{ The Battered Notebook of Karou Morgan }

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{ The Battered Notebook of Karou Morgan }

Post  RiteOfSpring on Mon Nov 12, 2012 3:05 pm

Karou's notebook is very much a part of her; rarely ever seen without it, she keeps a watchful eye on it whenever it is near her. It is difficult for anyone to tell how old the notebook is exactly, as most of its pages are not dated. Its cover is beaten up leather, but its internal workings and pages are all obviously well cared for, smooth and white. Those pages which are written on contain a left-handed persons' smudges along the margins and legible, feminine handwriting in between. Some pages contain no writing at all, but instead, very elaborate, intricate sketches, most of which are of other mythicals. The sketches more or less focus on one part of the body at a time, and there are only one or two complete people hidden throughout the pages of the notebook.

http://thecompoundrp.forumotion.com/t22-karou-irena-morgan#22
~*~

~The notebook's entries begin to contain dates somewhere in the beginning of November~

November 12

Startling.
So very startling. Little shock-waves, all through my back and my shoulders -- down to my legs, up to my head. Who would have guessed I would not undergo only one but TWO major physical transformations in just a few months? Who would have guessed that the second would be the most... Unexpected? I suppose I shouldn't have been as surprised as I was. I always knew there would be a chance of my ancestry physically revealing itself through me in more than just the markings on my hands. I'm not really sure how to feel now. Should I feel relieved that my parent's dirty work was not done for nothing? Should I be afraid? Should I feel strong?

Wings. Two of them.
Can you believe it? I don't know if I can. Should I believe it? Maybe I'm still in Concord and I'm just asleep and having a very long mixture of a nightmare and the best dream I've ever had.
Long and slim and black and blue and so light. I can barely feel them.
Can I fly? They are very avian-like. They feel so easily breakable. I don't want to break them, though Dr. Sage told me they might already be broken. They're kind of pretty, even if they are bent in a way I am sure they are not supposed to be bent. They hurt, too. They hurt so badly, unfamiliar.
Warren was there when they came out. He said such unpretty things about me, about what he thought of me and how he feels about himself. Viseryn says he lies. I think he does too.

I thought I liked being alone once, too.
But once you tell yourself something, if you say it enough, sometimes, it starts to become true.


Last edited by RiteOfSpring on Tue Nov 27, 2012 11:15 am; edited 1 time in total
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Re: { The Battered Notebook of Karou Morgan }

Post  RiteOfSpring on Tue Nov 13, 2012 11:51 pm

November 13

~The entry is a mix of small doodles along the edges of the paper, as well as some excerpts taken from another book~

"There are two denominations of the Angelic language. Enochian is the standard dialect, which is able to be spoken among all Celestially Angelic beings. It is similar to the mortal Latin language, though it does not follow Latin's Gregorian alphabet. The Angelic language as a whole is more similar to the Cyrillic alphabet's characters, which reveals that all languages may have been inspired by the original Angelic language. The other, less traditional dialect of Enochian is called Seraph. It is often thought to be more formal, traditional version of the language and is more commonly spoken by angelic beings that hold more highly ranked positions..."

~There are several attempts to spell something out in Enochian characters below the entry, however, they are all malformed and rather sloppy. The last character is incomplete. Above it, a small note is written~

Maybe I should just learn an instrument instead... Take up piano or guitar like a normal person.

...More conversation with Warren today.
He opens up more when we aren't trying to dig up whatever it is we think of each other. Not so... Frozen, I think was the word I used. Appropriate... Strange feeling at the end of our conversation though... Tried something new? Well, not new, but tried something again in a new perspective. My throat burns less, but he took off after... Did I make him mad?
Met with Viseryn and met his new assistant. Named Kama -- Elven like him. Pretty girl, pretty dark skin. Maybe he'll like her later on?

It's cold in here.
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Re: { The Battered Notebook of Karou Morgan }

Post  RiteOfSpring on Sun Nov 18, 2012 11:42 pm

November Something. I think I turn 19 sometime within the next two weeks?

I can feel winter coming even when I'm inside. It's that same feeling I got when I was back in Massachusetts; The air grows still and in its wind makes meager promises of morning frosts. I breathe in -- white. I bleed out -- gold.

Two marks -- gold -- in my neck, almost gone. They match my wrist. Pretty. Maybe. Some for me, some for him. now we match. Is that right? Is "we" right? So uncertain... What to make of any of this. When there are no other faces, it's more than alright. When even the slightest whiff of a stranger is about... It's as if I'm the stranger myself.

First I'm one thing, then I'm another, then another, and then another, and then, stop. Now I'm settled, now I'm what I wanted to be in the first place. Good. That's what I wanted, yes? That's what I needed, right? Right. I promise that I'll be as good at this as I can be. Vampiricy, I mean. That's why I came here.

Okay, let's try this again. Tomorrow morning, you walk out there and you say you're sorry for screwing up (not like that it's the first time you have) and you promise you won't act this way again. I promise, I really won't. I don't mean too - I just don't know how to act otherwise. I hate thinking about it -- why do I have to think about it? Why do you insist I think about it, give you answers about it? Why can't I/He/We/WhateverPronounYouLikeMore just...

Be?

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Re: { The Battered Notebook of Karou Morgan }

Post  RiteOfSpring on Sat Nov 24, 2012 2:28 am

November 23, 2012
One week until birthday.

Nobody's really sure what's going on right now, quite honestly.
I, myself, am so confused I can barely form coherent thoughts, let alone sentences..

It's very early. I think it's 4 or 5 AM. Cold outside, where I'm sitting, but it's refreshing. It's not like the Ice that's back in the unit, which only seems to melt when I begin to freeze myself. One door opens, the other closes, they say. One step forward, two steps back, others say. Which is it this time? I wonder. Is the color of the royal purple bruise on my neck -- Pretty? Maybe. Like the other marks? Or is it the transparency of the winter that has seemingly encased an entire person? I cannot decide which and I do not think making it will be an easy task. It will take a while.

