from rubbing away tears, the sick feeling in her stomach gnawing away at her. She tried to eat and was promptly sick. Now she writes, helpless to do anything else~

He was angry with me when he died, I think. That makes this so hard. They both died without reason. That makes it that much worse. It could have been avoided. I keep thinking that if I'd been there, I could've shook some sense into Ben. Why couldn't he have given himself up? I was ready to keep an eye out, to make sure that the kind of justice the knights wanted would be fair. But no, he had to take matters into his own hands...get in over his head. Now two are dead. I'm so angry. Anger doesn't seem right now. How am I to be angry? But Ben...Alterio had a family. Sweet Gods above...

I loved him. I think he knew that. Not romantically, not as lovers or those that could really be together that way. But I loved him for what he was. He was real. He made me so mad. Some days I hated him. But I never ever stopped loving him. I just wanted to help him in any way I could. But I wasn't there to help anyone last night. Is that my fault? It feels like it, but how could I have known? I feel like I should have. Instead I was here, sleeping, worried over whether Alterio would understand me. Now I'll never know.

I'll mourn for Alterio, as I'll mourn for Ben. Angry as I am at Ben... Angry as I am at this world that is so hateful as to take everyone away. Every I held close to my heart. Who do I have now to depend on? Hestia, Paul, Mairin here, maybe Aidan if he remains...none else. Not that I'm truly close to. Not that I could share my heart with. All the good in this world lasts so briefly, and all the bad forever remains. What is fair about that? I just can't understand a world that would let so much be obliterated so quickly, before their true potential could be realized.

Riena would ask me to look for the good in the situation. The silver lining. What silver lining could that be? A lesson, she would say, to be learned from so terrible and seemingly pointless a tragedy. A lesson, yes...a lesson I will learn as I've learned all the others: well and hard. But who will learn it with me? It sickens me to think that none will. That hate and anger will fester in every heart still. Does it ever stop? Does anyone even care? Do the gods even care? Because it sure seems like they've turned their backs on us.

I will remember them. Paul will be told especially of Alterio, of his good qualities. I will teach him. Dear Paul, who is the embodiment of all the hope I have left. My only true joy. Baby Paul, who I will teach of Wesley's knowledge and honour, his father's integrity and nobility, and Alterio's humour and strength...and the goodness that existed in them all.

Mairin. She is lost in a sea of despair with nothing to hold onto. I've tried to talk to her, but she won't speak anymore. I wonder if she saw his body. She is so horribly affected. She won't eat. When she sleeps, she tosses and screams soundlessly. When I try to comfort her, she becomes distant and rocks herself gently. I mentioned Felina's name, and she shook terribly. I don't know what to do. I'm afraid to leave her, but I have to work. I know how she must feel. She would have done anything for him. She threw herself into a volcano for him. And now he's gone and she'll never have him back. She needed him. I'm afraid she'll die without him. And how can I heal anguish and terror?

JM

~she lays down next to Mairin and stares at her tear-stained young face. Her brows are knit, her eyelids flutter, and her mouth works as though pleading in silence fruitlessly. Jane sighs softly, her heart wrenched at the sight. She smoothes the child's beautiful hair helplessly, lost herself~

--Journal Entry, 15 December, Jane Maichen

::::after awakening rather harshly, the outcry of Ben, as he reached out to her, begging her "please...", stirring her from her thoughts, she wipes away the silent tears, attempting to steady her hand enough to write legibly after sleeping all night in the chaise:::

I cant believe its happened again. Another one gone.

Leaving this place as he begged me to help him.... I couldnt. I couldnt bring myself up from the past. I let him die because I couldnt swim to the top of the waters of what happened years ago. Its my fault. I could have saved him.

