We tore it down, the stupid cushion fort in the loft that I haven't used once since, well in what feels like ages. And now the most lovely bookcase stands tall and beautiful against that back wall. Its been cut from wood into the shape of a tree, its sprawling branches laden with books, scrolls, candles, doodads and various other sundries. I painted along the wall around the tree and behind it, scenery of woodland wildlife at play and flowering flora. Its just absolutely perfect in our comfortable little loft.

Yet still, I've not been feeling very happy these turns or even put together. I've had headaches and the vision we saw through the strange mage woman's portal has puzzled and troubled me. I was glad to see him along with Bobo and dear Scooter. Alive, but they looked mentally and emotionally broken, as if they have lost all hope of rescue. And we still don't have any idea how to help them, still we do nothing. The plants I pray to and tend around the ugly statue have been stunted for what feels like an age, my nurturing useless. And all but forgotten by the spirits of nature. I dont know what else to do for them. My hopes they would bloom have faded away. As is the hope for finding the things I once owned and cherished. I know they are just 'things' but when you grow up living the way that I did those things are important and can be quite comforting, as they hold memories that can help get you through the bad times. Something he well knew and took no care to think over and do what was right before making his hasty disappearance. I've looked for them everywhere it seems. Though obviously I need to do more looking.

It was my fault to trust, against everyone's warnful words and against my better judgment, so perhaps it is my punishment that I must live without things I have collected through the many years I have walked these lands. A constant reminder of why I need to listen when people tell me things, especially things I don't want to hear. Sometimes I feel like a misfit amongst forgotten and forlorn things. I've always teetered on the edge of being nobody and somebody. Not anyone important mind you, but just someone good who can be proud of herself, especially after all I have lived through and what I still live with. Yet despite all that I've always used my past as motivation for the way I live each turn, to do good by others especially those I deeply love. But I guess perception oftentimes stains reality and when you deal with so much darkness, the darkness gets inside you no matter how much you fight it and deny it. None of us are immune.

In every one of us there is a beginning full of moments that define us. That beginning becomes our past. And within every past there is a future, even if we never get to fulfill that future, and within every future there is a present - a purpose, a story, a fire, a fight, a resolution and an ending. Now things quiet for so long once again stir, needing our vigilance yet I feel more lost, insignificant and disconnected then ever before. I still have that form, the one from that night -- that night many Moon cycles ago, tucked away in the bottom of my pack. Maybe that time has finally come to use it and to pass what is dearly beloved in my heart along to the only other whom I love eternally and trust with all of my heart and soul. The one who makes the stars fall for me, the one I shouldn't have given up on. The only one who has ever truly kept his word to me. The only one who has loved, honored, cared and looked out for me with the best of intentions, unburdened by all of my flaws and idiosyncrasies and always catches me when I fall.