silk_for_calde | Recent Entries

[Private--Easy to hack;]
They all find their way here, or their echoes; they cannot come, themselves. Are they less real than I am, then? Less than He is, certainly; the only one I can trust, the unknown whose name is written everywhere I look. There are lines drawn between all whorls... I think I dreamed that once; three graceful points, and I stood at the apex-- no, I sketched them. But that is nonsense; and Horn was there, though I cannot remember what he said. Something of love, and inhumanity? Or love in the face of inhumanity; it doesn't matter. If I could recall what he said, I would try to tell him, when next I see him... but I suppose I won't remember anything of this place, when I leave.

Do they know what they have? Do they see the Outsider's hand outstretched, cradling their strange round little whorl, as I saw it crawling across that shiprock plane? Has he stopped them in their ball courts, arms outstretched? Or would the older boys have won, beneath that point of flame they call a sun?

My gods have come; if only within me.
Terrible Tartaros' darkness I have seen, a blessing on the thieves.
High Hierax's agony I have felt; and though I survived, nonetheless he has marked me.
Strong Sphigx's daughter has been my friend and savior.
Thoughtful Thelxiepeia's hand has touched my dreams.
Marvelous Molpe's madness has run rampant in the streets.
Fierce Phaea has healed me of my wounds; Feasting Phaea has sustained me.
Sparkling Scylla's waters encircle us.

Sometimes I wish I could shed them; all but the Outsider and Kypris, whose face I have seen. Who waits for me in the pool at Ermine's... No; I'm a fool, to speak that way. And yet, it is true, also.

And She came, these past weeks. I thought she came for me, to call me a traitor; dark and deep as her daughter. Echidna, I cannot be for you any longer; I won't beg forgiveness for I have not wronged you, though I will as soon as I may. The very moment. I have betrayed you in spirit, if not in body. I still recall falling, the wet red blood in the grass, and I cannot help but think it was the finest moment of my life.

Ophidian Echidna; I saw a face I thought was yours, but she showed more kindness than you could have. Dead Pas forgive you your crimes, Queen of the Whorl.

[/Private]

I'm sure some of you must have enjoyed yesterday immensely; I watched from my window, mostly, not wanting to get caught in the fray.

Though it bears mentioning that a lame man armed only with a staff can still chase off a surprising number of ill-advised armor-clad warriors in search of a flag.

Master Xiphias would be proud, I think.

I feel-- no, there are things men cannot know, things the gods don't whisper.

I find myself wondering, it it were her, would Hyacinth have liked it here?

Current Mood: thoughtful

[OPEN DREAM ACTION]

A woman's face is visible, shrouded by verdant leaves. Her skin is dark and woodgrained, her eyes sightless and slanted at the edges, and she holds a mirror in one hand. There is a mirror at her feet as well, rippling faintly-- a pool of water ringed with red stones on which you stand, and in it two figures are reflected. There is a young man-- battered and beaten, pale skin a harsh contrast to the sickly lavender and yellow bruises, and the deep stygian black of his robes. Patera Silk, with his unruly straw-colored hair. He's bending to kiss a dark-haired woman, whose delicate hand is stretched across his chest to grasp his shoulder. But, though the reflection remains-- is fixed there on the surface of the ornamental pond, indelible-- no one sits above it.
"Caldé!" someone cries in the distance, and turning, you see what might once have been a pretty young girl. She's clearly malnourished; dressed in rags, her hair unkempt and matted, hanging down her bony back. Beside her stands a tall, silver cat, whose tufted ears curve up like the horns of a crescent moon.

Silk is standing beside the pool, suddenly; leaning heavily on a staff. Vines curl around it, laden with small, purple flowers; they brush his hand, and he takes no heed.

"Your brother Lion missed you," the ghastly girl says, grinning her corpse's grin, her hollow eyes distant and dull. The lynx yawns, and pads toward the augur, its massive paws deceptively gentle in the delicate grass. Silk bends to speak to it as though it were a child.

