Journal Entry; The Horror
The following chapter is a personally scribed entry from Ana-Juli, written hastily and with tiny water splotches staining a handful of letters (likely from tears).
Unspecified Date; Time Unknown
I had the strangest of dreams...
I woke with an ache. Sudden, sharp. It ran so deep it ripped me straight from sweet slumber. Feeling cold even with the soft thick duvet covering myself and my husband, whom I always woke to being cuddled up with in some manner, and I... I was still so unbelievably cold. So cold I feared to cry, and by the Shadows didnt I wish I could to release the pent up emotion of agony, but I was worried. I genuinely worried the tears would crystalize whilst welling in my eyes, it was so miserable.
But of course, Henroth did not stir. He was sound asleep even while cuddling a striaght icicle. That lug could sleep through an avalanche, but heaven forbid someone start cooking a slab of pork belly. The frying bacon would wake him quicker than anything in the world.
To move my arms had the sensation of pins pricking the skin was enough to kill, like ice cracking and splitting but my skin was the ice. Strange, abnormal. Like everything in my life, thus I grew to worry if it was simply my body reacting poorly to an illness?
The most intense cold Id ever endured, but then again I had always reacted poorly to colds... It wasn't often I gained them but when it did happen it always weakened everything that was me in essence and body. My flames are me, the magic courses through my veins, to have it snuffed by something as small as an infection was enough to wound my pride as was, but the physical toll it took was so unbelievable... This was a different feeling entirely. I was more than just weak. Even with colds the fire in my veins were simply just not as intense, a most pathetic feeling. But I had to be sure if my suspicions were correct.
I finally accumulated the courage to rouse from bed and from there the sensation only worsened. I had it in my head that Id get to the bathroom and try to envelop myself with a cocoon of flame. It made perfect sense in my head to do this inside a bathroom as small as Henroth and I's, but my gut was twisted with grief while my head begged for reason-- I ignored it. My own selfish desire to quickly beat a cold won over the logical concern that I wouldn't be able to control the flames if I pushed myself too hard-- And Shadow forbid I light a cotton towel aflame. I'd never let myself hear the end of it!
Alas, midst stumbling into the bathroom eith my head so jumbled paired with my already weakened state resulted in me stubbing my toe, and even banging my knee into the bathroom doorway-- Painful moments that were amplified with the ache of the insufferable ailment plauging my ice cold flesh. But the most frustrating moment occured when I tried to conjure even a simple flame, when I finally closed the bathroom door. Try as I might it was as if I wasnt with any powers at all...
I sat in that bathroom for what felt like hours, having long since fallen to my knees and curled up into a ball all while fighting to conjure something-- Steam, radiate warmth, anything at all... I strained myself for so long I nearly fainted from exhaustion. In truth there had been spots forming in my eyes, but still I begged the Shadows to aid me, to guide me...
With one final sob of, "Shadows preserve me," the spots in my eyes became too overwhelming. I fell into unconsciousness, curled up into a ball in the middle of the bathroom floor.
And then I woke up. Sweat pouring down my face and collecting all over the pajamas I'd worn to bed.
The pain had gone. The sense of illness alleviated from my senses-- I could move without feeling thousands of needles stabbing at tense muscles and tearing into soft flesh. The fire in my veins werenas strong as ever.
But I'd never felt more scared in that moment, because the comfort of simply writing the experince off as a dream was ripped from me. Still could I feel a different though prominent throb.
Peeling back the blanket had my fear been reaffirmed. The visibly bruising flesh on the toe which I had stubbed and the knee I hit were dark blue and purple, fresh. Wounds during what my conscious state could only hope to describe as a terrifying realistic nightmare with unconscious sleep walking.
But when ever had things been quite so easy? Perhaps I will keep writing these journals, if anything else suspicious happens. But I cannot tell Henroth... I don't want our family on edge because mommy is having terrible dreams.
I'm certain I can concur this on my own.
jacobvanloon
theartofmadeline
areudirty
yousharknotpass
izzy806
titsay
