{ The Battered Notebook of Karou Morgan }

January 14, 2013

Forgive me for not writing many entries containing my own words. I just haven't been able to say what I've been wanting to say myself, so I turned to music for help.

Things in the compound have been working in ups-and-downs again. They never seem to stay great for very long, or they never seem to stay too bad for very long.

Early evening was an up.
As I said in my previous entry, things are... Thawing. I think that's the best word for it. Boundaries and walls are being taken down brick by brick, Distances are being "vanquished". It's a good feeling. I'm really hoping that things stay the way they were in that moment because they just seemed so... Right (forgive me if that's cheesy).
I'm not necessarily a romantic, but it's starting to seem that way; not that that's a bad thing or anything. These emotions are still new to me and I happen to enjoy indulging in them a little bit.

Later that night was a big, big down.
I woke up sometime past midnight upon hearing commotion coming from outside the unit. Unable to fall back to sleep, I went to investigate. And low and behold, there was Margra and Ibram going at it again. Or should I say, Margra making stupid attempts to torture Bram while he was tied up on his bed (?!?). She looked ready to kill him and I knew that if she did, it wouldn't go down so well with Cambria. So I stopped her. I grabbed her by the hair and pulled her into the other room while she stared at me like she had no idea who I was. He honestly would have killed her if I hadn't been there to throw myself on her when he went at her. I talked him down from whatever ledge he'd been put up on while Margra escaped.

I don't know what's going on between those two but there is nothing right about whatever it is.

Back to bed now.
I thought writing would calm me down.

January 16, 2013

For the first night in almost over a week, I have a nightmare.
Not just any nightmare, but the nightmare.

Everything is blue -- winter blue. You know, the kind of blue you only see during a December snow fall in the very early hours of the morning. Like someone's just taken a dye and added it to the atmosphere.
Everything is blue except for me. I wear a dark green jacket and my wings are no longer the plain black they are, but an ebony reflection of every possible light that could touch them. My wings are a mirror in reverse and I wander into the woods knowing it's not a good idea, and I just keep going. I keep going until I'm exhausted and laying in the snow. But it's not cold. In fact, I'm rather warm. And in my dream, my eyes close, and when they open I'm laying on the floor of the shack we lived in when things were the worst and it's burning. Everything is burning -- my parents, but I don't care enough to help them out. Everything is burning except for me. The fire touches me, yet it doesn't harm me.

And the fire is cold.
And the snow falls like volcanic ash.

I don't know what this means. Tomorrow, I will ask Cambria. I will ask her if she thinks, perhaps, it is a vision in disguise or simply a trick my mind is playing on me in my sleep.

I woke up screaming, I think. I can only hope Warren didn't hear me. All I know was that I couldn't keep still and that the ugly scar between my lings felt raw, as if someone had tried to pull it open.

In the present, I am my own definition of happy. But the moment the past comes knocking again, I'm suddenly two years younger, waiting for my stitches to take their effect and pull me back together. I keep trying to shake it, but nothing seems to completely erase it from my mind.

I just want to tear that chapter out of my life.
But as far as I know, there is no way to purge history of itself.

I can't fall back to sleep.
I thought writing might tire me, but it doesn't seem to be working. It's only disturbing the once settled dust within me once again. I could get up, go for a walk. I could wake Warren, and just start talking about nothing (like we used to), but I know what sleeplessness feels like and I don't want to feel guilty for inflicting it on another person.

It seems I keep writing these entries when my mind is least quiet.
During the day, I feel so collected, so calm and routine. It's almost boring.
Then something changes the moment the sun disapears, and suddenly, I'm restless once again.

January 19th, 2013

An up-day.
Slept late with only one mildly weird dream.

Warren had invited Easton to dinner (I forget the specific reason as to why he did), and he dragged Margra along with him, trying to "socialize" her further. I don't think it's working. Can't she see the danger she puts herself in by not at least faking it? The saying goes that if something isn't useful, it's best to simply discard it. It's cruel of me to mention it, but I'm starting to catch onto Cambria's plans for her if she doesn't do something with herself...
She's my sister. I'm supposed to care for her unconditionally, but sometimes I feel like the only thing that makes us sisters is the fact that we share a set of parents.

The evening was pleasant, for the most part. Easton's flirtatious manner is a little awkward sometimes, but I think I'm getting used to not letting it bother me. It seems he's like this with anyone and everyone.

Something's a bit different with Warren.
Not in a bad way, no. But he's a lot less distant lately. He's made two comments today (Not that I'm keeping track; these things just happen to stick in my head, which is curious as usual) that have struck me as interesting.
The first came about after feeding -- he said something was different. But he said not in a bad way.
Then, during dinner, when people were being nosy as usual about whatever our relationship is (It doesn't have a name, forgive me), he made a passing comment about how he feels different lying that we most definitely have crossed the boundary of what is typically considered "friendly" behavior...
I'll ask him what he meant tomorrow, when he's around.

I'm alone in the unit now, writing this and practicing a few temporary runes...
It's weirdly quiet.