Suddenly the sun above flares, and for a moment it stretches across the sky, a blinding band of brilliance running east to west, too bright to see anything by. It fades almost immediately, shrinking back to a point of brilliance.

The lush garden around you is burning; the brush surrounding the woman's statue is swiftly consumed, and very soon she begins to burn as well, her mirror falling away. It shatters, shards scattered among the browning grass.

Silk strikes the ground with his staff, once, and the fire fades away.

[ooc: OPEN TO ALL COMERS, whether you know him or not, &c. Multiple people are welcome, either threadjacking or different continuities or whatever, sob, Silk's dreams are crazy love ♥ ♥ ♥]

It never seemed strange to me that the time we spend here, the weeks or months or years, do not last even a moment in our own whorl. There is a time outside of time, something I have seen, once, by the grace of the Outsider... and this is much the same. Believing that time may move in two whorls, at two rates, strains credibility a bit more. I have been gone-- weeks, here, it seems, though I'm not wholly certain when I left. And yet it has barely been a day since the morning I first arrived here, that recent and remote moment Hieraxday when I fell off my donkey on the way back from Limna, hands bound and in the company of the Guard. The Caldé's guard, I should say; as they now call themselves.
Good men have died today; and evil men who I mourn no less; and men whose names and faces and qualities I may never know have lost their lives, fighting for or against me in the streets of my city. Viron has been torn by revolution, and she has suffered wounds that will not be easily salved. The Queen of the Whorl, Ophidian Echidna, came before my congregation and exhorted us to violence, to overturn the Ayuntamiento and to pull down the Alambrera. I have seen the mother of the gods, and I pray I never behold her face again. No; that's a foolish prayer, I know I won't. I've made my choice on that count.
But Viron waits once more; and with it Hyacinth. And in Thelxiepeia's mirror we still sit, side by side in the cool grass, staring up at ourselves. Together. That's what she wanted; not to see me, but to see us together. She came. She waited for me.

And for a time I will wait for her as well; so much has happened in the past day, I'm grateful for the rest.

I hope those of you who've become my friends in this whorl have not vanished in my absence. I should like to see you, but I fear it will be a few days before I'm fit to visit anyone.

[ooc: SILK'S BACK! ♥♥ for the moment, at least; he's still up for a potential drop, but i'm trying ;_; Slightly updated and consequently both depressed and elated, hah. He's got a broken ankle, pas knows how many bruises, and he sort of um. got shot. |D and yeah. HE MISSED U GAIZ]

One of the first curses I experienced was much like this-- not beer, but milkshakes. Several flavors of them, coming through all the faucets. I imagine this has the potential to be much more destructive, should people overindulge; the worst results of that one, as I recall, were some unfortunately sticky individuals and a few stomach aches the next day. But sweets don't tend to affect ones mood or inhibitions the way alcohol does, of course.

I rarely drink anything of the sort, personally... But I hope those of you who've a taste for this are enjoying it. It's rather a harmless reprieve from the worse curses, and for that much I'm thankful.

I thought to look into some Earthly hagiographies, given the preponderance of saintly holidays I've learned of lately, but the Library thought I ought to read a reference work on serpents instead. Perhaps I ought to consider it a gentle reminder to pay my respects to Scylla, but I find myself doubting it... Blind luck seems more likely. ~~Her arms do not reach here; I should hate the part of me that finds that reassuring.~~

Mn.. I've been quiet lately, I know. I feel like spring is coming; the first few green buds brought forth, Marvelous Molpe's miracle. Here winter is fading; at home, it was just on the cusp of arrival. I find myself thinking of my whorl more and more frequently, as of late...

They say in Trivigaunte, the women fight like guardsmen...

This is a new curse for me. It's... awkward. A little embarrassing, though certainly far from the worst this City has to offer.

I was not afflicted the other day, when a great many of us were offered a glimpse of a life that might have been, had the whorl treated us differently; I'm almost sorry. Who would I have become, if I'd gone into politics as my mother wished, if Scylla hadn't chosen me to be an augur? What would have happened if the Outsider had not prepared me for the purchase of my manteion?