I am supposed to learn how to forget how to care now, I think. Stop is what I've been told to do. Do I want to? Pretending has never really hurt anyone, but it is something I'm used to. Bite the bullet. Down the bitter medicine in one swallow. Get it over with and keep it down, down, down and shrink it small, small, small.

I dream about the night I spent in the snow when I was little. Sometimes it's not snow I'm laying in, but feathers. And the feathers are everywhere and they brush me back home before the wolves show up. Other times the snow turns into warm water and I just float until I wake up. I do not want to leave the compound. I am not ready and the tensions with the people who pushed me to this place are growing to be even worse. But the ice keeps pushing back against me every time I try to make any effort to melt it in the slightest.

I refuse to feel sorry for myself in this situation, though this is what it may seem like. These wings, these eyes on my hands -- they are not my fault. The baggage that comes with them is not my fault. I have tried to leave it behind once, but it has been so difficult. It just keeps following me. All I want is to forget about the place I come from and focus on right now. Not even where I'm going -- I can plan for that once this tableau of every mythical's life is over.

I want to charge through winter and shake summer by the shoulders. I want to breathe in the warm air I feel during interludes when Ice has relented and turned into something else entirely. I want to learn how to speak with that air, to really say what I mean and to simply know and be able to let others know. And, though it may be selfish to ask for anything more, I would very much like it if the Ice could melt a little bit more, a little bit early.
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Re: { The Battered Notebook of Karou Morgan }

Post  RiteOfSpring on Sun Nov 25, 2012 2:07 am

November 24, 2012

Late at night now, different from my last entry. I find I am having trouble sleeping tonight. Well, not really sleeping, but more falling asleep. When I do, I keep having this odd nightmare of falling into a pit of snakes. They don't actually do anything to me, but it is... Disturbing to think about, to say the least. The feel of scales against my skin... What's the green mark on my side? Viseryn doesn't know. I don't know. Warren doesn't know. Should I get someone else's opinion or is three enough? Perhaps I should show The Cat. I think I may be developing a friendship with her. She's nice. She listens to what I have to say -- actually listens -- and she does not seem to judge. I quite like the little bits of mischief she and I caused tonight, just running around. Is this what it feels like to have a friend?


I believe I made some progress tonight with Ice. Ice... Is that really the right nickname to give him in these entries? He's not ALWAYS ice. Just sometimes, when I ask too many questions. I've asked him to warn me, next time I get to that point. I do hope he does. Things became a little... Different in our conversation. Winter was gone completely and summer came very quickly, very suddenly. I felt its arrival on my neck and talked through it, though it was difficult... There were other distractions too, which is what seemed to make it all so very... Different. Do I like this different? Do I like this restlessness?

So tired right now. I need to sleep but there are a thousand wants that have all branched out from that one little hope I had in the early hours of the morning.




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Re: { The Battered Notebook of Karou Morgan }

Post  RiteOfSpring on Sun Nov 25, 2012 11:59 pm

November 25, 2012

Something different every day. Every day, something new. Something a little more foreign that moves the radius of my boundaries out another few feet. What started out as a pretty routine "dinner" turned into something completely different when The Cat brought The Psionic to the unit to retrieve a lost notebook or something of her's. I heard them outside and meal time was brought to a halt while Warren went to get the door. I sat, trying to be patient, and listened to her mumbling about how afraid of him she was.

Oh, I tried so hard to be patient.
But those moments where my mind wanted one thing and my thirst another reminded me that I'm still a fledgling. My throat had never felt so tight before in my entire life. There was a weight on my chest like someone was dumping concrete on me and then it was as if my lungs had forgotten to use the air I kept on swallowing. So, naturally, when Warren invited The Psionic in for a "bite", I was at her neck in a split second. Out, out, out came sweetness in disguise as quicksilver and down it went and then... How it felt afterwards, to have that sudden new energy.

So much is happening all at once. So much is changing -- I can feel it coming down over my eyes. Green and gold little spots, stretching up from my hip to my ribs. What are they? Do they go with the gold little holes in my neck? No, you need to stop thinking so much about what these changes may mean. Stop reading the books and thinking that everything they say is true.

Anyone can put ink to paper and make words and carve fiction out of something that once might have been truth.
Anyone could have come up with this nasty little bee sting that says I am the child of the child of the child of the first thing that fell from the sky.

Use your head, Karou. You're supposed to be the smart one. You saw these "fairy tales" for what they were even when you were human.

Truth and fantasia interweaving and tying together into some hard to untangle knot.
That's what this is.
Do I even want to untangle it?
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Re: { The Battered Notebook of Karou Morgan }

Post  RiteOfSpring on Tue Nov 27, 2012 11:37 pm

November 27, 2012

My turn to be the sleepless one tonight.
I think it's 2 or 3 AM now. I fell asleep around 11, but I woke up from a nightmare. I don't remember what the nightmare was, but I do remember speaking. I remember calling for someone, calling out and then waking up to the echo of my own voice. Eerie. Now I lay here, in the center of the bed, squinting in the dim light, surrounded by feathers as dark as the black sheets they were shed on.

More change. It always happens in color.
Green and gold. A circle around the eyes on my hands, which watch me reach for the things I care so much about. Markings on sides. They begun near my waist, then extended down toward my hips, and climbed my ribs like ladder rungs. They spiraled out of control and trickled down into a clean stripe down my thigh. They know better than to stray from their path though, better than to stray from the path they have been given. From far away, they look like tiny emeralds, dark and glimmering. Get closer and you see them from what they are. Run your hand down them, cool and smooth one way. Almost pleasant. But come back the way you can -- and oh! They feel like sharp little teeth dragging across the skin. How did they get here, anyways? They crawled out of some dusty book stored in the back of a coven's library in Russia apparently. Why can't science do its job and just give me some actual answers for once.

