Written By Lianne
Jan. 31, 2024, 3:03 a.m.(8/25/1021 AR)
I danced with Lord Onyx at what may well be the end of the world.
I watched him and Fortunato, shadow and lamplight, acknowledge the softness in one another, who they've both chosen to be.
I spent a rare quiet moment on this darkest of days sharing love and tears and a few good drinks with precisely the right people.
I kissed my children and took a bath.
I'm ready. However this story ends, I'm ready.
I watched him and Fortunato, shadow and lamplight, acknowledge the softness in one another, who they've both chosen to be.
I spent a rare quiet moment on this darkest of days sharing love and tears and a few good drinks with precisely the right people.
I kissed my children and took a bath.
I'm ready. However this story ends, I'm ready.
Written By Lianne
Jan. 21, 2024, 11:06 p.m.(8/7/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Medeia
I believe Lady Medeia Saik accepted my offer of patronage purely because I have, in the past, encouraged her curiosity and the boldest of her ideas. Every now and then, our madder notions need a little nudge, and it's been a privilege to be able to encourage hers. She hardly needs it now. Meet a few successes and that support isn't so necessary any longer.
She is a spectacular overachiever, vastly more capable than most of us, and she'll have my support whenever she asks it, however unneeded it may be.
She is a spectacular overachiever, vastly more capable than most of us, and she'll have my support whenever she asks it, however unneeded it may be.
Written By Lianne
Jan. 19, 2024, 12:49 a.m.(8/1/1021 AR)
There is, in the depths of the Abyss, a vast garden of unimaginable beauty. Crystalline flowers grow in every direction, stretching to the horizon and beyond, their petals so delicate that the barest mishandling might see an entire bloom crumble to dust. Each time we pray and receive no response from the Gods, a new flower blooms in Despair's garden.
In the heart of the Garden of Unanswered Prayers stands a grove which grows in bold and bright defiance of the muted beauty which surrounds it, of the inherent gloom of the Abyss. Countless copper flowers grow, each a desperate prayer spoken by Copper that went unanswered. There was no answer for her, nothing to be done to change what had to be. Not even the Gods in all their grace and capability could grant her what she sought.
Her beloved Gold had given his life to shatter the Will of Baalphrigor, to buy time to seal the Archfiend away, to keep the Dream from ending. Copper, stricken with grief, tried again and again and again to find the right set of circumstances, the right set of choices which might allow her beloved to live in the world he saved, to both save the world and save her lover. Each time she failed, each time her heart broke again, another copper flower grew. The grove stands now as a testament to the Great Unbound's tenacity and to the terrible truth that some stories cannot be changed.
Some of us alive today gave up our own dreams, our own hopes to ensure that this story, the one we are living right now which seems so impossibly grim, is not set in stone. We can yet write the ending to this chapter and the beginning of the next. Our path is ours to choose, together.
In the heart of the Garden of Unanswered Prayers stands a grove which grows in bold and bright defiance of the muted beauty which surrounds it, of the inherent gloom of the Abyss. Countless copper flowers grow, each a desperate prayer spoken by Copper that went unanswered. There was no answer for her, nothing to be done to change what had to be. Not even the Gods in all their grace and capability could grant her what she sought.
Her beloved Gold had given his life to shatter the Will of Baalphrigor, to buy time to seal the Archfiend away, to keep the Dream from ending. Copper, stricken with grief, tried again and again and again to find the right set of circumstances, the right set of choices which might allow her beloved to live in the world he saved, to both save the world and save her lover. Each time she failed, each time her heart broke again, another copper flower grew. The grove stands now as a testament to the Great Unbound's tenacity and to the terrible truth that some stories cannot be changed.
Some of us alive today gave up our own dreams, our own hopes to ensure that this story, the one we are living right now which seems so impossibly grim, is not set in stone. We can yet write the ending to this chapter and the beginning of the next. Our path is ours to choose, together.
Written By Lianne
Jan. 19, 2024, 12:10 a.m.(8/1/1021 AR)
Transcribed from my Blacks by my own hand:
(11/19/1010 AR)
Shared only with Dusk, who replied with his own brilliant composition. Documented here for posterity, even if it's not a precisely accurate representation of my experience.
The Garden of Unanswered Prayers
Some stories are set in stone,
their endings never to be righted,
carved in ice and in copper grown.
