I felt so uncertain today. What do they think about me now that they know what I am? Do they hate me?
Are they wondering why I didn’t save Bolton from his death at Starlark’s hand? Why I didn’t stop us from entering the Deadwood once I knew its danger?
Why didn’t I go back and not kill Lystra?
I couldn’t do any of those things, though. That’s what no one could understand, and why I wish no one knew what I was. If I had saved Bolton, the KoraKora would have known me for what I was. And the Deadwood, that was too much too late, and to what alternative? We were so far in before I knew. I didn’t know which risk was worse, going into the Deadwood or going back to avoid it with the KoraKora right behind us.
Lystra… I didn’t save Lystra because I meant to kill her. I meant her to die, whether physically or from the heartbreak of her loss. Of the shame she would endure for having loved a Daedric follower. I may not have meant to run her through with my sword, but the result I wanted was the same in the end.
I hated her so much, and only because I had loved her so intensely.
I didn’t care enough for Bolton to take the risk. Saving his life was not worth revealing my advantage. Should I be ashamed of that? I have spent my entire life assessing situations, calculating risk, deciding whether I absolutely needed to use my ability or not. I never did.
A pattern formed over a lifetime of conservative decisions is not so easily altered.
And yet why did I save Inifra? They must be wondering that now. He saved the priestess whom he barely knows, yet would he save me?
I kept to myself most of the day. This rain has made it so hard to sleep and is causing my mat to fall apart even more quickly. Strangely, I find that I need it less and less. Perhaps soon I will be able to do without.
Until then, I had best try again to sleep while I have it.