To be told of ones life from the perspective of others is a surreal sensation. Percival… Percy… that is what he prefers. He has delivered my own journals to me as a means of recovering what I’ve lost. As much as I would prefer that this was a lie, or one of my many nightmares, they all speak the truth. I cannot say how I am certain, but I can feel it in the very pit of my being.
I have discovered so very many things that I would have never thought possible. The vast majority of the journals I read from later years are filled to the covers with things I cannot even fathom.
Though it is all as if reading a story written to entertain. It is of great interest, and some of it even feels possible, but there is no emotion attached to any of the words. It as if my mind accepts the possibility but my heart refuses.
Added to this utter strangeness is the face of a man who inflicted horrors upon my very person. Those memories are hardest to digest. That I had developed such feeling for a monster. The torment is the clearest of the memories… and just as I had receded into myself, as I had finally given over to the most base of my nature… these people, as if beckoned by my very soul, arrived and gave new life to my fractured mind.
I cannot bring myself to leave them. It cost them far too much to even consider returning to what I remember of my life. Though, truth be told, that is impossible. I am no longer the woman I thought I had been. My own body feels foreign and covered in black tattoos. I do not look on them as familiar when I stare into myself through the mirror.
My daughter… Aisling, has said that I received one as a rite of taking leadership here. She has showed me the mark that matches it on her. The others were mystically applied. She explained that she watched me die, a spear having been thrust through my waist, and again into my side. There is another, a longer more winding mark that traces the path of my spine, likely the result of another injury, but one she herself does not remember. I have not been brave enough to ask anyone else, for that level of immodesty would be… uneasy for me.
As I read, I have begun to remember flashes… the faces of younger children, a room in what appeared to be a castle keep with a woman that I recall feeling was familiar painted on the wall.
I recall a tall man with darker skin and feathers in his long black hair but cannot yet recall his name. A cave with what I could only describe as a diseased bear attacking someone that I recall from my time in torment. I only know his name to be Abel, and that at one point I saw him as a mate. Why I will never know. Going through my journals of the time it seems that I kept many secrets from him, including the state of my own heart and growing resentment for a man that… I can’t remember. I know I’ve read the page over and over again, the words displease me. Then… nothing. As if the knowledge itself will not rewrite itself in my mind.
I have taken to speaking with Angus as often as I can, as it seems he is the source for most of what I dared not even write in my own journals. His consideration and whit leave no wonder in my mind as to why I have stayed with him for so long. Of anyone, I would say that it is easy to trust him the most.
Percival has taken to joining me for tea. I think this is more to ensure I am well rather than for my tea. He does not care to partake much. The wolves…my children as it has been explain to me, they seem to enjoy his company when their father is not here.
Fionn, my oldest daughter… though not chronologically, visits often. Her presence makes me smile, as if she is both light and color in an otherwise gray world. Aisling offsets her perfectly, and feels more like a sister to me than a daughter. Though the fact that we look so similar likely has to do with that.
The others had given a great deal of space. Viola visits with me come dark, nearly every night. I enjoy her company and she feels the least foreign of any of them. I have begun to remember bits and pieces of our time together, though most of it involves some for of debauchery. Her ways make it hard for me to imagine a time when we were not friends, and in truth, aside Angus she likely knows me more than any.
I have yet to resume my duties as Theurge in full. I have had to spend a great deal of time relearning the motions of many of my innate abilities. The rites, the rituals. Luckily I have kept excellent records. Angus and Percy have what I do not.
After having read the last of the journals, I have begun to see the waters of the river styx as a blessing rather than a curse. Perhaps it was needed to allow myself to continue. In all of my many years I have seen much pain and loss of loved ones, and while it is hardest to say so…I believe that I was finally beginning to succumb to them. Perhaps it was needed to allow a fresh start, or a blank slate as it were.