If I'd been a daughter instead of a son, would I have become a sibyl for Patera Pike? And who would have come to aid the old augur-- or would the Chapter have let Sun Street fall into disrepair, abandoned like the building on Music Street, to become a home for ghosts and devils?

Curious questions, and ones with no answers.

In my whorl, today would certainly belong to Comely Kypris; though her tendency towards mischief pales in comparison to the City's. I'm unaffected, thank whatever gods might be listening; I hope no one regrets their words too much on the morrow.

From what I understand of this holiday, its purpose is to celebrate romantic love; a purpose perverted by the city, turning trust to stolen secrets, affection to random infatuation...

I ate two of those awful candies; and to those whose trust I violated by doing so, I am sorry. I do not know whether anything of mine was written on them; but I keep few secrets, so I doubt there was anything I would be ashamed to admit.

May Kind Kypris guide and guard you all.

[ooc: unaffected, but feel free to fall for him if you like. >D also feel free to confront re: candyhearts, i just didn't feel up to spamming with eeeeveryone the other day. ♥♥♥]

Ah-- I must apologize for yesterday; the City seems to have favored me with a repeat of a rather embarrassing curse. I'm sorry if I offended anyone.
I would like to ask, though, that whoever took the needler in my room return it; not that I plan to use the weapon. But it is not mine, and I owe it to the proper owner to take care of it.

I'm starting to feel more like myself-- or, perhaps I should say; I'm starting to remember what feeling like myself ought to feel like. Perhaps the so-called Deities' punishment is wearing thin. It's certainly a relief.

And now I find myself compelled to share some of these memories; a fitting curse, I think. It's a project I had intended to undertake before I was... well, before I began to lose my memory. So let me tell you something of my whorl.

To start with-- we have always simply called our whorl 'the Whorl,' thinking little of what might lay beyond it. The only other one we knew of was the Short-Sun Whorl-- a spherical whorl like this one, like the Earth from which so many of you come. No biochemical person alive has seen the Short-Sun Whorl, and though some chemical persons I have met recall it, they cannot do so clearly. I am not certain why; perhaps their memories, like ours, fade with time. Our Whorl was built there, by Two-Headed Pas, the god of mechanisms; he filled it with men and beasts and in that fashion we left the Short-Sun Whorl, under his guidance and protection.

My Whorl is cylindrical, and we live on the inside-- since, of course, we would fall off the outside. Our sun is not a bright disk that traverses a sky, as it is here-- rather there is a band of light, a great golden path stretching from Mainframe in the East to the end of the whorl in the West; and beyond that the Skylands, the other side of the whorl, more easily seen at night when the shade comes between us and the sun. There are no stars, no moon-- no sky above as there is here.

Beneath the ground there are tunnels, made by Great Pas when he made the whorl; and in them there are chambers, full of sleeping bios in glass tubes. There are places where one can go so deep beneath the ground that one may peer across the very belly of the Whorl-- and there I first saw the stars, the grand void spangled with sparks; a sight I can only begin to comprehend now, with all I have learned of astronomy in this City. The great gray plane of shiprock-- well, I digress; for I wished to tell you something of Viron, as well.

Viron is my home; it is the only city I have ever seen. We do not travel much between cities; there is some trade, of course-- rice from Palustria, beasts from Urbs-- but beyond that, little contact. I'm not certain how to describe it, if you have never seen it; the buildings are not sleek as they are here, made of metal and slick stone. They are rougher-- the older ones built by Pas himself of shiprock-- I should say, navislapis, and the newer ones of scavenged blocks from demolished structures, or rock from the subterranean tunnels, or-- in some places-- brick and wood. The city sprawls; the wealthier people live upon the Palatine, up the hill; the buildings and their occupants become rougher as you move away from it. To give you an idea of the size of the city-- the Chapter would like to maintain one manteion for every five thousand residents, and there are (or, I should say, there were, last I checked,) one hundred and seventeen manteions in operation. Of course, there are some empty quarters-- inhabited areas with no manteion-- and I suspect there are closer to seven or eight thousand residents for each manteion.
The Sun Street quarter, where my manteion is located, is one of the poorer parts of the city. Some among my congregation come from the Orilla, a nearby empty quarter, mostly populated by those who rarely seek the gods' blessing. Our buildings are set upon Sun Street itself, a broad avenue that runs East to West; and though there once were several others in the area, most of their Sacred Windows have broken down and the buildings have since been repurposed. And so we serve a surprisingly wide area of the City-- not what I expected when I graduated from the schola, but it has been a blessing.

