[0 petals fell]

[0 petals fell]

"I cannot..I don't expect you to understand about my vow, Bryony." I stood in bare passion before the man of my dreams... begging for a crumb of him, and Warrick receded into his shell right before my eyes. And this after the Necromancer had whispered the clothes right off me, for I could not deny his fingers nor his wish to see what of me lay beneath the dress.

I had a strong curiosity to see Warrick without clothes. I didn't try to hide it, but he stopped before he had disposed of one articile of clothing and all for her. Alexandra. Once again the memory of a dead woman is thrust between him and I. He had made a promise to her and right before he went all the way in breaking it, he dumped this vow in my lap. "Would you make a liar out of me, Bryony?"

As if.. I had drug him kicking and screaming to this moment? As if I had flaunted myself, tempting him sorely like some slattern? He was hiding behind me! Denying what he felt.. denying us. Warrick wants me, same as I want him. Why by Jeskei's creation would he be in Carver's Outpost if not in wish of me, need of me? I was furious.

I told him to fuck his vow.

[0 petals fell]

My memory of the several deaths in Carver's Outpost is like a antique scarf, moth bitten and riddled with holes. I awoke laying in one of the village streets, my smarting cheek pressed to a muddy rut. I hurt all over but that couldn't explain why some demon picked up my crumbled body and carried me away. I couldn't fend him off.

At least at first I believed it was some infernal henchman whom bore me hence, for the creature's face was a conglomerate of black and red flesh and his eyes were a bestial yellow. He took me directly to Warrick however, laying me down alongside what appeared to be a dead body. So who was he? What.. was he?

The Necromancer was a sight for sore eyes. Golden. Beautiful. Unpeterbed in the light of death and dismemberment. It couldn't be more than obvious why he was here, in Carver's Outpost. For me. For me. I think I love that man. I know I want to love him.. I wonder if he will allow me to.

I will defend my failure to ask him this pertinent question for he recited a smattering of his foreign tongue, breathing out a rhymthic chant and the next summit in my consciousness was a swirling darkness, broken only by a never-ending snarl.

[0 petals fell]

It is those little measly fucks who did this to me! TO US!!! I wouldn't have had to bury daddy in a hole in the ground if not for them. I wouldn't have had to protect Lara if not for them. I FUCKING hate them all. Seedy, backwards minded hateful little no accounts! Burn down my house? Try to hurt my father? Threaten my friends house? THEY ALL DESERVE TO BLEED OUT THEIR EYES, TO HOLD PIECES OF THEIR EYES IN THEIR GREEDY PALMS. I HATE THEM. I DON'T HAVE TO BE NICE anymore. I don't have to turn the other cheek anymore. They never loved me. Never thought of anyone but themselves but tonight.. I WILL RID THIS REALM OF THEIR PATHETIC WASTED LIVES. I will bathe in their blood. I will wear their skin. THEY WILL REMEMBER ME ALWAYS! THEY WILL RUN FROM... US!!!!

[0 petals fell]

My caveat.. my entire reasoning for agreeing to my father's death as sacrifice to Taltos was I knew I can cheat death. I would bury my father in the sacred glade deep in the hearth of the Amberleaf Weald. The hallowed soil would rekindle his life, a life which wouldn't have been spared if the Briar King should ever break lose.

But the doing it.. the act itself was so much more than logic could encompass. I struggled to do it, you see. Every pore of me wept to be thrust in a world which required a blood payment so dear to my heart.

When I cut off his head, I did so with the sharpest blade in my reach, Lara's. And after.. I remember naught but a blinding grief, unhinging my every inner tie.. and I did scream to the unanswering night's sky, as much as my throat and lungs could manage. There is no reprieve for how I feel.. abominable no matter that I buried my dearest father so he might live. I want to believe that is my motive. I need to believe it.

What have I done? Can you not tell me, explain to me.. what have I done?

[0 petals fell]

I had carried out my plans. My father lay in a sombulent heap at my feet and a still warm but very dead Alistar was carried off by the tree blights for Asmodeus' cold pleasure. And suddenly the isolation I had counted on collapsed in on itself from two coinciding directions.

A briskly insistant knock on the front door. A woman whom had been spying through the window. These were the sabatoes thrown in the gears of my hopes, bringing everything to a screeching halt. Lara, the spy, did not attack me in an attempt to save my obviously incompacitated father but the three men at the door who demanded to see him.. were more of a pickle.

I had to refuse their late-night demands, citing my father as so sick I worried their very nearness to our home put them in jeopardy of contagion. They believed me, turning ghastly pale and hieing off to whatever rock they'd crawled out from under.

I didn't think a bluff of rampant disease would stall their intentions for long, and so I left in a hurry.. while oddly the femme fatale I had scarcely met, offered to help carry my father out the back door. Before we ever entered the concealing timber, my childhood home was ablaze.. a veritible bon fire beneath the vault of Auvyrnon sky.

[0 petals fell]

"You lying little whore.. I know who you've been with. I know." Asmodeus is convinced beyond redemption that the golden boy of Carver's Outpost has caught my eye. Stolen my heart. Taken me in dark corners. Because of this damned belief which I cannot shake him from, no matter by behavior and promises of chastity, the Briar King demands I bring the young man to him.

I cannot outright defy my Master but as I returned to the village to carry out the charge of not one demon.. but two, I knew I could not bring Alistar back to Asmodeus in full capacity.. knowing and feeling the torture to which he was about to face.

I'm not sure if my mercy killing was any better than the foul creature who controls me but I could think of no other way. No other way to spare him. I blighted Alistar, feeding him some of the mind spore fruit which he greedily ate. Inwardly he died in that moment of consumption, the seedlings fostering through his system like wild fire. Outwardly, he would seem alive enough to perhaps fool and satisfy my Liege's.. cruel jealousies.

My father.. I doused him with Valerian and he sleeps. Taltos demands father as a sacrifice for going to war against the Briar King and so I will comply with his wishes also. There is however, something even the great spirit Taltos doesn't know and so I hope to come out of this entire ordeal alive.. along with my darling papa.

I pray he will forgive me these extreme measures when I explain all but for now, I must act without his permission.. and in such a way, he may look on me in fear for the rest of my days. But.. he will be alive.

[0 petals fell]

I returned to Carver's Outpost.. to the Weald and to Asmodeus. This time, however, I did not go alone. The black cat Astarté has chosen to forsake her Master and tag along at my heels. Too, Taltos hides inside me.