Cause and effect.
Unravel my DNA, then put it back together to make a whole new Karou. Uncross my chromosomes, then fold them back together until they are the way they should be. Pull the puzzle apart, then piece it back together in a whole new way so that it creates a brand new color, a brand new taste of Winter that nobody's got a real name for. I am not sure what goes through the mind of Winter. I am not sure what it is he wants from me. I apologize for things that are out of my control for the sake of saying sorry. I tell him I regret my age, the year I was born in. No, no, that is "ridiculous." Winter says it can't come any closer, but it does anyways, then steps back, looks at what it's done, and apologizes. No, no.

It's okay, I'm okay. I'm not hurt.
Why are you, Winter? One side of the coin told you to do it, the other side pulled you back and scolded you. A slap on the wrist. Bad, Ice, bad. I told you that nobody could ever feel about such a girl as me in that way. It's not a cliche if it becomes truth.

Ow.


I never thought that stupid poem I read in junior year American Literature would ever become relevant to my life.

"For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?"



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Re: { The Battered Notebook of Karou Morgan }

Post  RiteOfSpring on Thu Nov 29, 2012 12:00 am

November 28, 2012

I am trying.
Though it isn't always obvious, I am trying hard to fill in the little gaps where obvious information should be. There are simple things a girl should know, but I do not. There is so much other fluff in my head, which can sometimes be put to very good use, but most of the time, it just sits there, gathering dust in my synapses. This sounds depressing, but really, it's not. It would be depressing if I were not trying, and just sitting here, moping about it. But I am trying.

So many little things I want to do, want to say. But I am afraid of the reactions they might stir up...

"And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”


I do not mean to be difficult.
I do not mean to wear these bad moods like veils. They are products of the things I do not know. They can be removed so easily, though. All it takes is Winter to shy away, and that Summer version of you to come forward an take its place. I am not asking for a person to change, I am asking for the better side of that person who hides behind the giant legs of the worse side to come back out into the light. I am asking, mostly, for relief. Not relief myself, no, but relief for you. For you to take a moment to breathe in and do nothing else but breathe in, take in, and stop the over-thinking everyone can practically feel going on in your head. You've said that it is difficult, that it is not what you are used to. It is not what I am used to, either, and I feel selfish for thinking about that before thinking about what it is exactly that has you so afraid to even be in the same room as me sometimes.

This does sound ridiculously depressing. Maybe even a little pathetic, but at this point, it's probably expected.
These sudden occurrences of Ice have begun to exhaust me.

Nineteen in two days.
My first birthday away from home. I wish I could express how much I hope for it to be different from all the rest I've not been allowed to celebrate.
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Re: { The Battered Notebook of Karou Morgan }

Post  RiteOfSpring on Thu Nov 29, 2012 11:48 pm

November 29, 2012

Oh.
So that's what that feels like.

"Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse."


But the reversing. I don't want to reverse.

I'd like to take a moment to point to the stupid teenager I've suddenly become (Even though I'm not really a teenager anymore. They keep tagging "-teen" onto the ends of my birthdays. I feel centuries old, some days. Whole thousands of years). It took all but a few minutes to turn me into someone who had been frightened into some silly, giggling, feathery fluff of a girl. Calm down, Karou, I keep telling myself.

Isn't it odd? Not sleeping for two days, then suddenly, it's like I've slept for more years I've been alive.
Does that make sense?
You're not making any sense, you silly, scaly, feathery, giggling thing. And stop making references to yourself in second person. That's just as bad.

I think it's safe to say these recent writings have reflected my need for sleep. It's only ten now, but I think I'll head to bed. I can do more thinking in the morning, once the day's excitement have settled and cemented. When I wake up, it'll be my first birthday away from home. More depressing thoughts, but this time last year, I was doubting I'd even make it to 19. This time last year, I was propped up against the wall in a dirty shack, a blanket so thin it might as well been made of spiderwebs held to my shoulders... My back laced up. I was healing.

Laced, unlaced. Unlaced, Laced.
Come apart, come together. Turn north pole to south, and south back to north.
Make the backwards things the things most symmetrical.
Turn all the bitter things sweet. Run your hand one way and get smooth, the other get sharp.
Cause and effect.
Laced, unlaced.
Make Summer into Winter and Winter into Summer
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Re: { The Battered Notebook of Karou Morgan }

Post  RiteOfSpring on Sun Dec 02, 2012 12:00 pm

December 1, 2012

Something about today feels better.
In the courtyard, the skies are grey and there's a powdered sugar layer of snow on the cobble, but still. There's an almost tangible feel in the air that feels like a good day. Or maybe it's just remnants of yesterday. Yesterday, as you already know by now, journal/notebook, was my birthday and it was the first one I've ever properly celebrated. I came to realize that I've never actually been given any gifts either, which... Actually, I'm not sure if that's pathetic or not. But either way, what I got yesterday (both physically and in terms of what happened through the day) made up for that. It was, all in all, a very good day and I'm still in an equally good mood because of it.

Now, I've only woken up about half-an-hour ago, but I've got to see Viseryn. He's left a note on the front door the unit asking that I see him immediately. I wonder what it is he wants.

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Re: { The Battered Notebook of Karou Morgan }

Post  RiteOfSpring on Mon Dec 03, 2012 12:00 am

December 2, 2012

I am ascending.
I an surpassing the hell I once lived in and moving higher, and higher away from all the things that I once considered normal. Now, I look back on them; I see them for what they really are. I look down into the dirty faces of the demons of my past and I simply know I have come such a long way away from them. Yes, I still hear my father's voice in the meanings behind insults. I can still feel the sting of my mother's hand across my cheek when I'm grabbed and rattled the wrong way, but they aren't real anymore. Ghosts. That's all they are.

And these little wisps of smoke... They are in everyone. They rise off of our skin when we have been burned, when we have been frozen. They are ugly little things, and they bring out the "worst in us". And they scare us. They scare us more than they scare the others they inflict themselves on. But when they fade away, for some miraculous reason, we are able to see the world much more clearly than we were before. These ghosts lift the fog out from under our eyelids and pull the cotton out of our mouths...

I am learning.
Every day, I am learning and oh god I am trying so hard. I have written it before, but it needs to be said again.

