#magicatte problems

[little-purple-thundercloud]

Small pages, 27s, 3 AM

The Pale Star appeared this eve. She is changed; most of her memory is either gone or muddled, like as not by the hand of someone who attacked her. She remembers nothing of the Marquis, of her adopted mother, or even of me. Her memories seem strongest of the Black Viol, though mayhap that is because they have been spending time together.

The familiar-soul survives, so she is in no danger of death, but who attacked her and why remains a mystery. My feelings for her remain a mystery to me as well. I hold the memories of her and I, hands and hearts entwined. She remembers only feelings of care and love from me, and only through a haze. A great part of me wishes her back into my life, but we cannot pick up where we left off; too much of her past is missing if nothing else. And the Monk -- this will cut his sensitive soul deeply.

But she remains special to me, a part of my heart.

, Y.

[little-purple-thundercloud]

Small pages, 13s, 2 AM

The Fiery Moon warned me. "She's in love with you," she said. "Watch how she acts." I should have listened to her, for she has far greater wisdom than I, particularly in such matters -- a trait she shares with the Pale Star, as it should happen. This eve, the Icewalker, who I should truly find a better name for, inquired about my adventuring and about why I did so alone. I answered truthfully. Many leves are quite mundane: find this, kill that, bring them in for questioning. I do not wish to drag my apprentices or others out on such, particularly if such leves will involve parties and threats to which they are not suited. I complain enough about levemetes assigning adventurers not equal to a task, so I would not want to contribute to the problem.

Nevertheless, when I gently attempted to redirect her, she focused more fully upon it. "If not as teaching, then as friends. We can get up to a lot of fun." The Fiery Moon is right. She is smitten with me at the least, and I do not share the same feelings, and I am unsure that I can express to her, or myself, why.

I had rather hoped my life would grow somewhat less complicated.

, Y.

[little-purple-thundercloud]

Small pages, 12s, 2 AM

Perhaps I have grown too hardened, too inured to the horrors of the world. To see a living being, or perhaps a simulacrum of such a thing, dissolve in front of me did not provoke the revulsion and horror that others have. Instead, I was more interested in the process of the Pattern collapse and how it related to the auracite, and how this might, or might not be, relevant to our battles against Garlemald.

The Mimic, at least, seemed disturbed by my lack of being disturbed. Others are as well, but simply did not show it. As ever, I am striking terror into the hearts of those who care for me. I await the casually averted gazes, the apologies for avoiding me, and more.

Eventually, everyone realizes I am broken and wisely chooses to leave, lest they be broken as well.

, Y.

[little-purple-thundercloud]

Small pages, 14s, 2 AM

The unfortunate truth of having the senses of both an adventurer and a miqo’te is that you often discover things that, while not actively concealed from you, you and others would prefer you not to have known.

What once I had as suspicion, I now know is truth. I am the outsider. I am not the primary, I am not even a secondary; I am the pitied creature being fed warm words and thoughts because no one can stomach the thought of speaking the truth. I am, it would seem, the delicate flower that no one can bear to kill, despite my toxic thorns and roots killing the rest of the foliage.

There is no place for me there. I will ever and always be the whore the pet left outside, brought in when there’s nothing better to do.

I must needs steel myself for next sun, because I will not allow this to ruin their story. Perhaps I can arrange a Maelstrom incident that I may have a reason to quickly depart, but this will not circumvent my need to speak my heart in part of the ceremony. I cannot simply say, “I have nothing to say.”

, Y.

[little-purple-thundercloud]

Small pages, 15s, 2 AM

The ceremony was lovely, by all accounts. I put on a mask, which was easier than I thought; indeed, I was and am quite happy for them both. I almost survived the entire evening until the Young Blade brought the situation to the fore. I retained my calm openly, only to lash out at the Minarai privately. His true love, of course, pulled the gathering away from me. In the end, the Monk and I consumed enough drink to kill a chocobo and passed out, a fine and proper end to the evening.

I am trying so very hard to not think ill of her, to trust that what the Minarai says is true, to believe the best in people. But then I see how she reacts, I see how she looks at me and speaks to me, how she moves when the Machinist and I are ever near. And I feel the cut of the words of both eves on my skin, the lack of care by anyone save the Mimic and the Monk, the Minarai arguing to me that what I see with my own eyes is not true.

I see the four of them happy.

I see no place for me in their world.

And I see signs all around that they see no place for me there, either.

, Y.

[little-purple-thundercloud]

Small pages, 9s, 1 UM

So as not to disturb anyone else at the Tower with an ill-conceived attempt to develop skills -- any skills -- beyond wholesale destruction and disappointing others, I rented a properly equipped cottage and set to work on the most simple of recipes, sweet buns, with the level of precision I apply to alchemical workings. Unfortunately, measures such as “pinches” and “cups” and instructions such as “stir until combined” are as inscrutable as the laboratory notes of any magician, and batch after batch were inedible garbage: incorrect internal structure, too sweet, not sweet enough, flat and hard, and so on.

I then tried my hand at non-baking methods. Again, the terminology and methodology was ill-suited to effective practice. Fish stuck to pans, leaves turned beyond wilted to bitter, rice balls that will not stay together in the desired form. I am certainly beyond the idea of “hotter is better” of my youth, but the most simple of techniques continue to elude me.

It is true that I could practice repeatedly and eventually achieve some middling level of competence, but the world does not stop that I may learn such things. Just as when I begin to learn Hingan, others move to speak in sign languages and huntspeak, by the time I would master this, we would have master culinarians in our midst. There is little point for me to learn a skill that I cannot master, and little point in me learning one others near me have already mastered.

My time is best spent developing more effective methods of devastation instead of playing with baked goods, drums, or mixed liquors.

, Y.

[little-purple-thundercloud]

Small pages, 7s, 1 UM

I am told I need to attend a musical revue later this moon, as the Pale Star will be performing with the Black Viol. My feelings are, as they oft are with her, balanced on a razor’s edge between ecstatic and agonized. To see her again, to see her great talent -- even if it was, as she says, stolen from another -- is a thing of majesty. And yet, it is a painful reminder of the mirror, the abyss that stands between us, and keen evidence that her light, even if afar, will always eclipse mine. She is truly no longer of my world; I will never be able to reach her; and her beauty and grace will forever outshine mine.

She is not the only woman in my life who is greater than I. For all my power, I am nothing. I am no one. In the end, naught I do will matter, I will have never saved the ones I care most for -- the Warrior continues to destroy herself, the Chirurgeon could never be reached by me -- and those who profess to love me will, as they surely should, move on to those who are not chains upon their hearts.

I can think of no one who is truly better for having been in my presence, but I can think of so very many who have lost much and more for having done so.

, Y.

[little-purple-thundercloud]

Small pages, 9s/2, 1 UM

I have much enjoyed the times I have spent with the Knight as of late, but they are like to come to an end. I, a fool, opened part of my heart to them at our last meeting. Inevitably, having seen a mere fraction of the darkness I bring to others' lives, they will wisely retreat.

I once thought that those similar to me, who can understand me, would be those who would remain close. Instead, I am just the broken thing they like to swiv

, Y.