The Briar King's lair is well hidden and even if stumbled upon, I think anyone in their right mind would turn back. The curse of the Briar Rose enables me and me alone to walk amongst the ever-shifting fields of briars, their black barbed trunks and branches moving restlessly now and again without rhyme or reason.

Within this unwelcoming nest, hidden away from the eyes of men, lies the horde of blighted trees who obey me.. or rather, obey the Briar Rose. Their count reaches the thousands with more growing every day within Asmodeus' cavern. He has plans, my Master does.

The blights are a horror to look upon. Squat, gnarled little trees with claws for hands and sunken depressions where eyes and a mouth should be. They have neither. Their only organ, the blight spore serves reproductive purposes. It is located in the head area as the rest of the creature is solid wood.

This blood-red pomme sits inside a hollow rather like a human brain, moored to the insides with sticky, resinous sinew. It is sectioned off in quadrants and contains the seeds to which the thing sprung from in the first place. It is edible and sweet.

When I come into the Briar King's lair, the blights tend to follow me and when I arrived from my trip to Eunomia, it was no different. They came lurching in my wake as I knelt at the feet of my Master. And he wasn't at all pleased to see me.

[0 petals fell]

He got to me. There is a spot inside of Warrick for me to fit. I need I can fulfill. This I sense strongly.. and although I wasn't to be scooped up in his arms and carried off to a bed of fragrant petals for my first instruction on physical love, I eagerly followed him back to the executioner's squalid little shack. He would teach me how to please him like no other woman could. I would be in his blood..beneath his flesh forever.

Warrick did not take me to bed as I expected.. the Necromancer instead tugged me downstairs into the darkness where Priam hid his dungeon from any disapproving eyes.

The walls were lined with every gruesome torture device known to man.. and by the welding marks I saw on an item or two.... a few homemade goodies had been added to the collection as the Executioner developed his own style of bringing the accused to confessions meant to purge their souls. But why would my husband-to-be take me to such a place?

The possible reasons shivered through my mind. Warrick meant to lock me up down there in the dark and to take from me.. the feathery whisper of a spirit I had traveled countless miles to garner. He meant to steal from me. To hurt me.. he doesn't trust me. Not as I am now. He does not understand. He wants in. But in for his own gain but not my own. I had to get away. I couldn't let him do this to me. He had to be stopped. I would stop him.

I ran upstairs as fast as I could, beating him to the stairwell door which I locked up tight. I did not want him to be afraid. I whispered down to him I was sorry but I could not allow his interference. There is too much at stake...too many lives.

I left Eunomia after Astarté helped me to borrow a horse.

Warrick...

I thought you loved me. How could you?

I thought..

[0 petals fell]

I felt amazing after our kiss. I am not sure if the Necromancer's lips bear a healing touch or not but my bruised ribs weren't grinding my spirits into the dust and I could think.. actually think without fear or pain weighing me down. Of course, on the advent of such a change for the good, my stomach rebelled and I got violently ill in front of the man I would like to be pretty for.

Warrick drew me outside for cooler air and a walk in the graveyard which surrounds Priam's house. He had my hand in his and he was marching us through all those tombstones and cairns, intent on finding something.. or someone. It turned out to be the executioner who was frantically reopening a grave with only his shovel and a fair amount of sweat. He had some making up to do.. which was the message he received from the board any ways.

I felt so good. Confident. Strong. Easily prone to grin in sardonic amusement.. and of course surprised when Warrick tossed his witch board and planchette in the fresh hole the Executioner was digging.

Priam balked. He couldn't believe this was the Nercomancer's intention any more than I could. Why all this time, those two items were lovingly cared for and never left out in view for very long at all. Still, Warrick demanded those precious relics of his to be buried in an unmarked tomb before turning back to me.

"Be mine."

"But Alexandra.. your wife."

"She's been dead.. a really long time, Bryony. You will be mine, yes?"

With this act, the man buried his wife for with the board gone, any hope of contacting her spirit went with it. Finally, he was letting go of Alexandra after many many years of clinging to her memory and he was doing it.. for me.

"Warrick, teach me tonight to be a woman and come morning light, how to be your wife."

[0 petals fell]

When the executioner returned, he busted through the outside door with a frantic edge to his voice, repeatedly calling for the Necromancer. Warrick quickly left my side and in the silence I wondered if the supposed kiss was a figment of my over-tired imagination and both my lips were liars. I fancied I could taste the man upon them. I will have to kiss him.. again.. to ever really be sure.

They were noisy in the front room with their exclamations and the hollow thunk of a heavy load being dumped unceremoniously on the floor. I was dead on my feet, yet I crept down the hall to investigate. I found the two men standing over a dead body, looking nonplussed as to what to do about it too. Yet before I could ask what happened, Warrick noticed me and began to herd me back to my cot in a back room of the house.

I begged him to let me stay close, claiming the executioner's house is scary and vile .. and I did not want to be alone. This was no lie for Priam's residence is all those things and I was indeed incredibly apprehensive. But I must confess, I am drawn to Warrick and I was much more content when curled into a rocking chair in the corner while the two men prepared to use the talking board.

I did not mind watching the action like a wall flower and was fully prepared to do so but it was not meant to last. For the Necromancer soon spun his spell and convinced me to not only join in but to call for Taltos again. If the planchette would've ever stayed on the board, I think the conversation with Asmodeus' ancient enemy would have gone smoother. As it was, I did most the talking.. nay, begging for a pact to be drawn between us in our mutual endeavors against the Briar King.

I never did get a clear and concise answer but as the ceremony ended, Warrick took me hard by the shoulders and covered his mouth with mine. Not to kiss necessarily but to exhale his lungs into my mouth which I swallowed like a little chick eats from her mother's beak.

The attraction we share walks on egg shells, no more.

[0 petals fell]

I kept a stiff upper lip and my distance for the rest of the journey to Eunomia. I would make it on my own without any help from the cruel fiend, I thought... no matter how grueling those last few miles were. Eventually we stepped from the woods and the village lay nestled in the shadow of northern mountains.

Warrick cordially if tensely, waited for me to catch up and I told him flat out if he gave me the name of the town physician, I would see myself tended to. And since I wouldn't be monopolizing his time, he could directly see to whatever prior plans he had cooking before I bungled them with my aches and pains. I was, in short, running. I could neither bear another glimpse of his mouth without hearing it coo the name, Alexxxanndddrraa so sweetly, nor listen to the echo of his sultry pillow talk in my ears.