I have three sibyls-- Maytera Rose, Maytera Marble, and Maytera Mint-- who assist me in my duties as an augur. I hold regular sacrifices each Scylsday for our congregation, reading from the Chrasmologic Writings and hoping some god will grace our Sacred Window with her or his presence. We also run a palaestra for the children of the quarter; I instruct them in religious matters, primarily, and the sibyls cover other subjects.

There are Nine principle gods to whom we offer our sacrifices. Great Pas, who built the Whorl, is their ruler. He is the god of mechanisms, of chems; he rules the weather, and is often portrayed as a windstorm, or a two-headed king. Birds of prey and cattle are sacred to him.
His consort is Ophidian Echidna, the ruler of fertility, to whom serpents and mice are sacred. She is the mother of the lesser gods, and it is she who demands that augurs and sibyls do not marry as lay people do; we sacrifice that comfort to her, and in return are permitted to gaze upon the visages of the divine when they appear in the Sacred Windows.
The seven days of the week are named for Pas and Echidna's seven children. The eldest is Scylla, goddess of lakes and rivers; she is portrayed with eight, ten, or twelve arms. Scylla is the patroness of Viron, responsible for founding both the city and the Chapter. Horses, camels, and fish are hers.
Marvelous Molpe is the second eldest, associated with music, song, and all light things; she is the goddess of art and dancing, patroness of songbirds and butterflies. She is also the protector of the mad.
Tartaros is the third child; god of night, patron of thieves and keeper of secrets. Black beasts of all kinds are his, as are those who thrive in darkness-- owls, bats, moles. Augurs wear robes of his sacred black so that we may walk unseen among the gods and overhear their conversations.
Hierax, the second son, is the god of death; carrion birds and beasts are his, as are black animals. He guides the dead to the Aureate Path, so that they may seek Mainframe, the home of the gods.
Thoughtful Thelxiepeia is the goddess of magic and knowledge, mysticism and poison; she provides the best protection against devils. Thelxiepeia is associated with poultry, apes, deer and monkeys.
Feasting Phaea is a goddess of plenty, full-figured and often depicted with swine. She is the ruler of agriculture, and of medicine; the sick pray to her for healing.
And finally, the youngest of the nine is Strong Sphigx, the goddess of war and of courage. And of strength, I should say. Cats are hers, lions in particular. She is a fierce goddess; distant, in a way, and strong.

I won't go into much depth as regards the lesser gods; not out of a lack of respect, but because for many of them there is little that can be said. Sixty-three gods are mentioned in the Writings; many of them are merely that-- mentioned, a name with perhaps one story. We know so little.
Chief among them, at least in my regard, is the Outsider; the only god of my whorl who I believe is in this one as well. He was our prime god on the Long Sun Whorl; or so I have been told, so it says in the Writings. I know less about him than I should. He is never represented-- the empty niche in the manteion is his, and the space beyond the whorl. He exists within and without the Whorl; unlike the Nine, and unlike all lesser gods.

...Goodness, I suppose I've said more than enough, though it feels as though I've managed to convey very little of Viron. If anyone has questions I'd be happy to answer them.

[ooc: asnjkasf. That and more info on the Whorl found here, in plain English. xD I know he's a little hard to comprehend sometimes, I hope this helps. ^^;; PS I AM SORRY THIS IS SO GODAWFUL LONG.]

Ah, Sphigx' shit.

Right, which of you shaggy culls nicked my needler? Tried to solve my place and twigged it was some gaud?

Bring it back or you're cold, an' yer knot.