I walked through gardens, not alone,
each bloom born of hope unrequited,
of stories long since set in stone.
For one dreamer: a garden all her own,
countless roses for a heart unquiet,
all rimed in ice and copper grown.
Blossoms of glinting metal shown
for every regrown hope benighted,
her endless story set in stone.
With futility such beauty was sown.
Only one mortal has ever delighted
in all that ice and copper grown.
Her story is one you've always known,
no happy ending or lovers united.
Some stories are forever set in stone,
carved in ice, in copper grown.
(11/19/1010 AR)
Shared only with Dusk, who replied with his own brilliant composition. Documented here for posterity, even if it's not a precisely accurate representation of my experience.
The Garden of Unanswered Prayers
Some stories are set in stone,
their endings never to be righted,
carved in ice and in copper grown.
I walked through gardens, not alone,
each bloom born of hope unrequited,
of stories long since set in stone.
For one dreamer: a garden all her own,
countless roses for a heart unquiet,
all rimed in ice and copper grown.
Blossoms of glinting metal shown
for every regrown hope benighted,
her endless story set in stone.
With futility such beauty was sown.
Only one mortal has ever delighted
in all that ice and copper grown.
Her story is one you've always known,
no happy ending or lovers united.
Some stories are forever set in stone,
carved in ice, in copper grown.
Written By Lianne
Jan. 18, 2024, 9:59 a.m.(7/28/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Ainsley
Azazel doesn't have a head. Even when embodied, you may not be able to find a head to sever.
Which is not to discourage your very worthy aspiration, but to adjust expectations. Please do cut of each and every part of him you can, however head-like or not.
Which is not to discourage your very worthy aspiration, but to adjust expectations. Please do cut of each and every part of him you can, however head-like or not.
Written By Lianne
Jan. 15, 2024, 6:09 p.m.(7/23/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Jan
Your hard work is appreciated. A moment such as this merits the profoundest profanity.
Written By Lianne
Jan. 13, 2024, 3:40 a.m.(7/18/1021 AR)
I regret the girl I used to be who thought she had to be sharper and harder than she ever truly was, playing at wickedness never possessed.
I regret my early research which, despite good intentions, did more harm than good.
I regret the years I spent mourning something I hardly had and how it changed me, how it did harden me and render me cruel.
I regret the hard lines I drew, the people I hurt, the trouble I caused, the friendships I lost.
I regret breaking Sebastian's trust. Almost more than anything else.
I regret making a villain of someone who's only ever been a friend, what years I wasted harboring bitterness over nothing significant.
I regret one ritual of my own design which had unforeseen consequences; whatever the benefit, whatever I learned, the damage was done.
I regret neglecting Valerius in my grief over losing Beatrice. I wish we'd been able to bridge that distance.
I regret not following through on the work I was conducting with Archscholar Sina before she died; maybe things would be different now if I hadn't given up then.
And I regret asking someone I love immeasurably to bear the cost for something that may prove of little use in the end.
I regret my early research which, despite good intentions, did more harm than good.
I regret the years I spent mourning something I hardly had and how it changed me, how it did harden me and render me cruel.
I regret the hard lines I drew, the people I hurt, the trouble I caused, the friendships I lost.
I regret breaking Sebastian's trust. Almost more than anything else.
I regret making a villain of someone who's only ever been a friend, what years I wasted harboring bitterness over nothing significant.
I regret one ritual of my own design which had unforeseen consequences; whatever the benefit, whatever I learned, the damage was done.
I regret neglecting Valerius in my grief over losing Beatrice. I wish we'd been able to bridge that distance.
I regret not following through on the work I was conducting with Archscholar Sina before she died; maybe things would be different now if I hadn't given up then.
And I regret asking someone I love immeasurably to bear the cost for something that may prove of little use in the end.
Written By Lianne
Jan. 10, 2024, 11:08 p.m.(7/13/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Apollo
We worship those we think, rightly or otherwise, above ourselves, such as Gods, heroes, parents. It is an act of reverence.
We may demonstrate devotion to our equals, to whoever we feel merits it. It is not a passive thing. It is an act of consistent care.
We may demonstrate devotion to our equals, to whoever we feel merits it. It is not a passive thing. It is an act of consistent care.