But it's not just learning, or trying, or ascending I've been doing.
I have been healing.
I have been feeling and I am learning how to do so more and more every day. I feel the hurt worse than I did before and I feel the good moments in such powerful waves that all I want to do is freeze them, smile at them and breathe in their sweetness and trap it there forever in my veins, in my cells, in my blood.
I have been learning to see and though sometimes, I misinterpret what it is my eyes tell me, I know that I do see.
And I see you.

Laced, unlaced, Unlaced, laced.
Riding out the storm for that exhale we take when it's over.
Now I keep on trying, I keep on learning, and now I will try my hand at fixing.
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Re: { The Battered Notebook of Karou Morgan }

Post  RiteOfSpring on Thu Dec 06, 2012 12:13 am

December 5, 2012

Two AM. Woke up screaming. The one with the wolves and the snowy forest again.

What's happened this time?
I do not know what exactly has caused this. I don't know if anyone is at fault.
I think it's me, I think it might be life in general, I think I just don't know.
But I am so ignorant to the consequences of my actions. I act based on my old religion of fight of flight. That was all I knew for eighteen years -- I'm sorry. I am more accustomed to the flight than the fight; I am more accustomed to fleeing at the first sight of Winter than braving through it.

If I could take back my signature, if I knew what it would bring, I would do it in a heartbeat. Forgive me. I did the only thing I knew how to do when you laid down those two roads and told me I could only pick one. If I could walk backwards from the way I came, I would. All you've done is give, and give, and give, but I was oblivious as to what it was that I could give in return. I make mistakes, I fumble through this time of change in my life, and I hope for some light at the end of this tunnel.

You said that if I left, you would find me.
Please, find me.
I'm not ready to leave yet. It will happen in the future, but don't fade away on me yourself.
Because I remember everything and I don't want to remember the person who gave me the one thing I'd always wanted to be remembered as the one who disappeared just when I realized how much he meant.

Two nights ago, I told you the truth when you asked me one question and that I will not take back.

Please, don't become another paradox.
Don't freeze up on me just to warm again. Please don't push me away just to pull me back in. Please don't tell me to go just to beg me to stay. Please don't yell out my faults only to tell me later than perhaps they are in fact my virtues. Please don't be the snow that holds me still for the wolves only to be the summer that shoos them back to the north.

If I could ask for one more selfish thing, it would be for you to give me just one more chance.
Give me one more chance before you cut the ropes and let me fall. Let me show that I can do something right. I know I can. It's the least I can do after everything you've done for me.

I am only half an angel.

Please, find me. I promise not to stray away again

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Re: { The Battered Notebook of Karou Morgan }

Post  RiteOfSpring on Sat Dec 08, 2012 7:23 pm

December 8, 2012

So much that could be said in this entry, but I don't even know where to begin. So many words could be used to detail everything that's been going on lately, but I don't know which to select...

I don't know why it happened, the change. I only know how, and when, and what it was like.

It started sometime after The Bat left -- he'd woken me up for some early morning training. We were talking about nothing in particular as always, then there was a notice in the change in the color of eyes, then there was the two flashes of bone against the lower lip, and talk of what it was I was missing. And then it just seemed to start happening and it kept happening, and then... There it all was. Something completely new and suddenly nothing seems as disjointed as it was before, nothing seems to be in shards and fragments, waiting to be rearranged. There was no sign of the Winter, nothing but Summer and nothing but everything it is.

And suddenly, it's like I know the name to put to all of this. It seems that all the logic in me, all the numbers and formulas didn't have the answer to the one question that's been growing louder and louder within me. But then, I just found it in the changes and the little lessons learned and there it was. The one big answer to a once very tiny question.

What is it that you're feeling, Karou? What is it that you think you're missing?
There it is, all laid out now. There it is, don't take your eyes off it for a moment. Don't let it run away just like your own bad habit.



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Re: { The Battered Notebook of Karou Morgan }

Post  RiteOfSpring on Sun Dec 09, 2012 11:20 pm

December 9, 2012

From this day forward, I will let nobody make me feel like I am less than I am.
That's to you, Doctor. That's my self-medication, right there. I am not a child, you know nothing about me. How dare you try to belittle me. How dare you try to make me out for a baby who knows how to do nothing but cry when she needs something. I think you've mistaken me for the person I was before I came here.

I'm not your little bird.
I am not little.
I am anything but.
I am what happens when you try and mold a person into something that she can never be. I am what happens when you constantly blame someone for your own faults. I am what happens when you tell a person she is in the wrong for simply breathing the same air as those who have tried to imprison her.

How's your hand now, Doctor? Think you can patch it up before the muscles die off? Or have they all been burnt away?

Burnt away.
The hilt came to me a few days ago. I haven't had a chance to really use it until today. It's like I've been using it my entire life, the way it feels in my hand. The flames that form its blade are almost comforting.... If I look in them the right way, I can see my reflection in them. It's like I've always known what to do with it, that's how it easy it is. It comes with a name, too, I heard it the first time I held it, but is syllables were not physical. No, I didn't hear it... I simply felt it, and there it was, in my mind, in some strange language I've never heard before.

Every day, I am learning.
Sometimes, I learn things that have been inside me all along.
There are things I can do that I cannot even begin to describe, but oh how right they feel when I can finally let them go. These little innate habits of mine, these little murmurs that have been somewhere in the folds of my brain for years, just waiting to be heard.

I can feel myself changing every day, I can feel myself growing up.
I can feel the approving eyes of others looking at my back as I take steps towards the life that feels so very right.
I'm waking up.

I need to feed.
I would keep writing, but my throat is growing fiery and my thoughts foggy...
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Re: { The Battered Notebook of Karou Morgan }

Post  RiteOfSpring on Thu Dec 13, 2012 9:55 pm

December 13, 2012

A bad feeling in the pit of my stomach feels like something more. It feels like the physical thirst in my throat -- hot and tightening. It cinches itself down around my body and folds me smaller and smaller until I'm reduced to one singular feather, whispering into the snowflakes, "Where did you disappear to?"