( [ooc: translation!] )

These dark glasses are not mine. I know lost my reading glasses, though I can't remember how, or where. I know the garments in my closet are not mine, either, though for the moment the knowledge of what should be there escapes me. I see, reading through the Network this afternoon, that many people have found themselves in this condition-- clothed in an unfamiliar fashion and unable to help the fact-- so I presume it must be a curse.
To whomever these items properly belong, I will do my best not to damage them while they are in my care. Which may be difficult with these shoes; I'm not certain how fragile snake-skin might be. Odd; I know what isn't right, what doesn't fit the fashion of my whorl, but I can't put my finger on how things ought to be.

I've... heard others mention that their minds, their memories, have lapsed, as mine has. Is there any way to help it? I'm rather afraid of what might happen, if this continues.

[ooc: switched with

itsjustafruit, still sort of flailing on the memory. |D]

I dreamed of the graves and the deadcoach; Orpine's rest disturbed yet again by the fantasies of my own. We rode into it, Hyacinth and I side by side. She drove the deadcoach, wrapping the slick, black leather reins around her hands like serpents, while I watched the city. We passed through throngs of people calling my name, their faces upturned. I tried to bless them, but they could not hear my words over their own shouts.

I remembered that it was snowing, and I turned to Hyacinth to ask if she wasn't cold; but she was gone. Teasel's devil sat beside me, grinning-- that wild old man with such horrible wings, long fingers twined through the reins, whipping the horses into a frenzy so they ran. They dove into the crowds, people crying out to me and to Pas as they fell beneath the flashing hooves, sweat and blood flecking the fine dark beasts as they ran. Calde, Calde! they cried as they vanished into the distance, distorted by our speed til there was only the darkness of the grave, the night sky I had never seen before I climbed out into the belly of the Whorl, with the red and white flecks of stars gleaming cruelly, reflected in the devil's dark eyes.

I called upon the Outsider, upon Thelxiepeia, but only Phaea came, mounted on a boar with gleaming tusks, her grim face offering no solace, and Teasel's devil-- Ah... I cannot say. His dark eyes; oh, and I thought of poor Teasel, dying beneath the gammadions I carved into her wall. His dark eyes and his horrible wings, binding my wrists with the reins, creeping like cold Echidna's children across my breast.

We kept forging ahead, the beasts grunting with the effort as they strove to make their way through the ash, screaming as the wild creatures who live in the tunnels beneath the whorl bit at their ankles, rending their flesh, until at last they fell, spent and dispirited and the gods devoured them, rising from the ash, bodies twisted in parodies of the stone forms I've knelt beside for most of my life. I turned to ask the devil what it meant.

I woke and said the Pardon over the bodies beside me; over my own, as well. But I could not find all the right words.

I wake and dream; I forget where I am, where I've been. May the Outsider help me.

I cannot... find all the right words, even now.

[ooc: Silk is canonically a very vivid and symbolic dreamer, annnd one can infer that he tells someone about them, since they're in Horn's book. |D s-sorry for the tealdeer! orz]

[VOICE POST]

[Unintelligible muttering resolves into what is clearly a prayer; the words come and go in clarity as he continues.]

In the name of all the gods ... for Great Pas, for Divine Echidna, for Scalding Scylla-- for, for... ah...
...Highest Hierax, and Fierce Phaea... no, that isn't... O Tenebrous Tartaros...

And in the name of all lesser gods; and the Outsider... why have you...

where... Doctor Crane? Mn... Hy--

No...

[ooc: He's been released by Mohinder, but he's still a bit woozy-- plus, since he hasn't done any of the deity tributes due to rebelliousness / being kept as a snack, he's suffering bouts of disorientation and memory loss. All replies will def. be voice~ and um. only questionably coherent. ILU.]

That was the second time I have found myself as a bird, due to the City's influence; though as a duckling I wasn't able to fly. Not that I was much better at it, as a night chough; I suppose that the shape does not come with commensurate knowledge of its use.

Raven, thank you for looking after me in the Library during the curse; I hope I wasn't too much of an inconvenience. I managed the pages without too much difficulty, though of course I wasn't able to replace the book on the shelf, afterward.