:::she weeps silently as her Da's voice invades her thoughts...'Nae, Lass, tisna yer fault, wha 'appened. Ye couldna 'ave saved 'im from wha would 'ave 'appened eventually. Now, chin up, Lass, and on with ye life. Ye be the strong woman tha I knae ye can be, and go on.'...between silent sobs she answers Duncan, softly..."I could 'ave kept 'im a live longer, Da, gave 'im time tae get away...but, I couldna...jus as I couldna save m'first 'usband. I tried tae save M'Lord Carazzi...but, I ddna e'en try tae save 'im. Wha kind o'ypocrite am I, Da?" falling silent, she begins to write once again::::

I miss him so much already. He never said it...never. Never said he loved me...but, I knew. I knew he loved me. I loved him, and never told him. Not once before he died. Only last night, at the volcano, did I finally tell him....and then, it was too late. I couldnt see the sparkle in those grey eyes that I knew would have been there. I couldnt hear the softness in his voice that I would have heard. I was left devoid of those things...always too late.

Now, I mourn yet another I had sought to give my heart to.

Another....who will never truly know the depths of the feelings I held for him.

--Journal Entry, 16 December, Tika Flynn

~she wipes frantic tears from her cheeks, as Felina, her face also tear-streaked, holds Mairin gently in her arms, carefully dripping water into her mouth, seeing that she swallows it. The child is prone, limp, and cool to the touch. She lifts her pen to write, hoping maybe writing will help her think of something~

She will not wake. I've tried everything. She is alive, but her breath is shallow, her pulse slow. Her skin is cool, and clammy. The only sound she makes is a small whimper now and again. We've shaken her, called her name, tried wake salts... Nothing. What do I do? If she goes on like this, without food, she will die. She's been like this since late evening yesterday. I'd just brought up some soup and she lay asleep, so I reached to shake her, because she had to eat. But nothing. And still nothing! Does she truly believe that she has nothing left? How can one shut down so completely... How do I bring her back to us?

~she drops the quill, cradling her head in her hands as Felina breaks down, begging her little sister to come back. Slowly, Jane rises, grabbing her cape. "I'm going to the dome to see if I can find a healer this time. Just...keeping giving her water, and try the wake salts again. I shouldn't be long."~

--Journal Entry, 16 December, Jane Maichen

::Oversees the maid packing his bag, only brought a few days' worth of attire, and that was packed hastily. "Nevermind, just leave it. I think I will keep this room here for my use, but I am leaving this eve to go back to Achethe. Send the soiled clothing for washing, but return it to this room." The maid does so, and he sits at the desk in the guest suite and writes some notes in his journal. At his age, he finds notes a good reminder to have on hand.::

Thankfully, the girl isn't giving me any resistance to what I've planned. His body is in the casket.. I don't know who says that one lying in state looks "asleep." Sleep entails the rise and fall of a chest.. a flutter of eyelids. He is dead. Looks like me in there, the death mask eerie to put it mildly, but he is still whole. The wounds wrapped tight so no rot sets in, the parlor kept cool these couple of days, and the guards will carry it under cover of darkness to the location Quajinx told me; we will then strap the coffin to the dragon's back and I too will ride; back home. Then we will try to take it from there.

Anthony stopped by. Had blood on his clothing; figured he'd got in a tussle. Then he told me what he did; Good for him. Had he had focus, he could've had more success in his Knightly career. But he was not cut out for that. Piracy fits him, even though that's hardly what I consider an honorable profession.

I wonder if the girl will be overwhelmed with all of these children.. I swore her to secrecy, but perhaps I should allow her to confide of what it is I hope to accomplish; that way, even though he will be in exile, she too could rest, by sending them to him periodically; my domestics miss little feet padding through the corridors. If that occurs, if we're successful with him.. then I will be sure to return to this Island during those visitations. I never had much patience for children.

I wonder if he wants to be uplifted. The conditions might infuriate him; They tell me how much he loved this Island. But he cannot be selfish, as we Carazzi men seem to be, inherently; if everything works the way it is possible to, he will have to live with the fact that he could never return here.

The magics would crush him, suffocate him like a jungle boa constrictor. Mutilating him, combusting him, many forms of torture trapped into one long moment.. The death would be excruciating.. and permanent. No magics anywhere could reverse it. He was bullheaded like me; he might not much like the fact that his existence is hanging on living up to a condition not set forth by himself; I personally couldn't live that way, but I am an old man now. I haven't little ones to worry about anymore; he has a young man's obligations. And potential. It seems almost a crime to let him rest. It is more of a moral duty to try and return him to a being state, restrictions applying. I can't -not- try. It must be done.