I dream of you in your pink dress. Your hair was darker then, carefully done into two braids that were so long I used to try and tug on them as you walked by, just to see if I was strong enough to knock you down. I was much smaller then. You were much smaller then. We were much less wing'ed. I was much less fanged. We were far more freckled. I have so many questions to ask you, yet I'm apprehensive as to what their answers will be.

Things are becoming foggy again, and I'm trying to clear it all away like I'm trying to clear away the black eye Viseryn gave me. (He's an idiot. He really has no idea what he's got coming to him. Shit storm's about to come raining down on him, pardonnez mon français) I didn't think it would come rolling in this quickly.

And you, the other you. You've been missing three days now. I wonder where it is you've disappeared to, as well. I've got so much to tell you, so many stories to retell.


"All I've known
Is that there is an end
Then you can begin again
Day, everyday
I had a dream
That the sea was helpless
The crowd was loud
I went to leave

Can I come to your house?
Caught in the ropes and the wires
The sun settles hard in the south
Winter lives in my bones

When you awake you're alone

You say "Is this a war?"
Hardly, and then you hit a wall
Honestly, you wan't to know but you can't
I believe, I want to believe, in anything"
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Re: { The Battered Notebook of Karou Morgan }

Post  RiteOfSpring on Sun Dec 16, 2012 11:00 pm

December 16, 2012

I'm told I have a week.
A week to decide what it is I want to do with myself. Not forever, obviously, but for some good, unknown chunk of time. It's a bit scary, having to make decision like that out of three big options. I'm liking option number two the most, at the moment. That one seems to be the safest bet, but I've got prove there's something useful about me other than what external tools I have. Seraph blades aren't very useful in a world where guns exist.

I could use my little moments of clairvoyance -- I think that's the word for it, being able to sense these odd happenings before they're reality. But something like that... It doesn't seem legitimate in a world where there's a scientific device to predict every tiny change. I don't want to make myself seem like an idiot.

I don't want to gain some stupid Cassandra-Complex, crying out things that I feel will happen within the heaves of my headaches only to be laughed at and thought of as insane.

But you're home now, back from that cold, ancient place that seems like myth among the myth. That I'm thankful for. My stories were beginning to build up and if they overflowed, it might have been a bit strange for whoever it was that had to hear them. Maybe not Margra, if it had been her. I already told you she's like a ghost, she doesn't talk, she just drifts about like she's not sure where to be or what to do.

It's snowing now. My favorite kind of weather. And you're home, and my sketches are getting better, and my head a little less foggy, and there's talk about what to do with the "good Doctor's" life, and things are starting to make a bit more sense. I pull them tightly together because I don't want them to come undone again. But, for now, everything is alright.

It's alright.

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Re: { The Battered Notebook of Karou Morgan }

Post  RiteOfSpring on Wed Dec 19, 2012 10:58 am

December 19, 2012

The days go by slowly as I wait for something to happen. I wait for a feeling, some sign that the next change in the wind is coming. I don't know how to describe it yet, these moments where I can see a difference coming like someone with a good eye spots a ship moving in from the fog. It usually starts with a chill on the back of my neck, which grows colder and colder until it turns warm. Then, for whatever reason, I just know all of a sudden. I have these weird flashes of images in my mind's eye, and then... Then I wait for them to become real.

There's one vision that is reoccuring. The others only happen once.
I'm another person, in this vision. I'm a woman who looks a little like me (dark hair, dark wings, pale, etc), but clearly isn't me. Her jaw is too angular to be mine, her chartreuse eyes turned up in a fashion that is either cat-like or oriental. She reminds me of the super-models that I used to see on the cover's of magazines in the convience stores back in the city -- pretty, but cruel. Like fire, sort of. It's pleasant to look at, but there's something very dangerous about the way it flows, the way it presents itself.
Anyways, back to the vision.
I'm this winged-fire-woman, and I'm walking through thick folliage that's as thick as the humidity that surrounds me. I can feel it, but it doesn't really phase me. I keep trudging through this thick grass, and then, suddenly, I'm shrinking, getting lower and lower to the ground until I'm covered in the green, scale-y markings that pattern my ribs at this very moment. Then I'm slinking under leaves until I'm out in this clearing, staring up at the back of some other woman's head... And there's this bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, and then I wake up with a worse headache than the other visions.

I should stop worrying about these things. They're becoming regular occurances. I don't know why they startle me.
I must sound hypocritical, talking about how strange they are in the beginning of this entry... Maybe I should stick to writing in pencil other than pen... Rambling again.

Miya's off with Jay, probably, who I've heard is sick. Ibram's lurking around, as usual, teaching me how to kick ass (Though, admittedly, I suck at it). Aidan, the new angelic who seems to not know when it's approprriate to make certain comments, follows Margra, who follows me. Over all, it's been pretty... Low-key around here. The holiday's are approaching, so maybe that's why everyone's less tense.

Oh well. I'm sure things will pick up now that Viseryn's crawled out of his hiding place again.
Winter's off in Russia, or somewhere on business.
I miss you. When are you coming home?
Stop worrying about it.
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Re: { The Battered Notebook of Karou Morgan }

Post  RiteOfSpring on Sun Dec 23, 2012 2:04 am

Christmas Time

I'm up too early, but I haven't left the unit just yet. I slept tonight, though I haven't in almost a week. You know how when the seasons change, you can sort of start to feel it in the air? The rain smells different, the pavement feels a bit different under your feet? That restlessness you feel right before something happens? You don't know if it's good or bad, yet, but you just know it's going to happen?
I've felt like that since the last good night's sleep.

Something did happen, in a far away place much colder than the one I am in. It seems like the worst things happen where winter is most prevalent.
When I think about the way things seem to happen with Winter and myself, things tend to occur in one of two ways:
In firestorms/conflagrations or in small miracles. Bittersweet, really. I don't know if I like that taste yet?
I should be mad about this "betrayal" as he so put it, I should be furious. That's what the magazines said, right? Yet, I think about all the worst things that could happen. I think about all the nastier alternatives... A bad, habit, I suppose. I think about things that could happen as opposed to what has happened.