To the kind soul who offered bread, thank you. I would have thanked you then, but communication was rather difficult...

It seems a number of people are afflicted today, though in varying ways... by Thelxiepeia's grace I seem to be all right myself, as far as I can tell. I hope everyone fares all right, nonetheless. If I can aid anyone in some way, I hope you will let me know.

[ooc: /random, but if anyone didn't find peeps to powerswitch with yet (olol past last minute i know,) my other three are up for grabs? idk. ping me on AIM if you're interested i guess~]

I find I cannot remember what happened on ~~Tarsday~~ Tuesday; it must have been a curse, and no doubt a strange one. I hope I did nothing regrettable... though perhaps I ought to take the fact that I cannot recall it as a sign that I should not pry.

I did find, scrawled in something that might have been my own hand, these lines;

"Though trodden beneath the shepherd's heel,
The wild hyacinth blooms on the ground."

I believe they are from the Chrasmologic Writings (though I cannot name the book,) but I am uncertain as to why I would have copied them out... I had forgotten them, truth be told, until the moment I found the slip of paper.

I know I am late in saying it, but a happy Christmas to all of you. It was a pleasant one, for my first-- though perhaps I should think of it as my second, in a sense. The first I have knowingly celebrated, in any case... And yet, I wonder at the significance of that; but the Outsider alone knows such things. The holiday is certainly suited to him, in some ways; whether it is his, or mere coincidence...

I still do not know why I am here, in this City; but I am glad to have had the opportunities I have had, to come to know all of you. I am glad to be here, even if my task must be delayed.

( GIFT STUFF :D )

[VIDEO POST]

I can't--

[The image flickers for a moment as he fiddles with the machine, before pulling back and coming fully into view. The man is clearly Patera Silk, although somewhat older-- his hair mostly white, his face careworn. Several long cuts, clearly recent though already beginning to heal, are on his cheeks and his arms. He seems to be unaware that he's broadcasting, speaking mostly to himself.]

It's snowing; it's too cold to be Green, but there are certainly no cities like this on Blue. Or if they are, they must be far from the lands I have seen... And yet this does not look like the cities of the Neighbors... If I did not know better I would think myself still aboard the Whorl, but there are no skylands above me... And this isn't quite the same as Viron... though more like it than Trivigaunte, or any city I've seen...

Monitor? Monitor..? Hello?

[A hand mostly obscures the camera as he taps at the screen; he is frowning intently, when his face comes back into view.]

Hello? Can you hear me? I'm looking for someone-- for Patera Silk. Calde Silk, perhaps I should say-- hello?

( [Long but important ooc note!] )

( [Private to Hiyori] )

I gather this is a curse of some sort? Everywhere I go there are sprigs of mistletoe hanging from every convenient perch, and people underneath them are-- ah.

I suppose it's some manner of Christmas tradition? How peculiar...

[ooc: Affected and out-and-about doing his Christmas shopping >D WHO WANTS TO MAKE THE AUGUR BLUSH, EH? Plz feel free to actionspam and smooch 'im, even if you've never met him before. xD]

Current Mood: confused

It's odd to watch the weather grow cold here. It was winter when I left Viron-- although admittedly an unseasonably warm winter-- and summer when I arrived here. Have I lost half a year, or gained it? Certainly it's unusual to have to ask such a question.

I have been reading a little about this upcoming holiday. It seems that there is a vast difference-- not only with Christmas, but with the other holidays I've seen celebrated here-- between the religious aspect of the festival and the way in which it is celebrated. Which is not necessarily a criticism; although as I understand it, it is often cited as one. We've less celebrations in my whorl, it seems; and generally there is less of a... secular celebration. Only special services in the manteion, usually.

I've been thinking of writing a book about my whorl, though I doubt I'd be any better as an author than as a speaker. I haven't been able to find any in the Library; not even a copy of the Chrasmologic Writings. At least... not a whole copy. I find pieces, passages, that seem to be too close for coincidence...