The Necromancer pointed out he had promised to see me to the healer and he insisted he keep that promise. He also asked me to accompany him to the house of Priam. I suppose I did not protest very hard. My memory gets a little foggy at this point as my body decided it had enough of pain and exertion combined. Warrick was forced to carry - drag me the rest of the way to a lone house overlooking Eunomia but once he had knocked, the beefy oaf swung open the door almost immediately and invited us in.

Warrick put me to bed on a dingy, sweat-stained cot and bid our host to fetch Thanatos, the healer to come quickly. Priam was impatient to 'get down to bizness' but with a stiff nod stepped out into the night and hurried off to find the medicine man.

I was so tired. The lids of my eyes kept closing and I floated on a willow puff of delirium, drifting in and out of what was happening around me. So I could be wrong when I say to you.. that I believe the Necromancer kissed me.

[0 petals fell]

Alexandra. This whole time as I ached and agonized over the connection I feel so strongly with Warrick, he has been fantasizing I am another. The woman he loves, to be exact. A bucket of freezing cold water dumped over my head would have been less startling than the Necromancer whispering her name in my ear.

In unison we both quickly pulled away to stand there awkwardly waiting for the other person to say.. something. Anything. The gap between us had become bottomless all of a sudden.. and words could 'try' to fill it..

..but neither of us spoke up. I was too stunned to make heads or tails of what I was feeling and Warrick seemed okay to leave it as it was, for he soon turned back to the path and continued on. After a long time, I followed. Now the gap was physical too, a veritable chasm of space. At least if my eyes filled with tears, I would not have to share my shame with the man and if I was around him, I would cry.

I know I only got what I deserved. Warrick of Gloumenwood is a widow mourning the love his life. Maturity and wisdom would counsel me to give him a wide berth so the man might heal his soul in time. I have only pestered him with my handful of questions which bring the woman's death and his own loss back to the surface. It is cruel! For he is stuck on her, his heart raw with her absence whether she is able to care for him now or not. I get it. I understand.

Yes, I got what I deserved, yet I am still suffering the grips of a craving. I crave to heal him myself.

That's the ugly truth.

[0 petals fell]

Warrick believes it is in my best interests to be seen by the healer in Eunomia. He is worried how the pain in my side did not ease any after a good night's rest. He suggested I stay in bed while he fetch the man himself but the thought of staying alone with.. Alexandra spurred me to insist I tag along. My legs are not broke, after all.. and I don't think I would get much rest, not with the dead corpse of his wife around. So at my snail pace, we set out to the small village on the edge of the Gloomy Woods.

The walk was fraught with tension as I couldn't keep my mouth shut. I kept asking him questions about her. His wife. The fact he stays alone, shuttered away from the rest of the world with only a decayed husk of a woman and an apathetic cat to keep him company.. bothers me. I am not completely sure why ..but it does. And I asked him if he was content with such an arrangement, one where he was in all intents and purposes, utterly alone. No one to talk to. No one to touch.. to kiss. To love.

Warrick was perplexed half the time with my questions and tense the remainder. I knew I was over stepping my bounds as his client but I could not seem to help myself. He reminded me he had Astarté as if the cat was this overly affectionate beast which she is not. She ignores him most times. He needs someone. I can see it so clearly. And I think innately he knows it too, for the signals he throws me are not of a man happy to live out his days without the company of human kind... of a woman.

Many times throughout the day, Warrick would touch me. At first, his hand on mine came in the guise of assistance when our path became uneven and hard for me. Yet more and more frequent, the Necromancer's fingers curled mine until we had stopped by a tree and he drew me close. As I watched in struck silence, the man fanned little kisses over my knuckles, one after another. His lips did not tarry long but softly moved up my arm, kissing all the way until he put in me a powerful hunger for more.

My lips wanted them. I wanted him to kiss me on the lips, oh just once. I wasn't too greedy.. and from shoulder, his mouth moved up my neck, hitting all the sensitive spots before then pausing to tease over my ear, mouthing the lobe between molten exhales which made me shiver all over. Just a little further. A little over. I began to turn my head to offer my aching little mouth for Warrick's consideration, for his consumption and he spoke to me in soft, seductive entreaty.

"Alexandra...." he whispered.

[0 petals fell]

Warrick speaks of .. to Alexandra as if she is alive and well, and an integral part of his life. When I was noticed in the doorway, the Necromancer leapt up from where he knelt with his head in the dead woman's lap. I felt like an intruder. Not only because I now stood in the tiny, macabre shrine devoted to Warrick's lost love but with the man himself. I had thought him handsome and my gaze tempted to linger where it should not. And all this time, he was counting the minutes until he could be alone with her.

I back peddled, trying to recover in such a way neither of us would be wallowing in mortification but it was far too late for last ditch efforts. I was in her room for crying out loud, sleeping in her bed wearing one of her lacy night gown confections. And her man had sweetly tucked me in, taking my hand in his with a pleasurably slow knit of fingers before dusting my brow with a good night-sleep tight kiss.

I told Warrick I should sleep somewhere else, not Alexandra's room... and he assumed I meant in his bed! No no no! My own foot tasted foul, I tell you.

I ended up reluctantly sleeping where I had started out but only after requesting Warrick lock the little closet.. and his spouse away. Come morning, the tension between us was off the scales. A confusing swirl of misdirection because despite what I know of the Necromancer, his bright blue eyes upon me are both my joy and suffering. I suffered all day and I refer not to the steady agony of my side which kept equal footing with me on the long walk to Eunomia. I suffer because I want what I cannot have.

The man is married. Forever more.

[0 petals fell]

Warrick shoo'd me into a bath and it was then, when I'd stripped down to skin that I wagered my fall from Calliope had been a wee bit harder than I originally thought. My side was a painter's messy palette of black and purple tinged with raw red where the scrape intersected all my bruising. In short, I looked beaten down and up. I would consider myself lucky if one of my ribs hadn't been broken in the process.

When your ribs are battered, the last item on your agenda is to move.. much at all. Taking a deep breath is low on the totem as well. So changing of clothes was a struggle but eventually I was tucked into the wide, comfy bed in that same sleeping chamber given to me on my first visit.

All the furniture and clothing are elegantly feminine in nature. I could easily guess a woman once feathered her little nest with beautiful, cherished possessions, here in her isolation. I just wondered where she happened to be.. currently.

I am curious about the Necromancer and his affairs. Wouldn't you be? An attractive, viable man hiding deep in the boonies who kept one room of his spartan house as a testament to a certain pampered Lady.