I am mad, I know that. Not in the traditional sense. But mad that I'm not... Good enough to have avoided what happened in the first place. No, the actual physical occurance was not my fault, but maybe the motivation was. Maybe. Am I insecure? I look back on past entries and realize it may very well seem so. But maybe, just maybe, somehow my lack of experience in... Certain "areas" or my clumsiness when it comes to not saying the right thing at the right time or my constant indecisiveness... Maybe that was the motivator for this particular miniature disaster.

He says that there's no way I'll be able to really ever get over this and he says that he'll never really be able to get over it himself. Am I so outlandish in wishing we could just forgive now and get it over with and continue on with whatever it was we were doing before this... Happened? I know my social behaviors are not traditional, but this... I don't know, to be quite honest. I don't know much about anything, anymore. Not my headaches, not the way people see me, not where I come from, and certainly not how to react to this.

Am I so selfish to look at this and then look at the way it is when we aren't imploding on ourselves and think, "This can be so easy. This should be so easy. Why isn't this so easy?" Because, Karou, what you feel is a two-way street and you're just learning how to walk down it yourself and the moment your feet hit that pavement, you ran. You didn't bother trying to crawl or walk. You just ran.

I want nothing more to crawl back into bed and hide my face against you once again and sleep dreamless once again. I want nothing more than these eyes of the storm to open again. I want nothing more than to be laced back up again.
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Re: { The Battered Notebook of Karou Morgan }

Post  RiteOfSpring on Mon Dec 24, 2012 9:20 pm

Christmas Time (Deuxième partie)
Broken up into two MORE parts.

Night Time

"Why didn't you tell me?" -In regards to if finding about infidelity hurt.
What was I supposed to say? I don't like crying in front of people (though I very well wanted to). But I'd rather forgive and move on to bigger and better things than wallow in misery. To be honest, I hadn't felt so much hurt since my parents brought out the scalpel and told me to lay down and keep still. A harsh comparison, but it's true. I didn't know emotional pain could be so similar to physical pain, to being cut open and exposed.

And oh, you have no idea how scared I was when you said you were done with our... Relationship. But I would have gone away, if that was what you had really wanted. Because that's one thing I'm very good at doing, just vanishing without a trace. This time I didn't want to, but if that had been what you had wanted, I would have done it. Thankfully, something made you change your mind. I suppose that was the small miracle of the night.

I feel selfish, sometimes. So much is given and I take it all in stride, but now I'm hoping to give back. Something. Anything. Whether it's happiness or some other emotion I've yet to discover.

I know I can forgive -- I've done it before. But it will take me a little longer this time around to really "get over it".
You've promised it won't happen again, so I trust you in that.
I like this feeling. Being able to trust someone. I think that was what I was missing before my first exodus. Trust.

The Next Morning

I was making some tea in the hopes that it would ease my headache when a crying Aisling came running into the unit. Margra followed her and came rushing down in a rage, screaming obscenities at the psionic and comparing her to things such as the nasty brown muck you find at the bottom of a pond.

Apparently my sister did something to Aisling's journal that made her unhappy, and so, the psionic took it upon herself to punch Margra in the face. Bad idea. Margra's always had a temper and a short fuse is not something that time can easily change. She was threatening to cut the girl's hand off, among other things, and I knew it would be difficult to calm Margra down using words alone and I really didn't want to get physically violent with her, so I offered to "punish" Aisling myself in the hopes that it would spare her something. All I did was bite her -- It's happened once before, so it couldn't have been that bad. She did a good job of playing along and pretending it was worse than it actually was. I think if I hadn't been there Margra would have done some actual damage to her.
I'm thankful Warren wasn't there to see the episode, but I do feel like I should let him know there's trouble brewing between the two. Just in case.
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Re: { The Battered Notebook of Karou Morgan }

Post  RiteOfSpring on Fri Dec 28, 2012 2:08 am

December 27, 2012

We don't look very much alike.
This woman I am supposedly related to, I mean. The newspapers gave her a name. I already knew the infamous last bit of it -- Morningstar -- but now she's got a first name. Cambria. It's Seraph, High Seraph, to be specific. The legends say that angels are typically named for what their parent (or whoever is chosen to act as parent) wants the angel to aspire to be. All I had to do was look at the page, see her face, her mugshot and that three syllable name to know what it meant. In black and white, the Fire Starter's eyes stared at me and all I could feel was the skin on my palms crawling, as if something was prying my hamsas open. I wanted to be sick.

But Warren was there, and so was Margra.
I wonder what she thinks, this sister of mine. I wonder if she's alarmed in seeing this face of our estranged relative in the headlines. She doesn't seem the least bit bothered by it. She acts as if it's normal.

This woman, this... Fallen angel. She's haunted me ever since my father brought up that stupid family "curse". I've never known who she is, but I have this instinctual feeling that there are things she needs to tell me, that somehow, she wants me to do something for her. And I don't like that feeling very much.

Warren's reaction contrasted my sister's usual indifference.
You see, journal, I had a dream about what got this woman thrown in jail the day before. I saw her attempting to rob that bank, I saw her holding a gun to the head of the man who knew the code to the vault and I saw the carelessness in her eyes, as if she really had no desire to be standing in the middle of a robbery in the first place. And Warren knows I had this dream, and so, he called Russia and handed me the phone and told me to explain my dream to whoever it was on the other line. If I'd known I was speaking to Roman Black, I would have tried to been a bit more... Calm, but my nerves were frayed and while I was polite, I can't help but thinking I might have come off as nervous. He was nice (that seems to be the only word to explain it), but it felt surreal knowing I was speaking to a member of the family that first got me so obsessed with vampiricy. I remember reading about him and the rest of the Blacks in that big dusty book hidden in the back of my mother's closet on cold winter nights, wondering what it would have been like to be like them. Vampiric.