Written By Lianne
Jan. 10, 2024, 11:02 p.m.(7/13/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Valerius
Transcribed from my Blacks by my own hand:
(7/6/1008 AR)
He was crying when he told me he loves me, that he has never felt so comfortable with anyone in his entire life, that he didn't want to return to a life without me. I cried, too. With relief, with joy, with ache and worry for the burden he must carry in being close to me.
I love him, too. I sometimes find myself thinking of ways I might bend my world to better fit him in it.
I don't think anyone would imagine he's where I would put my heart, my time, all my attention. I would argue that they don't know either of us very well. He is honest, always. He is made of light and laughter and bravery. He is not without fear, but I have yet to see him shy away from either responsibility or challenge, no matter how he might say he avoids the former. He loves deeply. He answers all my questions, even when they make him uncomfortable. He lets me see him. And I think he, too, sees me, even if he doesn't always understand.
I woke beside him this morning after a night of crying and confessions. I woke with his skin beneath my fingers, and I can't remember the last time I felt such peace.
This will not be easy, but I have no doubt that it will be worth it, if only for moments like those.
(7/6/1008 AR)
He was crying when he told me he loves me, that he has never felt so comfortable with anyone in his entire life, that he didn't want to return to a life without me. I cried, too. With relief, with joy, with ache and worry for the burden he must carry in being close to me.
I love him, too. I sometimes find myself thinking of ways I might bend my world to better fit him in it.
I don't think anyone would imagine he's where I would put my heart, my time, all my attention. I would argue that they don't know either of us very well. He is honest, always. He is made of light and laughter and bravery. He is not without fear, but I have yet to see him shy away from either responsibility or challenge, no matter how he might say he avoids the former. He loves deeply. He answers all my questions, even when they make him uncomfortable. He lets me see him. And I think he, too, sees me, even if he doesn't always understand.
I woke beside him this morning after a night of crying and confessions. I woke with his skin beneath my fingers, and I can't remember the last time I felt such peace.
This will not be easy, but I have no doubt that it will be worth it, if only for moments like those.
Written By Lianne
Jan. 10, 2024, 7:49 p.m.(7/13/1021 AR)
Transcribed from my Blacks by my own hand, with a note that this was a relatively minor demon:
(8/7/1005 AR)
All I could see was blackness.
It came in through my eyes. My ears, nose, mouth, but also my eyes, blotting out all light, leaving me in darkness. As if the allegorical darkness which I had denied had risen up just to tell me that it is real, that it is not mere metaphor, that there is no other word for this evil but what it is: Darkness.
For all the weight of that word, I must try to document this clearly, to articulate what I witnessed. Here, first, for myself and for Vellichor and for Tehom who sees what darkness is left in me. Later, for my beloved duchess. Perhaps, then, after review, for a few fellow scholars.
What I witnessed was a black, ominous cloud barreling toward myself and the admiral. Cassius had alerted me, shouting from upstairs, and I reached for my holy water. I was unable to wield it effectively, to create a barrier which might have prohibited its movement. I did, however, see how it reshaped itself to avoid what I was able to spill, which only made the gaps I left behind all the more evident. As it rushed toward my face, I then tried, in vain, to guard myself against its trespass, but the mist was too fine. It got in.
It was wet and oppressive and slick like oil. I could barely breathe for how it contaminated every inhalation without ever being expelled. It could not have been more than a minute, and yet it felt so much longer. While within me, heavy and wrong and inescapably black, I could feel it taking from me, this... pulling from within my very being.
I remember very clearly what it felt like to be stripped of all that awfulness, to feel it forced from me as I was pushed past the barrier which had been drawn around us. I felt clean. For an instant, I felt perfectly pure, that imperfection washed away by Mangata herself. And then I hit the ground. Cassius had erected a circle of holy water, Felix then pushed up through it, trapping the mirrorborn in its mist-form, too fine to defy the holy wall which bound it. Once it took to a more solid form, it was able to push through, the blessed water eating away at its ruined and fluid flesh, but it was also once more able to be struck. And vulnerable to combustion, at which point it crumbled into oil and ash and mirror shards, of which I have collected a few.
I will want later to record the others' experiences, what they witnessed, but this evidence is my own.