When I pushed for an answer, he admitted his wife had once slept in this bed, wearing a nightgown much like the one I had donned.. but she had died many years ago. So I am fouling up this space with my presence in a way. You would understand my meaning if you could hear but for a moment, how Warrick speaks of this.. Alexandra. Her name is intoxication on his tongue.

Eventually I dozed off under his scrutiny but it wasn't long before a suspicious sound chipped away my fatigue. The quiet voice I recognized to be Warrick's but with my tip-toeing towards the small door I had presumed to be a closet.. I was dying to know whom he spoke to with such reverence. No, he wasn't two-timing on the beloved memory of his wife. I found the man, behind a high-backed chair, gently brushing a woman's hair.

Alexandra. The Necromancer had told the truth... she has been dead for many years. Dead and kept here for him to continue conjugal visits long after she'd withered to a shrunken and petrified corpse, forever to reign upon her throne.

[0 petals fell]

After frantic attempts to pry my horse from her web coating and get her hooves back on the ground, Warrick laid a gentle hand upon my shoulder to garner my attention. He can be incredibly tender at times and with my heart swelling thickly in my throat, I needed a wiser, more objective mind to point out a simple fact which had escaped me.

It was getting dark. The shadows were lengthening and soon enough we both would be in a predicament, outside at night in the Gloomy Woods. Out, when all the predators bent their heads, fangs and claws to hunger's grindstone.

I never felt so guilty in my life as I did leaving Calliope to her fate but at the Necromancer's urging, he hurried back to his house. He was right, after all. I was injured, bearing a sticky scrape along my ribs to match deep bruising and the scent of a wounded animal spells out a free meal for the night life of the forest.

We hurried back to the safety of his quaint home but hadn't even settled in when a passerby rapped upon the door. You see, she had come across the helpless mare and had freed the beast when neither the dark magus or I could. I was relieved.. at first.

But congratulations were short lived for you see, all we managed to do was bring an army down on our heads. A many-legged army of arachnids, their sheer numbers rivaling the forces of many a power monger kingdom. They blotted out the green of the wood. The forest floor could not be glimpsed between the overlap of furry, rustling legs. And it was deafening, the cachinnating whisper of their hordes while they marched, led by one behemoth web spinner who snatched Calliope up in its forelegs... and carried her away.

Warrick.. he tried to hold onto her reigns, and kept a hold of them until he dangled, ironically appearing much like a spider depends from its toe line . And when that failed, the man tossed me over his shoulder to haul me inside. No questions asked and permission would have been pure garnish. I did not argue with the man. He put himself in harm's way twice now for me and it was time for this red head to shut her yap.

[0 petals fell]

My return trip to Gloumenwood was on a wing and a prayer for if the Briar King has his way, I will soon be a murderess twice over. I cannot bear yet another death on my conscious but in all honesty, there was little to bolster my hope as I back tracked to the Necromancer's hermitage deep in the wood. He had left me high and dry last time, you see, and yet somehow contorted my perception to believe it a good start. I am not sure his calming sorcery is deliberate or not but I am most susceptible.

I had come to the final leg of the game trail leading to his sod roofed house when the quiet was shattered with a high pitched, yet guttural battle cry. I jerked by young mare about face to locate the source but the skaven got the drop on me. Ambushed!

Those vile half breeds are pure muscle and when it leapt down from its lofty hiding place, I was bunted clear from the saddle. One moment sitting tall and the next pitching to the side where I hit to the hard dirt without one mercy of either soft grass or leaves. Impact knocked the wind out of me and the pain that rip-roared up my side must've dazed me.

The events leading to an intimate view of the Necromancer's boots, periodically obscured by the rustle of his cloak's hem are sketchy at best. He was shouting in a tongue I am unfamiliar with, old and authoritative sounding while brandishing a staff over me.

Whatever he said was taken to heart by the rat man.. who after bobbing its head several times and making good its simpering apologies, scuttled off into the brush. We heard its piercing screams moments after its disappearance as well as what sounded like thick rain, unseen droplets falling from the canopy to patter down on the large leaves of the undergrowth.

Warrick had.. saved my life, I suppose, although when I gained my feet and my wits, I could tell he wasn't all that happy to be hero of the day. He seemed preoccupied and a little put out to have to deal with me and my insistence we find Calliope. My horse was missing, no doubt spooked from the attack.

And so we followed her fresh hoof prints along the path until we came to an immense web, so big it bridged the space between two equally sizable trees. My beloved mare was snared. In her mad dash to escape, she had ran right into it.

[0 petals fell]

[0 petals fell]

The ride home to Carver's Outpost was long, yielding little rest for my body and not one speck of peace for my mind. I had accomplished nothing for all my time spent in Calliope's saddle, for all those hours.. days stacked on days, in which I searched for the Necromancer of Gloumenwood. I found his humble bungalow deep in the forest's heart but little more before my Lord and Master yanked hard upon my tether and forced me home.

Home.. The Amberleaf Weald and to a lesser extent, Carver's Outpost has lost much of its appeal. Colors have blanched to shades of gray. The denizens.. who never warmed to me anyway, seem chiseled from blocks of ice these days.

Upon my return, the first glimpse of my native township was in misty light of a early morning. Dawn was painting the skyline with her lavender streamers and only the most early risers were beginning to stir from their beds. A window here and there glowed as watchful luminescent eyes amongst the otherwise sleepy village.

I confess I circled around the Outpost's main fairway, the dirt road which runs directly through the heart of town, not wishing to be spotted by someone who might mention it in passing to my father. I was barely in the saddle as it was, such had been the maddened rush to backtrack all those miles before Asmodeus tugged harder and beset me with something to really light a fire under me.

I was exhausted, pushed far past my limits.. yet I was shaking so badly as I rode into the forest that my teeth chattered. Jumping at every shadow, fear molted away any weariness. I had denied the Briar King. Ignored him. Avoided him. I could only hope he wasn't also aware I was trying to find a way to kill him... dead.

[0 petals fell]

Warrick asked me if revenge was the impetus which drew me to knock upon his door for the means by which to reach the disembodied spirit of Taltos. I told him no, what I seek is survival and the only weapon I will have in my paltry arsenal against Asmodeus would be the one he so graciously provides me. I cannot hurt the Briar King nor defend myself against him in anyway for the curse's enchantment ties my hands point-blank in this regard.

Revenge would indicate I can walk away from my misery at any time, ignoring offence but a vindictiveness within me, a overblown pride will not allow me to swallow it down. Yes, the Briar King has wronged me grievously and will do so again, but I can neither escape him and in the end.. his wrongs will add up and equate to my death. I am not vengeful, I am desperate.