And now I am, but I'm not, at the same time.
Though being strictly vampiric is what I most desire, my celestial roots... They're taking firmer hold on me than I'd ever expected.

There's talk of me paying a visit to BlueAsh sometime in the near future. This... Roman Black wants to meet me. And to be honest, I feel stupidly starstruck over the possibility of meeting someone who was once just a story (one of my favorite characters in it, third to probably his twin cousins and his father).

Everyday, I'm reminded even more that what I once believed was fiction is reality.
Is there such thing as fiction at all anymore?
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Re: { The Battered Notebook of Karou Morgan }

Post  RiteOfSpring on Sat Dec 29, 2012 1:31 pm

December 29, 2012

The first question that comes to my mind when I wake this morning some hundreds of miles away from home is:
"Have I been kidnapped?"
Then I realize, I did go willingly. Maybe I wasn't so eager when I learned Warren was told to stay put at the compound, but I wasn't dragged here against my wishes.

Where is here, you ask?
I am in BlueAsh, Russia.
I was brought here to meet with Magnus and all the rest.
It's been a bit overwhelming -- this is my first time away from the compound since I ran away. This is my first time out in the world as a vampiric being and so, all these new experiences have been happening rapid fire. I didn't expect to sleep when all the day's meetings were over due to all I had to think about, but somehow I managed.

BlueAsh, Russia.
It's very pretty here, that I can admit to. Even though it's nearly the dead of winter and I can't even open a window here without having to put on a jacket, everything seems picturesque. I feel like I'm inside a giant snow globe and the castle is the center of it, never touched by time and always existing in the swirls of snowflakes that dust its stone walls. No matter how much the world may shake the place, it will not move, nor will it crumble. Even the furniture here seems haunted. Maybe there are ghosts that walk around this place...

Magnus
Wants to know too much, doesn't really know how to ease it out of me so well.
I've learned that bluntness doesn't get people anywhere when it comes to working "secrets" out of me.
Keep trying, but you really don't need to know the nature of Warren & I's relationship. You really don't need to know what went on after he came home from his most recent visit. Maybe you think you do, because you two are so close, but you are not close to me. If you want to know, ask Warren. You can zoom in on his head, but you aren't getting into mine.

Ellis
I'm indifferent to her.
She doesn't talk much. She just sits there and looks pretty and does what Magnus tells her to do. She is pretty, I'll give her that. A lot more than I am and in a very different way. I think she said three sentences to me since I've met her. I'm afraid to make conversation with her, though I would like to make some attempt to get to know her, because quite frankly it seems she just doesn't like me.

Roman Black
I got to meet him.
I thought I was going to seem like a teenager meeting a celebrity when I did, but the whole encounter was surprisingly casual. Just asked if I knew much about my bloodline (No; I only know who I come from originally and then my parents and grandparents), what I knew about my "gift" (That I can't control it, but I could probably learn if I really tried), and then he went about asking about Warren. Why does it seem like nobody up here except Magnus likes him? Roman seemed... Well, it seemed like Warren wasn't his most favorite of people. He did go on asking me the same questions as Magnus and I still found myself unable to really tell. Am I supposed to tell? I can see his reasoning for wanting to know (it's more rational than Magnus, who just seems plain nosy), but as of late...

Well, Warren's been distant. I know he's still upset over the incident and I am too, but he didn't even come to say goodbye to me when Magnus came and told me to follow him. And he knew too, that Magnus was there.
I wonder if he misses me, if he's even really noticed anything different since I've gone. I wonder if he's asking himself how long will they keep me here? Is it terrible of me that I'm secretly wishing he's getting a taste of what it felt like when he simply disappeared? Probably. I don't think that's right, Karou.

Does my sister know where I've been taken? Does Bram?

Will they let me leave at all?
I find myself choosing my words very carefully around these people. Most of the stories about what goes on inside this castle seem to be true and I do not want to be one of those who come in but never come out.

I know I want to go home soon. Not quite yet because I'm still marveling at the fact that I am in such a historical place and there are a few more people I'd like to meet, but...
It doesn't feel like any type of home at all.
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Re: { The Battered Notebook of Karou Morgan }

Post  RiteOfSpring on Mon Dec 31, 2012 3:57 am

December 31, 2012
SOMEWHERE IN THE STRATOSPHERE

I've been kidnapped.
For real, this time.
I was waiting at the airport terminal for them to call my ticket number so I could board the plane when a man came up behind me and put a knife to my back. Of all places, did you have to hold it to my back? You held it in the right spot, too, right between where the glamours that concealed my wings ended and my human-skin began. In the middle of my scar. The man took my suitcase and told me to follow him. His hair was as red as his eyes and his skin was as gray as the shitty plastic seats back in Logan airport. He would have matched if we'd been in Boston. I screamed. Nobody heard me. The place was filled with people [Six humans, an elemental posing as a human, three wood fae, a family of sominiums, and two very tired looking vampires].

How could nobody hear me?
He didn't smell like anything.
I reached for my seraph blade -- it wasn't there.
He told me he knew where it was. If I followed him and didn't cause a scene once he lifted the glamour (Oh, that explains the lack of attention my scream received), he'd give it back to me. He promised he was simply taking me to someone who wished to meet me. It would be brief. I would not miss my flight. My confusion grew when I was brought to a black car with tinted windows outside, and in I was pushed. I was alone in the car but for a dark haired woman in the corner. Violet eyes, pretty smile, ankh on her left wrist, psionc smell. She introduced herself as Lauretta Rossetta -- "The ugliest Rossetta you will ever meet."

We sat in silence the rest of the ride, and for a moment, I thought they were going to take me back to BlueAsh. I thought maybe Roman had changed his mind and he did intend on sending my bones back to the compound in a hatbox. We were driving through the tundra for almost an hour and a half before we came to an open field where a smaller, obviously more private jet was waiting.