I feel pitted still, as if all of my innards have been weathered and worn by what was within me. I know this is not the case, that I am well and whole, yet that metaphor feels so real, as if I have been scarred in ways the rest of Arvum will never see. No. Perhaps if I think of it as wounds, injuries, it will heal. To call it a scar is to bear it forever, to be marked by the mirrorborn. This, like any other wound, will heal.
Any further exposition would detract from the purpose of this journal.
(8/7/1005 AR)
All I could see was blackness.
It came in through my eyes. My ears, nose, mouth, but also my eyes, blotting out all light, leaving me in darkness. As if the allegorical darkness which I had denied had risen up just to tell me that it is real, that it is not mere metaphor, that there is no other word for this evil but what it is: Darkness.
For all the weight of that word, I must try to document this clearly, to articulate what I witnessed. Here, first, for myself and for Vellichor and for Tehom who sees what darkness is left in me. Later, for my beloved duchess. Perhaps, then, after review, for a few fellow scholars.
What I witnessed was a black, ominous cloud barreling toward myself and the admiral. Cassius had alerted me, shouting from upstairs, and I reached for my holy water. I was unable to wield it effectively, to create a barrier which might have prohibited its movement. I did, however, see how it reshaped itself to avoid what I was able to spill, which only made the gaps I left behind all the more evident. As it rushed toward my face, I then tried, in vain, to guard myself against its trespass, but the mist was too fine. It got in.
It was wet and oppressive and slick like oil. I could barely breathe for how it contaminated every inhalation without ever being expelled. It could not have been more than a minute, and yet it felt so much longer. While within me, heavy and wrong and inescapably black, I could feel it taking from me, this... pulling from within my very being.
I remember very clearly what it felt like to be stripped of all that awfulness, to feel it forced from me as I was pushed past the barrier which had been drawn around us. I felt clean. For an instant, I felt perfectly pure, that imperfection washed away by Mangata herself. And then I hit the ground. Cassius had erected a circle of holy water, Felix then pushed up through it, trapping the mirrorborn in its mist-form, too fine to defy the holy wall which bound it. Once it took to a more solid form, it was able to push through, the blessed water eating away at its ruined and fluid flesh, but it was also once more able to be struck. And vulnerable to combustion, at which point it crumbled into oil and ash and mirror shards, of which I have collected a few.
I will want later to record the others' experiences, what they witnessed, but this evidence is my own.
I feel pitted still, as if all of my innards have been weathered and worn by what was within me. I know this is not the case, that I am well and whole, yet that metaphor feels so real, as if I have been scarred in ways the rest of Arvum will never see. No. Perhaps if I think of it as wounds, injuries, it will heal. To call it a scar is to bear it forever, to be marked by the mirrorborn. This, like any other wound, will heal.
Any further exposition would detract from the purpose of this journal.
Written By Lianne
Jan. 9, 2024, 5:25 p.m.(7/11/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Apollo
Transcribed from my Blacks by my own hand:
(8/23/1014 AR)
It felt, for a moment, as if he wished to use me as a weapon against himself. The cut would've hurt us both, though him more grievously, I imagine. Guilt is a terrible thing.
I wonder, though, if I already am, without trying. There's a shape to his pain that I can't fully see. It's easy to imagine it's a matter of language; I never understand the fullness of what he communicates, and I've come to accept this. This feels different, like I can't see it because I'm a part of it, my perspective limited. When I look at it like that, I can trace the pain back to the beginning. Every step along the way. What a burr and burden I've been.
Not only that, I know. And yet...
(8/23/1014 AR)
It felt, for a moment, as if he wished to use me as a weapon against himself. The cut would've hurt us both, though him more grievously, I imagine. Guilt is a terrible thing.
I wonder, though, if I already am, without trying. There's a shape to his pain that I can't fully see. It's easy to imagine it's a matter of language; I never understand the fullness of what he communicates, and I've come to accept this. This feels different, like I can't see it because I'm a part of it, my perspective limited. When I look at it like that, I can trace the pain back to the beginning. Every step along the way. What a burr and burden I've been.
Not only that, I know. And yet...
Written By Lianne
Jan. 9, 2024, 5:24 p.m.(7/11/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Aleksei
Transcribed from my Blacks by my own hand:
(10/2/1007 AR)
Of all the things which have brought me joy this week, it is the peace which Aleksei and I have found which makes me happiest. I do not expect that it will last; there is too much inherent tension in our opposing positions on so very many things, no matter how much we might agree on others. I will, however, enjoy this armistice for as long as it lasts. I rather like being able to think of him as a friend again.