Well; that is a mystery to keep in mind, I suppose. I wonder whether anyone would read such a book, were I to write it; but perhaps the act of writing it would be good for me.

It looks to be a peculiar curse today. Hello to all of you, strangers and newcomers...

I won't imagine or hope that any from my whorl have found this place-- ~~If they did, what could I say to them? To Auk or Chenille or Doctor Crane, to Hyacinth?~~ but I am curious to meet you who've come to visit with us anyway.

[ooc: heh, I'm not awfully worried about his canon being ruined for him. xD and his memories of this will be fuzzy anyway. I thought I'd go four for four :) Please feel free to confuse him as much as you like!]

I feel as though I am always speaking of the benefits of confession, when the curses so often force us to air truths we'd prefer to keep under wraps. Today I find myself ashamed to have confessed; both because I lied, and because I did not.

I strive to be an honest man. I am a good man when I can be one. But honesty is nearly always possible, and as I am a poor liar, even when it is inappropriate the truth tends to find its way out. Much of my tale was true, yesterday. I did go to rob Blood's villa-- to 'solve the place,' as my friend Auk would have said-- and I did find my way to Hyacinth's quarters as I sought to escape his guards. I won't repeat all of it; I'm ashamed to have spoken so candidly, when there are so many in this City who should not hear of those matters.

The great lie I told, under the curse's influence, was that I stayed with her. Though she did ask me to, I refused. She threatened me with an azoth-- I've been told she would not really have harmed me, and I am inclined to believe those who told me so-- and I leaped from her window to escape it. In truth this is as embarrassing as the lie, when I imagine what a fool I must have seemed. That is how I broke my ankle; and needless to say I was swiftly captured as I tried in vain to reach the boundaries of Blood's property.

But now-- I have been thinking all day how to say this, yet I am still uncertain how best to word what I wish to express. There are things I know, things I do not need to question-- things of which I am certain. I know that the Outsider loves each and every one of us; that had I broken my oaths he would have forgiven me. I know that love is the most important thing in the whorl. That we must love one another, if we are to survive; that love is what keeps us whole and human, and that no one who truly loves another can be a bad person at heart.

I said yesterday that I try to love all bios, and that I usually succeed; and when I do not the failing is certainly my own, for there is no one so irredeemably evil that he has no spark of goodness in him. That is the truth; I'd like to believe it's in my nature to feel that way, but the truth is it is something we are taught in the schola, a part of becoming an augur. It ties in to the issue of anipotence; we do not marry, we have no biochemical family, because all men and women are our family. We have no children, but call everyone who lives in our quarter my child. I said that in that respect, it is not wrong to love, and that is true today as well; it would have been wrong, however, to forsake my vows and my duty for the sake of the body's desires, and knowing that, refusing to remain was really not so difficult a choice.

And yet... Denying yesterday's confession, I feel like I am lying again. I should say; I have loved three women in my life. My mother, first, to whom I owe my life and everything I am today. Maytera Marble, who has been a true and constant friend to me, a help and a comfort when I first came to the Sun Street manteion. And Hyacinth; Hyacinth whom I left in her cage, thrusting her invisible blade through the air like the Rani's troopers. I cannot say for certain whether I regret not staying, because it was not really my decision to make-- I owe the gods too much to forsake them. In the same position once more, I would not stay with her.

And yet to say today that I do not love her would be a lie.

I am not a lecher, and I seek not to be a liar; whether I am a traitor or a heretic remains to be seen, and certainly there are those who would label me as such. All I can do is try to be truthful, and be a good man when I can.

Judge me if you will; the Outsider and Comely Kypris know my heart, and do not hold it against me, and for that I am more thankful than I have words to show. May Pas forgive me; may Hyacinth forgive me as well, at home in our whorl.

I was aching and still bleeding from my fight with the White-Headed One-- that great, cruel bird whose sacrilegious name I won't utter-- when I found my way through Blood's villa to Hyacinth's rooms. Her small body had nearly disappeared amongst the sheets and tumbled blankets and so I did not notice her at first; until some noise, some drawn breath or low whimper alerted me, I thought myself alone in the room. I had little time to ponder this, and none to explain myself... had an explanation been necessary. Her glassy eyes stared dreamily at me and past me, lips curving in a smile, a wordless invitation. She was fine-featured, hair dark as a raven's wing tumbling over her body.