Indeed, after the very brief contact with Taltos, the long arm of the Briar King spoiled everything in short order. The Necromancer had painstakingly packed up the witch board and planchette, spurring me to beg to remain the night so we might try again come the morn. I couldn't go away not knowing if I had an ally in Taltos or not.

Yet, as Warrick showed me to a feminine sleeping chamber in which I might pass the night, my nose began to bleed. It was a small, bothersome trickle at first, but the flow increased exponentially over time until I was forced to leave in the dead of night.

Asmodeus was calling me home, tugging on my leash. I had been out of his reach long enough.

[0 petals fell]

The Necromancer wasn't anything at all what I expected. My measuring stick had the man gnarled with a crooked spine, withered by the putrid, corpse-raising arts he dabbled so strongly in. His outside matching whatever darkness which lay beneath the skin. I expected someone who would snarl when they spoke and had a temper as mean as an old badger backed into his den. I expected a dingy shack coated with dusty webs and a yellowing skull glaring from each corner. What I got was a disturbingly elegant man with a small house that was as neat as a pin. What I got.. was someone who makes me nervous, tongue-tied and all crossed up.

Warrick the Wise was impeccably hospitable although we started off a little bumpy with his first question. He asked if I brought an army along for the long ride into the Gloomy Woods. An army of two? There was Calliope and myself and no one else. For a man to ask a stranger if they brought reinforcements smacked of paranoia and so my reply was to ask if he was expecting one. That is a good piece of information to have, whether an army is due on someone's doorstep in the next little bit. He told me no, perhaps not.

The Necromancer often deflects my most blunt questions but it only afterwards when we've moved onto another topic that I realize I never got the answer I sought. He is a shadow in conversation, slipping away in a blink if too bright a light is cast upon him. Yet I am never in an obvious lurch of uncomfortable silence as we move from subject to subject, task to task. He got me to call to the witch board, to command the spirit of Taltos to come forth so I might suggest a pact.

The board's pointing device is much akin to a miniature table on tiny legs. It slid about the face of the board without any help from the Necromancer or myself and what a strange, gut-dropping sensation that was! My first inclination was to jerk my hands away but a deeper, more fundamental and secretive yearning had my fingers remain in place. I am not convinced this will be my avenue of contacting the bitter enemy of the Briar King but I have little choice but to try.

What I did not count on is the Necromancer.. Warrick, being more than a cold, detached contract involving coin and much persuasion on my part. He will want paid, yes. I am not saying that, but his first instinct is to give aid and .. even though he is a quiet, unflappable presence, I am quite aware of his humanity.

[0 petals fell]

When I speak of legends in reference to the Briar King and his Rose, my choice of word is perhaps misleading. What I should be saying is.. fables. Stories for mothers to tell their children late at night to keep them in line with healthy fear. As time has passed in Carver's Outpost, the story of the demon and his witch consort dwindled to a mere ghost story. A verse.. if you will, which falls in eerie singsong refrain from the lips of a child.

In it, it speaks of the great betrayal of the Briar King against his brother, Taltos who had a tender for a young woman named.. Rose'Elle. One look at Rose'Elle and Asmodeus fell hard to the sin of lust, soon plotting to sweep the only obstacle in his path aside, which was Taltos who was courting her.

The rhyme is sketchy on whether Asmodeus killed his brother or buried him alive but in either case, Taltos vanished from Carver's Outpost and Rose'Elle was devastated. Nothing Asmodeus could do would heal her broken heart and soften her towards him.

In a moment of keen frustration, he made a most wicked pact with dark, terrible forces who did indeed grant him the power to bind the reluctant Rose to him.. but also increased his appetite for destruction by ten fold. He was an out of control tyrant, killing any who opposed him with a viciousness which couldn't be allowed.

Seven mages came together in hopes to stop him, but all they could muster was a binding spell which pens him within the confines of the Amberleaf Weald. They were unable to kill him, nor could they sever the inexplicable bond between him and his Rose.

A bond he would use to his advantage.. long after Rose'Elle's death.

But what if I can raise Taltos back to the land of the living? Would he not exact a terrible revenge against his brother? Or I could at the very least speak to his spirit. Perhaps he knows of an Achilles' heel I could use that no one else knew about. It is all farfetched but I refuse to believe that Asmodeus is invincible. After all he is kept prisoner in the Weald!

But if I hope to reach Taltos I will need someone who can cross the boundaries between the living and the dead and that is why I write this to you from beneath the outstretched branches of an ancient gnarled oak.

Calliope is resting and sampling the tender shoots of grass in the clearing a few feet from me. I am not in my own forest.. I seek the ghost of Gloumenwood.. a Necromancer whose name came to me as a curse upon the lips of an old Gypsy woman. Warrick the Wise.

[0 petals fell]

And so now I return to your confessional and sink down upon my knees beneath your patient stare. Have I disgusted you yet? Have my errors stacked so high upon each other that you can no longer see over their towering house of cards to where I kneel? Or is it that you haven't pieced it all together yet? If so my pride would take a lesser blow which means in layman terms I would dearly love to leave you in the dark. It's a jealous pang on my part. I wish I was still wearing a blindfold.

Asmodeus was my dark secret. The way a girl might hide rich confectionaries and truffles under her pillow as a guilty pleasure best describes my own handling of this man. I told no one about him, nor why I was sneaking off to the Weald practically every day.. and not returning until well after dusk. He, in turn.. convinced me that he was an outcast, shunned and hated by those of Carver's Post and therefore banished from ever stepping cross the villages borders. An outcast, like me. It was my language he was speaking.

Asmodeus also told me, a horrible magic enchantment had been unjustly cast upon him by a consortium of seven mages and until those seven either died of natural causes or simply... died.. we could never be together. I know it sounds trite, hearing it from an objective stance as you are. But when I was with him, I burned with hatred for these seven misers who would dare lock away the one man who understood me from the outside in. They were the twisted, political hand of the Outpost's town council, all of whom were jealous of Asmodeus and sought to sweep him aside for their own gain.

I killed one of the mages, traveling to his home which lay on the fringe of the City of Gates to see it done. And you know, he wasn't some manipulative, greedy old goat. He was a little old man who had one shiny star in his life. A garden. A garden he wanted to share with me because I was masquerading as a peasant selling fresh field flowers. The elder invited me right into his sacred, beautiful Eden and I desecrated it with bucketfuls of his blood. I don't know how many times I stabbed him. I lost count after he fell.