I believe it was seeing another misunderstand my intentions that leant him some empathy, that reminded him I am not so cold and cruel as I can sometimes seem when I am pursuing understanding so doggedly. It was a matter of perspective, being on the outside of the conversation, an observer rather than participant.
He does seem tired, though. Increasingly. Each new struggle wears him away a little more. I want to ask if he feels the weight of his chains.
I also want to not lose this friendship while I have it.
(10/2/1007 AR)
Of all the things which have brought me joy this week, it is the peace which Aleksei and I have found which makes me happiest. I do not expect that it will last; there is too much inherent tension in our opposing positions on so very many things, no matter how much we might agree on others. I will, however, enjoy this armistice for as long as it lasts. I rather like being able to think of him as a friend again.
I believe it was seeing another misunderstand my intentions that leant him some empathy, that reminded him I am not so cold and cruel as I can sometimes seem when I am pursuing understanding so doggedly. It was a matter of perspective, being on the outside of the conversation, an observer rather than participant.
He does seem tired, though. Increasingly. Each new struggle wears him away a little more. I want to ask if he feels the weight of his chains.
I also want to not lose this friendship while I have it.
Written By Lianne
Jan. 8, 2024, 6:09 p.m.(7/9/1021 AR)
Transcribed from my Blacks by my own hand:
(7/6/1008 AR)
It occurs to me only after penning my last entry that I really ought to write this one as well, that I should document, to some degree, my most recent excursion into the tunnels below Aviaron's Peak.
I went because Fortunato asked. Perhaps I should write more on him as well. Another time.
I went because Mydas has my loyalty, even if Aviaron's Peak is no longer his to worry over.
I went because I thought I could help.
There was little help I could offer beyond naming the Reflections at every level, calling attention to their influence. Legion, Despair, Knave. Mydas wouldn't let me speak the Sleeper's name. We argued over whether the fifth level was for Blight or Veil, though Avarice clearly had the sixth.
On the seventh, Fortunato painted. He painted vast dwarven cities and, when he was done, dust rumbled from the walls to reveal the destruction wrought by the thing trapped under the tunnels, to show how both sides worked together to contain it. Balance and cooperation.
Proof of that which I most crave. Proof that it serves a purpose. Proof that it works.
Still, it was all unsettling. After, as a few of us sat around talking, I held to Fortunato's arm and took comfort there.
I should write him. I should visit. I should ask him to paint Avarice for me next.
(7/6/1008 AR)
It occurs to me only after penning my last entry that I really ought to write this one as well, that I should document, to some degree, my most recent excursion into the tunnels below Aviaron's Peak.
I went because Fortunato asked. Perhaps I should write more on him as well. Another time.
I went because Mydas has my loyalty, even if Aviaron's Peak is no longer his to worry over.
I went because I thought I could help.
There was little help I could offer beyond naming the Reflections at every level, calling attention to their influence. Legion, Despair, Knave. Mydas wouldn't let me speak the Sleeper's name. We argued over whether the fifth level was for Blight or Veil, though Avarice clearly had the sixth.
On the seventh, Fortunato painted. He painted vast dwarven cities and, when he was done, dust rumbled from the walls to reveal the destruction wrought by the thing trapped under the tunnels, to show how both sides worked together to contain it. Balance and cooperation.
Proof of that which I most crave. Proof that it serves a purpose. Proof that it works.
Still, it was all unsettling. After, as a few of us sat around talking, I held to Fortunato's arm and took comfort there.
I should write him. I should visit. I should ask him to paint Avarice for me next.
Written By Lianne
Jan. 8, 2024, 6:08 p.m.(7/9/1021 AR)
Transcribed from my Blacks by my own hand:
(3/9/1010 AR)
All the forgetfulness befalling Arx so suddenly can mean only one thing. Does the snow suggest another hand or is it simply a little fear to go with the forgetting?
Add to that the odd autopsy which Juliana and I performed earlier, the sand hissing about a reckoning, about the sleeper awakening.
I look at what I have to work with, and I despair... and I wonder then if I brought this on myself. This is, after all, the path I've chosen.
