A Moth to Flame

((Song for this entry is "Ripe (With Decay)" - Nine Inch Nails.))

Journal, journal.

It's been such a long time since I have terrified someone so wholly through only words.

Miss Agnes Yardley… a young girl of Gilnean heritage. Her accent gave it away at first, but I was quick to discern much of the rest of her life. She is an orphan, a survivor of civil war and witness to the most terrible of deeds, one of which likely being the murder of her family. She reminds me so much of myself, after the invasion of Andorhal. Young, completely alone in the world. Terrified and enraged at the same time, under the veneer of a proper lady. Nothing to lose, everything to prove.

I can see that she is drawn to me. Terrified, first, but after the first wave of terror comes interest. Almost like a moth to flame, now that I think of it. If she truly had no want to be near me, to listen to my words or listen to what I have to offer her, she would have run away the instant she laid eyes upon me. She would have not come to meet me at the altar today, just as I had asked of her.

There is something underneath the surface of the lady that wants no more than to help others. Something wicked, separate from her curse. Drive. Desire. A thirst to be recognized, to be the one using others instead of the one being used.

She will come back, and I will offer her greatness.

I am, however, quite pleased with this kitten I had adopted from her. The little female provides such good company for Mittens, who has been lonely since Ludovick and Emmercy's departures. I will name her Amelia.

--F.P.