Asmodeus is not who he led me to believe but now that I have blood on my hands -- in HIS name -- it is as if some invisible power has overcome me almost completely. He is Master and I am slave.. and I will slay his captors one by one if I cannot find a way to break his hold over me.. or to kill the Briar King himself.

The legend.. lives. Both of us.

I am his Briar Rose.

[0 petals fell]

I struggled but the snare had soundly captured my foot. I dangled not three feet from the forest floor, upside down and suspended by a long, knotty vine to the sturdy boughs of a tree. Twisting, turning but unable to jack knife upwards and get a hand to the vine noosing my ankle, after several minutes I understood it was fruitless to try. My body weight had surely cinched the vine far too tight for me to slip free. Like a hunter's trophy, I hung on display, batting my hair from before my eyes so I might see.

He was on me before I could blink. A snarling blur with hooks for hands who shook me so hard my jaw rattled in its socket. Words flew from his mouth along with his spittle into my face.

"YOU PIECE OF UNGRATEFUL GARBAGE!! YOU SLUT!! WHO IS IT THIS TIME?? WHAT IS HIS NAME? SOME SNOT NOSED LITTLE LIMP-DICKED NOBODY?!! DID YOU THINK I WOULD WAIT ON THE SIDELINES WHILE YOU SMILED AND BENT OVER FOR ANOTHER MAN?"

"No.. No.. A-A-Asmodeus..."

"DON"T YOU FUCKING LIE TO ME, ROSE ELLE! I SAW YOU WITH HIM. DID YOU SPREAD FOR HIM? IS HIS SEED UP IN YOU, GIRL? I SHOULD RIP THAT STINKING LITTLE WOMB RIGHT OUT OF YOU! YOU ARE MINE! YOU BELONG TO ME! SAY IT. SAY IT ROSE ELLE.. ROSE ELLE BELONGS TO ASMODEUS.

"But .. b-but I'm.. "

"Say it Rose Elle. Why do you make me treat you like this? You really have no cause to cry, you know. If you did not lie to me, did not try to fool me I wouldn't have to correct you. Now here.. I'll cut you down and you can curl in my lap and tell me how sorry you are.. and then we will both be all better, no? Now be good and tell me who you belong to and we will forget this ever happened."

"I belong to you, Asmodeus.."

[0 petals fell]

The next three days flew by in an intoxicating blur. I spent every waking moment I could with Asmodeus, making excuse after excuse to Father so I might slip away from my duty at the shoppe. It is wrong for me to lie to him, no matter the reason, yet I fear he will soon demand answers to questions which never seemed to make themselves known when I am with Asmodeus.

I cannot tell Father where the man lives nor what he does in life to rub two coins together. I could not rightly say if he was Lord, serf, or roaming outlaw. His title, if he bears one is as enigmatic as his surname. When I look into his eyes, these mundane details are cast aside as our conversation wraps its coils about nature's unfailing beauty and on the flip-side; human nature. Art. Writing which feeds our eyes and souls. Dreams. He wants to know everything about me.

I should have known such whirlwinds eventually calm and we must bow our heads to the tasks which life places at our feet. I was somewhat reluctant in my pew however. "Bryony. The herb garden misses you something fierce. Do you think you could spare some time to weed and water it?" I looked up from the breakfast I was picking at, blinking and caught wondering if Asmodeus would find me fetching in soft, sweetheart rose. I could sew a little. "Today? But but .. but I was hoping to harvest a few more valerian before they wither up for the season."

Father chuckled at my crestfallen expression and laid a patting hand upon my shoulder. "I thought you would give me guff, daughter mine, so I asked Alistar to help. He will be here any moment. You have just enough time to fix your hair." My hand hurried to the offending cap of fire atop my head, sinking in the soft waves before I swept it back in gentle taming from my brow and cheeks. "What is wrong with my hair?" He only chuckled, looking very smug for a man who was sick and dying a few days ago.

I missed his meaning. I can tell these things. It is a gift.

Fathers. Men! And worst of all boys! I was stuck with Alistar who loves peppering me with questions. Does my hair get darker when the weather gets chilly and the sun hides most days? Do pull the weed then twist out the clinging root or the other way 'round? Do I mind eating outside? Am I more of a mind to savor sweet or was I a fan of sour foods? And on and on.

The neglected garden was a living weed. It took us hours to finish and when Alistar finally left, dusk was in full bloom, casting a somber glow over the horizon. I hadn't been able to visit Asmodeus and I moped all eve, aching for the morning to come so I could dash off and reunite with him. And when dawn broke over a sleepy Carver's Outpost, I was out the door before the sun had a chance to burn off the morning mist.

Yet, I did not get but one footstep beyond the first saplings before something slithered about my ankle and I was yanked feet first into the air, hanging me there .. upside down and without wings.

[0 petals fell]

After a few droughts of the snakeweed, my father did recover. Come morning, the deep hacking lessened to a bare tickle in his throat and by day's end, he was good as new. I cannot tell you how close I thought I was to losing the man. Before, delirious fever had raged in Father to such a degree, he could not use the privy by himself so the sight of him settled in his chair by the hearth, slowly sipping on broth.. did well by my eyes. Did me well. And so I was ever-so anxious to return to the glade and personally thank Asmodeus.

I did not tell Father about the handsome stranger I met in the woods. Reflecting upon my reasoning I suppose I did not want him to damper my excitement with stuffy warnings or perhaps going so far as to forbid me going into the Weald by myself. Which is exactly what I did the next day. More the fool me. Eagerly I returned... so eagerly that had he not spoken, I would have missed Asmodeus as I bustled by. Today he was waiting for me at the edge of the tree line and not Varda. "You just missed your wolf.. I assume he is yours. How many men do you leave pining in wait, beautiful damosel?"

"None, Asmodeus!" My snicker matched the impish glint in the man's eye. Teasing me about a wolf! A wolf I haven't seen in days and am I bit worried about to tell you the truth. "Varda left already?" Asmodeus approached me and lifted a curled tendril of my hair from where it rested on my shoulder. "Yes, perhaps he did not like the competition I represent." His husky whisper came moments before he cupped the back of my head and led me to his mouth. "I missed you, Bryony."

The stolen kiss was one of many. The laughter never melted away. Even when we were silent and gazing over the pretty marsh pond we had spread a blanket beside, the warmth of our laughter could be felt in my belly. We had a little lunch together while we talked and teased until the day had mercilessly paraded away into the dusk. I hated to leave Asmodeus there upon the last of the copse of trees but taking me in his arms, he made sure our farewell would be memorable.