Tonight.

Lady Fate, Goddess of Luck..shine on my namesake, please. I have asked for little in this life, but I implore you to hear me now.

--Journal Entry, 16 December, Alterio Carazzi I

*she rocks, slowly, back and forth, back and forth, arms wrapped around her stomach. Calhin is away on the Rover; she will force herself into calm by the time he returns home. Eventually, she pulls herself up off the floor into the desk chair, and takes up the quill to write. The words are barely legible, a scrawl, nothing like her normal, careful script, and her grammar is miserable.. as she speaks, not in the manner of her usual writing*

Ah.. so many dead, so many dead, and I left in the middle of it.. I didna think they'd both die, I didna think even one of them would die. But duty always comes before common sense, an' so they bled each other to death like the stubborn bastards they both always were... may the gods rest their souls.

An' so the roster stands.. Ben dead, Alterio dead, Mairin I 'ave 'eard to be insensible, and I've 'eard of the death of little Thirlia in rumors.

*tears begin to splatter the paper, smearing the ink and making it further difficult to read. She takes a long draught from a wineglass that stands on the desk, full of the white wine that was a Yule gift from Alterio to herself and Cal*

I'd figured wha' my backaches were, when Kiralyn told me as well... ah, well, all gone now. I'd not 'ad wine for ages an' ages, hoping... oh, I hoped so hard, by all the gods I'd prayed every night, and it seems only the dark ones heard me. I've lost the babe, I lost it when I 'eard the news of the deaths, wi' the shock and stress that came wi' the news...

*she takes another sip of wine, draining the glass, and throws the glass far away from her.*

I canna let Cal know...

Casi

*she signs the page deliberately, scatters sand over it and hides the journal under the mattress. She sees the pewter glass roll across the room, empty of Alterio's wine, pulls her hand back from the bed that was a wedding gift from Ben, and sinks to the floor again, clutching her stomach and rocking, rocking...*

--Journal Entry, 16 December, Casidhe

~She sits slumped in a chair, staring out the window dully, Paul in her arms. Mairin lays, gasping somewhat, in Felina's embrace. The elder sister clutches the child to her desperately in her own unhappy slumber. Aidan can be heard downstairs, making a light meal. Letting her eyes drift down to Paul, he is asleep again. Such a good baby. A true gift from the gods. She lays him carefully in his basinet, leaning over to kiss his forehead, brush sandy wisps of hair from his forehead. She produces her journal~

I came across the Yule gifts today. From Alt. Among them a gift certificate for the Village Idiot. It exists no longer. It's been vandalized. A disgrace. I don't understand people...the disrespect some have for the dead.

I don't know what to do with it all. I can't look at them without feeling sick, like I've got nothing inside of me but a painful knot. I'll have them put away until I'm feeling more like myself...however long that will be.

It's so hard to focus. I can't think about any one thing for longer than several moments or so. My thoughts keep jumping from Mairin, to Ben and Alterio, to Paul, to Yule which is no more, to this sudden, looming fear I have of tomorrow. Why do I get the vivid feeling that this is just the beginning, that things are about to get very hard? There's this obscure air of forboding, of something in the near future that's going to slam into me like a ton of bricks. I don't like it. I hope I'm wrong. This is already hard enough, though having Aidan here eases my heart a little. I feel like such a burden to him. He's always picking me up. And what do I do for him?

Oh Mairin...little Mai. She's been through so much in only ten years. He was all she knew of true, unconditional love. Perhaps Ben, too. Alterio her guardian, her protector, the infallible love and shelter she could always count on. And Ben, the one she ran to when she didn't want to bother Alterio. Both snatched from her at once. Gods, I pray no one tells her what happened...if she wakes. No, when. When she wakes. Please let her wake...

~she leaves the journal to lay open in her lap, and rest her head against the back of the chair, shutting her eyes as grief clouds her senses again~

--Journal Entry, 16 December, Jane Maichen