I heard in the hallway the sounds of my pursuers, the guards and private retainers of the man whose house I'd come to rob. Desperate, I tore my robe off and leaped beneath her sheets as they burst through the door. I had never seen her before; never heard tell of this woman who lived in Blood's home, whom he lent as he willed to the powerful men he sought to sway. She did not protest; she clung to me, the philtre she'd taken-- Beggar's Root, she told me later, to make her duties less abhorrent-- clouding her judgment. I believe she kissed me, then, for the first time; I cannot recall. I leaped to my feet as the men entered, kicking my vestments below the bed, and fired my needler into the darkness, shouting.

The guards stopped where they stood, and the woman beside me sat up, startled. "Go back to sleep, Hyacinth," I said. "This doesn't concern you." To this day I do not know why I called her by that name-- and yet, it was the right one, as I soon learned. The guards apologized and left us alone, assuming I numbered among Blood's many guests, and I found myself shocked into silence.

We spoke for some time, once I recovered my meager wits-- the philtre had not worn off, and she was insistent; affectionate. I explained the circumstances by which I had come to be in her home (though in a sense it was as much a cage as a home; I vividly recalled how I'd smashed Oreb's cage to kindling and longed to do the same for her, another prized and dearly-bought bird!) It seems we spoke for hours, though it could not have been so long. As we did her head seemed to clear, her gaze becoming brighter as the philtre's effects wore off.

I expected that once she was free of the Root's influence, she would scream and bring the guards back upon me, and sought to dress myself, hampered by the wounds I'd sustained. She helped me, though her smirking words were no help at all, but showed no sign of turning upon me as I'd feared. I lingered; my promises to the Outsider wavering, the sacrifice I owed Tenebrous Tartaros forgotten. I sat beside her as an augur; as though I were shriving her, though we did not speak of such things. What words did we trade? I cannot recall-- all I remember is the moment when, clear-eyed and in possession of her wits, Hyacinth leaned forward and kissed me.

"Stay with me, Silk," she said firmly, and I felt as though Comely Kypris herself had enlightened me, charging me with a solemn duty, looking in Hyacinth's eyes.

And stay I did.

May all the gods forgive me.

[ooc: This is mostly true, in fact, except for the end >D poor boy will hate himself in the morning. o god.]

Current Mood: melancholy

I stopped to inquire at one of the little tents as to why they were giving injections, and had a fascinating conversation on the subject of immunizations. The technology to create vaccines is lacking in my whorl, unfortunately; it is a shame, because I imagine it would save hundreds of lives. Especially in the Orilla, and in my own Sun Street Quarter; when diseases hit there is so little that can be done to stop their spread, and the consequences can be devastating.

The concept, though, of immunization is not unknown; there are certain diseases, mostly childhood ailments, which one does not catch twice. Often, if a child is infected, her neighbors' children will be sent to play with her so they will sicken. It seems backwards, even cruel; but as a child's body is more resilient, it is easier for her to fight the disease while she is young, than to risk sickening as an adult, and experiencing a much more severe and dangerous illness.

I gather the theory is the same with vaccines; only without the necessity of actually experiencing the sickness, in general. I suspect this is something that was known to my ancestors, but that we no longer have the knowledge to create these medicines. Living here I am reminded every day of the disparity between what my whorl has, and what it must once have had. Any one of us can learn to operate the mechanisms of this City, the day-to-day items, but many of us could never comprehend the skills needed to make them. So it was with us; like children living in the ruins of our parents' home, we survive, but we cannot rebuild.

I shouldn't let myself sound so sorrowful. I spend too much time alone, here, I think.

In any case, though I am not prone to illness, I've now been vaccinated as well. They warned me that I might experience some symptoms but thus far I feel quite well. May Fierce Phaea bring those of you who have fallen ill a swift recovery.