I hope father doesn't notice my kiss swollen mouth tonight.

[1 petals fell]

Crushed rose petals on the bottom of his sandal. I do not know how long I lay curled at the fountain's base. The gurgling sounds above my head were too much for me. Gurgle. Blood bubbles at his lips.

I had gotten sick, over and over. Sick until I retched up blood and sank down to ball up in fetal denial. Rose petals and a little mud from gardening. I couldn't stay. Someone would come. Eventually someone always does. Why hadn't anyone come when he screamed? Sloppy work there girlie. He saw it coming.

I desperately needed to leave but my stomach was cramping into an iron knot. Would my legs be steady enough to run? I doubted. Open your eyes. He fell so his face is in the bushes. You don't have to look if you don't want to.

I reached blindly upwards for the stone lip of the fountain, pulling myself to standing. There, I found myself staring at my hands, my nails in particular for burgundy sludge was lodged beneath each one.Bloody index. Bloody ring. Bloody pinky. Thumb is the only innocent.

Not just my hands. My gaze traveled on. I had rolled in blood and that wasn't the half of it. I had thrown myself on top of him and with clawed fingers dug out the gelatin whites out of his eyes from their sockets and .. and.. I had stabbed him so many times, he must have been dead long before I was through.

What have I done? What evil have I done for the name of love?

Asmodeus.. you didn't tell me..

[0 petals fell]

"I .. thank you. My father thanks you. I could not be more grateful.... touched. This is more than I could ever expect, Asmodeus." How long had it been since someone lent a helping hand without my asking? Or even when I did ask? Due to history not my own making, I am a bit of pariah at Carver's Outpost. I do most everything on my own.. but not this. Not this time.

The day had been gruesome, my fear running at jackrabbit speeds and his compassion wormed its way inside. He got to me. Tears gathered in my eyes, blurring my vision of my would-be benefactor. "Look at me, crying when I should be picking what you made for me," I whispered, lifting my arm to wipe the shame full wetness on my sleeve.

Asmodeus beat me to it, his gloved fingers gently brushing their backs against my cheek. "No Bryony, leave the tears. They make your eyes shine like jewels." Perhaps my errant attention had allowed him to draw this near to me, for the man stood close enough to make the caress an easy task, his personae casting an intimate ambience like netting about us both. "What.. what can I do for you. As a thank you? Please do not be polite and say it was nothing on your part. You have no idea what this means to me."

His smile came slow. The hand at my cheek turned at its wrist for his fingers to spread along my chin and jaw. He rose my face upwards with an urging of fingertips. "Bryony, I do not intend to be polite when it comes to you. Indeed, I desire two things, despite my gift of one. The first is I would very much like to be invited in. To dinner.. with you and your father." His gaze drifted intently over my face before fastening upon my mouth.

"Anytime you want to come, Asmodeus. Anytime. I would love for Father to meet you."

I whispered this vow only moments before he bent his head and kissed me. Without preamble or announcements and... without asking my permission.

Asmodeus.

[0 petals fell]

"Asmodeus, then. I am Bryony." My responses were rudimentary at best but I could have sworn we held another conversation, one spoken with the eyes and far more engaging then our courteous back-and-forth. Wolf-blue. His eyes. So light a shade, I fell into the visceral black of his pupils.

Did I know this man? Wasn't it his arrogantly sculpted face I have glimpsed in the shifting tease of crowds? That cannot be right, no. He was a man who might pray to blend into anonymity but find it a piety never to be achieved. His hair alone, a darken shroud which shivers down his back, light fawning helplessly with in the blue-black sheen, would undoubtedly set him apart from the masses. I wanted to finger all that black but not to sample its texture. I wished to know if his hair would be warm or cool to the touch.

"It is a pleasure to have last met you, Bryony.. one which is all mine." He gathered my hand in his gloved fingers and drew it smoothly to his lips. I have seen ladies become recipients to admiring kisses upon the back of their hands. I always thought the tradition looked so awkward and one-sided. You know, pomp and circumstance without any substance.

Yet, the man's mouth was furnace hot, his breath warm enough to rival a wyvern's sigh. I shivered in my skin while my mind took up the banner of temperature, lending me a secret thought. I fancied I could sense a molten tongue behind his lips and teeth, a perfect match to all the heat. And then I quickly snatched my hand away.

"Yes, it was good to meet you.. Asmodeus but I cannot linger. I'm sorry. I have to go." Every minute counted and I could once more hear the merciless ticking on time's clock. My face felt too warm and I know my nod was nervous but I backed from the man in as graceful manner as I could. My ears were buzzing in the silence but I did not fail to hear his soft reply. "Bryony. It does not go unnoticed by me that something vexes you. What is your burden? Tell me. You never know, dear damosell, it may be within my power to help."

I turned, several paces worth of gap between us then but his regard collected my gaze and held it strongly. "No insult meant, but I don't think you can help, Sir.. Asmodeus. My father has taken ill and needs some herbs from these woods. I best get around to hunting them too. Snakeweed is hard to find a good crop of. Please understand."

I back-peddled a few more steps, about ready to nod and make good my farewell but the stranger canted his head to one side and asked, just as quietly. "I do understand there is no one to take care of you... and yours."

He then rose his hand and arm, extending his curled palm towards me. Following this, his fingers flicked outwards in a sharp motion, once and only once. From the soil about my feet, small tender shoots poked through the loam and like crones casting a fountain of youth spell, the stems slowly unbent their crooked backs to stand tall. The stalks grew thicker, reached higher until tiny buds broke open with the fuzzed, light purple florets of snakeweed. I could smell their tickly pollen in the air.

There was more than enough to make a decoction for my father's bloody cough but were these magically summoned plants ...natural? And should I accept this stroke of good luck and compassion?

[0 petals fell]

The bloody cough did not abate, only added a raging fever to its allotment of symptoms. Father is delirious between the lambaste of the two and unable to keep down any of the cough expectorants we have on hand in the shoppe. The blood concerns me. He soaked two cloths which I held to his lips in under hour so after making him as comfortable as possible.. I hurried out to the woods behind our house.

I needed a more powerful astringent than I had in stock and the twice-writhen root of the snakeweed plant is excellent in the easing of hemorrhages. On my latest herbal excursion, I had seen several of its puffy, lavender flowers dotting a knoll deep in the woods and had marked the location in memory. I hated leaving him but there is not one in Carver's Outpost I trust to watch his fitful sleep while I find the medicine he needs.