(3/9/1010 AR)
All the forgetfulness befalling Arx so suddenly can mean only one thing. Does the snow suggest another hand or is it simply a little fear to go with the forgetting?
Add to that the odd autopsy which Juliana and I performed earlier, the sand hissing about a reckoning, about the sleeper awakening.
I look at what I have to work with, and I despair... and I wonder then if I brought this on myself. This is, after all, the path I've chosen.
Written By Lianne
Jan. 4, 2024, 11:08 p.m.(7/1/1021 AR)
I'm grateful to everyone who joined Fortunato and I on the beach to burn art, let go of things we no longer need and celebrate Mae Culler. I was truly moved by your support and participation.
I feel I've fulfilled a promise I made long ago, in spirit if not in letter.
Wherever you are, Mae, you're missed.
I feel I've fulfilled a promise I made long ago, in spirit if not in letter.
Wherever you are, Mae, you're missed.
Written By Lianne
Jan. 4, 2024, 10:49 p.m.(7/1/1021 AR)
What was done was absolutely necessary.
If we're to fret about the consequences of those particular actions, we ought to also reflect on our own inaction. We've known about these threats for years upon years, some of us, and we did not do enough to address them when they weren't quite so dire.
It is no one thing that has brought us to this point.
In the end, it hardly matters why we're here, only what we do now.
If we're to fret about the consequences of those particular actions, we ought to also reflect on our own inaction. We've known about these threats for years upon years, some of us, and we did not do enough to address them when they weren't quite so dire.
It is no one thing that has brought us to this point.
In the end, it hardly matters why we're here, only what we do now.
Written By Lianne
Dec. 31, 2023, 10:33 p.m.(6/21/1021 AR)
The work does not end. The odds do not tip in our favor. There is no light on the horizon.
There is only work to be done, the outcome ever unknown.
We persevere.
There is only work to be done, the outcome ever unknown.
We persevere.
Written By Lianne
Dec. 31, 2023, 10:26 p.m.(6/21/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Jeffeth
Lady Jan does have a remarkable talent for descriptive language.
I'm grateful. Both for her fervor and for your aid.
I'm grateful. Both for her fervor and for your aid.
Written By Lianne
Dec. 10, 2023, 9:52 p.m.(5/7/1021 AR)
I have a new blade. A proper dagger made for me, to fit my hand, my technique, with duskstone I fished from the fountain at this year's Mirror Masquerade capping the pommel. I'm nearly Apollo's equal these days, and I expect I'll need to seek a new teacher if I mean to hone my skill any further. I've enjoyed training with my husband; it's a different sort of a dialog, a poetry of motion. Will my interest hold absent that intimacy?
I think I'd like to try. I think there's something satisfying about the fulfillment of a promise leading to more. I no longer train to see that duty done, but because I like it. I like the work. I like learning. I like the way my blade feels in my hand. I like knowing how terribly capable I am with it.
What will I do with the blade Cassius gave me, then? I thought to give it to Cassia, but I already know it's not suited to her tastes. Not yet five years old and already so magnificently opinionated. Still, it seems right that it might be hers. An off-hand weapon, perhaps, when she takes to swords instead. I wish he could see her. I wish she could know him. Stories will have to do.
I think I'd like to try. I think there's something satisfying about the fulfillment of a promise leading to more. I no longer train to see that duty done, but because I like it. I like the work. I like learning. I like the way my blade feels in my hand. I like knowing how terribly capable I am with it.
What will I do with the blade Cassius gave me, then? I thought to give it to Cassia, but I already know it's not suited to her tastes. Not yet five years old and already so magnificently opinionated. Still, it seems right that it might be hers. An off-hand weapon, perhaps, when she takes to swords instead. I wish he could see her. I wish she could know him. Stories will have to do.
Written By Lianne
Dec. 3, 2023, 10:03 p.m.(4/21/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Duarte
I have experienced only two things in all my life that scared me as much as the series of urgent letters I received telling me of your injuries, as seeing your torso torn open, your mustache nearly burned clean off.
You may ask me what terrors compare, if you'd like.
Let's think of it as payment, in part, for how kindly you've obliged my insistence that you not die without my say so.
You may ask me what terrors compare, if you'd like.
Let's think of it as payment, in part, for how kindly you've obliged my insistence that you not die without my say so.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.