Well, the man was right. I didn't miss my flight.
We boarded and the plane took off. I was told we would be landing in Montana, in the clearing in the forest that surrounded the compound.
The first two hours were silent and still, the Rossetta said nothing. I was panicking -- still am panicking. But then the door to the area where the pilot was opened and out stepped the woman from the newspaper, my visions, and my family's history. She sat down in the seat across from me, and, can you believe it, the first thing she said to me was, of all things:
"How do you like flying first class?"

And as we began to make small-talk about the weather in Russia, I couldn't help but wonder what exactly it was that made this woman so dangerous. She's left us now (Not even you, journal, would believe me when I tell you she literally unfolded wings the same color as mine and jumped out of the plane with a promise to see me at the compound), and I've had time to think. She introduced herself as a very distant relative -- Cambria Morningstar. Yes, her father is who I think he is. No, she's not here to cause any trouble with my family -- and told me she and a few of her friends would be staying at the compound for "business matters". She told me she wanted my help.

I asked, "With what?"
She said, "Well, sweetheart, I didn't give you those hamsas for no reason. I need your help establishing some connections and I need some help predicting the outcomes of my events."
And I sat there silently, waiting for some further explanation. And she sat there silently, waiting for me to say yes or no.
And when I didn't, she just smiled, and pulled out a simple playing card from a deck she had in her pocket. She passed it to me -- the Queen of Spades -- and told me that would be my invitation to a special upcoming meeting of hers.
"But don't tell your sister. And don't tell your sire. And don't tell Ibram."

Then she left.

Now I'm sitting here in a plane that was not the one I was supposed to be on with a card in my hands and a burning feeling on my neck.
I miss home. I miss the compound. I miss its familiarity. I miss my sister and I miss Ibram. I miss Warren.
Please don't have frozen while I was away.

...We're landing. This looks like Montana.
Perhaps I haven't been kidnapped after all.

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Re: { The Battered Notebook of Karou Morgan }

Post  RiteOfSpring on Thu Jan 03, 2013 11:10 am

Janaury 3, 2013

I am not in full understanding of what has happened, but I see now that it was a big mistake for me to assume that perhaps this Cambria Morningstar was not a threat.
She was angry when she found me in the forest. It was some hour or two after I'd encountered the visiting lycan Kurtis (more on him later) when she landed in front of me and told me to fight. I thought for a moment that maybe Ibram had sent her, that this was all part of his training. So, I took the stance I'd been taught to assume and put up my hands to fight. I tried to defend myself when I realized trying to strike back at her was pointless -- she was too quick. I don't know how long I spent dodging her, but in the end she swore at me in Seraph and stalked off into the tavern. She left me there with a split lip and what feels like a bruised rib or two.

I stayed in the forest as long as I could, hiding and trying to figure out how I was going to get back to the unit without being noticed -- I didn't want anyone to see I was injured. When it was late enough that the forest had gone completely dark, I found myself pathetically limping back to the unit, hoping that Warren wouldn't be awake to notice my condition. I cleaned myself up as best I could, but it's still obvious something or someone attacked me. I know someone will ask -- should I answer honestly? Will that anger her more?

I'm spending the day in the unit, trying to keep out of sight. My healing speed has begun to increase, so I have hope that I'll be good as new by evening. Right now, however, everything aches.

I'm molting (god, what an ugly word for my scales) and it's painful. It's never been painful before, but now, with every scale that appears, it feels as if someone is stabbing me in reverse.

I sound a mess. I sound pathetic.
Get yourself back together, Karou. Get back up on your feet and stop complaining.

It's a new year, but I don't feel much different at all. I'm told by others that I've changed, but I don't know how. Do I want to change? Is it for the better?
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Re: { The Battered Notebook of Karou Morgan }

Post  RiteOfSpring on Sun Jan 06, 2013 2:46 am

January 5, 2013

Things are slow again.

I've settled into a routine, now that everyone's got something to be doing except for me.
I wake up. I shower. I drink four or five bottles of sewer water "blood". I sketch, or read, or research, or sing to myself. I hold entire conversations with myself, some afternoons. I ask myself how I'm doing over a mug of lukewarm tea. I chat about the weather, the news. I paint my nails, I run around the unit seeing what little things I can move around just to see if anyone will notice, only to put them back in their proper places in the end.

I'm going nowhere fast.
I'm flapping my wings, but I don't lift off the ground.
I exert energy, but nothing is getting done.


I try to talk to Margra.
She's so quiet. She never has much to say. Or, if she does, she doesn't say it.

I try to talk to Ibram.
He's busy. He's got his jobs. He's got Cambria to obsess over. He doesn't want to talk to me.
Not anymore.

There's Kurtis, the new lycan.
He's nice enough. I think I could like him. Insists I'm little. I don't think I'm so little.

I look up at the door to see if Winter is coming home any time soon.
I wonder when they closed behind him, in the first place. I wonder where he went off to, what work he's doing. If he's realized how much I miss him. Does he feel this wedge driven between us? Does he feel the distance? I think he put it there, to be honest, though I can't say this to him. I don't know why. Half the time, I think I've done something wrong. The other times, I think it's because he thinks I'm too childish.

I'm not a child.
I'm not a child.

I'm not a child, I'm just lonely.
Lonely and missing something that perhaps I never had to begin with.
....

"For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?"


So how should I presume?


Last edited by RiteOfSpring on Sun Jan 06, 2013 10:11 pm; edited 1 time in total
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Re: { The Battered Notebook of Karou Morgan }

Post  RiteOfSpring on Sun Jan 06, 2013 10:10 pm

January 6, 2012

And I lay there wondering what is the matter
Is this a matter of worse or of better
You took the blanket so I took the bed sheet
But I would have held you if you'd only let me

And I stood there wondering what is the matter
Is this a matter of worse or of better
You walked right past me and straightened the covers
But I would still love you if you wanted a lover

And I still don't ask you what is the matter
Is this a matter of worse or of better
You take the heart failure, I'll take the cancer
I've long since stopped wondering why you don't answer

And I finally ask you what was the matter
Was it a matter of worse or of better
You stretch your arms out and finally face me
You say I would have told you if you'd only asked me
if you'd only asked me
if you'd only asked me



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