Now, I do not take Calliope into the wilds with me, no matter that my beautiful roan could make those trips in half the time as my two short legs. The reason why was patiently waiting for me at the edge of the tree line, sleek muzzle lifted to the faint lullaby of wind in the trees. I do not tell Varda when I will return to the Amberleaf Weald but the wolf possesses an awareness beyond my ken. He knows when I can escape and is there waiting to shadow my step.

Reaching out, I offered my hand to his omniscient nose. It is our greeting of sorts, and I suppose a sign of my trust he will not snap my hand off at the wrist with those giant, steel-trap jaws of his. Today, he had snuffed at the tips of my fingers longer than normal, no doubt smelling the bloody scent of father's sickness and the bitter strains of feverfew decoction.

I was glad for Varda's silent company, no matter that I did not say anything of father's malaise. So when the forest suddenly turned as quiet as a tomb, I glanced back to the wolf, only to find him missing. Not one bird's chirp, not one breath of wind. Life's sound had died so quickly. It was an oppressive nothingness against which my slowing steps seemed the booming march of a giant.

"Varda? Varda!" I called his name softly, hoping he was close by and I simply couldn't see him. The trees pressed in on me, closing in too tight. A trickle of sweat ran down the back of my neck, bringing a shiver along for the ride. "Varda?"

"Have you lost someone, sweet Damoselle?" I whipped around to see a rider sitting calmly atop his mount. He was not ten paces from me and I heard nothing until the warm honey of his voice wrapped me up in query. All the blood in my body had sunk to my toes. I pressed a hand to my pounding heart. "Oh Sir..You..You.."

"I did not mean to frighten you. Please accept my most sincere apology." Unruffled, the stranger was a pillar of serenity but the washed-out blue of his eyes held mine with an intensity I was not accustomed to. His gaze offered no polite respite, not even when he dismounted his ebon steed and came down to my level.

"I am Asmodeus," he said. "Asmodeus. I wish to hear my name upon the lips of such a beautiful woman rather than a mere title."

[0 petals fell]

Bright and early this morning, I was rudely awoke to the knowledge I am officially a woman whereas yesterday I was not. At last my woman's red moon has begun. I had started to believe I was completely immune to this curse of blood and would be childless my whole life long. I had started to believe many dire things... for you see, all the other girls my age have long ago stepped fully into womanhood while here I am eighteen and only just beginning. But at least I am beginning! I have been living under the hush-hush fear my secret shame would fuel another round of gossip and people have plenty to natter about when it comes to me as it is.

For its premiere, the flow came as a thief in the night, leaving me ill-prepared. I was forced to scramble about in the dark house to clean up myself and the bed sheets, doing my best to keep my father from noticing the break in my morning ablutions. I do not have a mother to share these womanly woes with so even now that I am in the clear on normality, there is not a single soul to spill the beans to. I suppose I could tell Varda.. but I doubt the wolf would understand why I care about the cruel things people can say.

I was congratulating myself by the time Father came down from the upper floor. The heady smell of mint tea brewing on the hearth was there to greet him and I was one put-together Miss, busily chopping the feverfew blossoms from their stems.

As he came into the kitchen, Father breathed in deeply, throwing his skinny chest out. "Ahhhhh.. it must be Chauday. No one will come within ten yards of either of us today without regretting it."

He was referring to the feverfew, you see the entire plant reeks with a bitter scent. And not just the blossoms or stems, why even the roots bear the same olfactory trademark. The smell was especially powerful with the batch I was currently working into next week's infusions. At one elbow I had a pile of the flower's heads. They have delicate white petals surrounding a golden floret. At the other elbow, the green slender stalks and roots.

Taking up his tea cup, my father paused in mock speculation, a finger touching to his chin. I was eyeing him with a grin, knowing what was coming. He had that twinkle in his eye, the one I love so much. "We would be quite crushed if the Lady Hildegarde decides to stay away today, won't we?" he turned to ask me. "Oh yes Father, destitute with remorse." Bad of me, but I might've spoiled the delivery for I was snickering under my breath, to which Father soon joined me.

"That's a pretty potent batch you have there, Bryony. Good morning." When we had piped down, he kissed the cheek I offered and went about milking his tea into an early grave. We banter often about his ruination of a good cup of tea with unneeded cream. Surely it must spoil any medicinal benefits from the herbs. "Good morning, Father. Did you rest well?"

His tea doctored, Father set it aside and was putting on his working apron when he paused to clear his throat. This attempt did not seem to work for with a hand curled under his mouth, he coughed lightly on his way over to me. "Everything alright there, Father?" I teased him, looking up from my work. He nodded in answer, clearing his throat a few more times while shaking his head. "My throat must be dry this morning.. Now. I cannot let my apprentice do all the work. I will get the ambelic.."

And just like that, he buckled over and the light, surface cough deepened with alarming swiftness to a hacking sound which he could barely finish before the next one wracked through him. "Father??" I dropped the knife and hurried around the counter yet by the time I got to him, he was down on one knee, laboring in a fit of coughing of the likes I have never heard from him. What little catchup breathing he could get in between this endless string of coughs was nothing more than shallow wheezes.

I dropped to my knees next to him and just as I did, the next deep, guttural exhalation came up sounding wet. Blood sprayed the floor, my father's clenched fist and left a garish pattern of scarlet across my lap.

Blood, everywhere, blood.

[0 petals fell]

Dear Reader,

Now as you have found this journal, broken its paltry seal and turned expectantly to page one, I offer you this.

Let us enter into a pact, a treatise if you will. Ours will be a simple dichotomy of like-wise restraining our human natures. Herein, you have my oath in writing. I swear to write the truth, no matter how damning it is, no matter it could be-speckle my reputation or that of anyone whom I care for. I swear to confess through this quill every last twitch of happenstance so it will be one whole, writhing piece of truth. So be it.

And you? You vow to not don powdered wig and take up a gavel in which to judge me by. You need no pulpit here, no walls behind which to hide. My humanity will not get on you too. This, I swear.

Will you nurse from these pages? I am only ink and vellum now, easily smeared by the warm whorls of your finger tips. Absorb the last of me into you so I might live but for a fleeting moment in your imagination but judge me not.. I plead.. until the last page turns in your grasp and you put my confession to bed, tucked between the sheets of your memory.

Have we a deal struck? Very well then.

Read on.

[0 petals fell]