January 20th, 2013

Well, there it is now. All out in the open. The words were said, their outcome observed.
It feels... Nice, not having to hide what it is I feel anymore. It's a change - not having to pretend that what happens in the unit doesn't travel past its doorway.
I asked about what was meant yesterday, as I had planned and I received my answer.
Things will be a bit different now, I suppose, now that it's been decided that no more lies will be told to keep what goes on in the unit a secret. How different, I don't yet know. Only time will tell that. I just hope that distance doesn't creep up again because the distance freezes me over with an icy cold wind and pushes me miles back in what progress I feel I've made. This was definitely a big step.

So, today, in the correct order of events:
Woke up late (again).
And then I found out that Margra is to move into the unit with us, as Warren has taken her "off Cambria's hands" (whatever that means). According to her, Margra's too expensive to look after. Since she hasn't been doing her work, Cambria thought it might be better to reassign her. However, Warren came up with the alternative idea to Cambria's original plan of shifting Margra to earn the lycanthrope's trust. To my understanding, Warren's created some version of the virus that's able to be injected into the bloodstream, which will make her shifting easier, since she has such trouble making friends...

For a moment, when he was first telling me about this plan -- before he mentioned the lycanthropy -- I was under the impression that he was going to sire her into another vampire. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, whatever it was that came over me. Jealousy? I don't know. I've decided I don't want to further explore whatever it was and let it simmer until it's steam dispating into the rest of the atmosphere...

I can't help but wonder what life will be like now that she's taken up a room in Warren's old office. I can't imagine she'll be bad company there, but my selfish side is wary she might take up our alone time...

Even if we aren't restricting what our relationship is to just the unit anymore, it still feels nice, knowing there's a place where things don't have to be over thought, where space doesn't have to be measured, where words don't have to be left unsaid...

I wonder how things will pan out.
Sleep now. Cambria says she's waking me early. She says she has something she wants to show me.

January 27, 2013

The week goes by slow. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday.... They creep past me with little notice, but I feel them dragging their feet as they try to make their exits. I spend my days in the unit and in the forest. Warren is busy and so I am very lonely; Margra doesn't provide much conversation. Easton only knows how to speak Flirty-Almost-Teeangery-Boy. Cambria only wants to discuss politics or history. Ibram is nowhere to be found. I read, I sketch, I sleep. I breathe, I survive.

Saturday night comes around and the compound comes out of hibernation and I'm living again.
I'm sent into action when pretty lights like meteors come slinging themselves down out of the sky. Cambria has me get in a car with a few others she works with and go to this field not very far from the compound to meet with who the lights were really. Fallen angels. DOZENS of them.
"This does not bode well," Cambria kept muttering. She was shaking when she saw they were going to land, and she sent me back to the compound before I got the chance to see any of them. She saw they were wingless and knew that only meant danger. Their feathers were falling on my shoulders like snow while I was being whisked away, back to the place I had come.

Looking up into the sky that night at what anyone else would have thought were shooting stars was like looking back in time. I felt, suddenly, reminded of how far back my ancestry goes. Back to the first atom of starlight that formed something with a conscious, with an ability to think and feel.

Maybe that's where the last name Morningstar comes from. Maybe that's where the gold color of my blood was born. Maybe that's what's given me my fire and my scales. All the older stories do say the arch-angels were made in the centers of stars.

Sunday afternoon and I realize I haven't fed since the LAST Sunday. I look at myself in the mirror and oh my goodness my eyes are the color of something burnt or bruised. My head hurts and I'm in a bad mood, but it's all relieved once I sneak into Warren's office and find him and Easton conversing. We slip away for a few minutes, get our acts together, get our heads straight, get ourselves "hydrated". Back in the office, Margra and Easton flirt and I smile as I watch them because I know she won't be the same for much longer. She'll be a lycanthrope soon and I don't know how that will change the rest of her.

Things get interesting for a third time once everyone else is gone but the two of us again.
Warren's comments before and after never cease to surprise me. He says I've matured long before it happens again, then he calls me something that I've never thought myself of being (though it makes me smile thinking about it, thinking that someone thinks of me like that), then once the "interesting" bit if over (I don't know what else to call it and I'm shy about details), he mentions that he's been tame with me, though I don't know what it means. I ask, he says to trust him and that I don't want to know, I say okay, but I remain curious.

Now I'm back in bed, warm though the room around me is colder. It's nice and I don't feel lonely any more.
I just hope he can find his way out of his office tonight. I can imagine the couch in there wouldn't be so comfortable, though you can tell he's been sleeping on it for whatever reason I won't ask about...

Get to sleep in tomorrow. No missions, no training. Cambria needs time to re-cooperate and she thinks I do too.

January 29, 2013

I'm given the day off.
Last night, I slept strangely. Though I was sleeping, when I woke up, I only felt more tired, as if I'd energy instead of gained it. I would have stayed in bed later if I hadn't had to report to the woods for the day"s "assignment". I'm given more and more of them, lately, though they're all relatively the same... Get told some information about who it is I'm "eliminating" (Usually a demon with an attitude problem), get dropped off, do what I'm told and do it well, get back to the Compound.

Today, Cambria takes one look at me and tells me not to worry -- that she'll send Bram or Easton to do it for me. She says I'm deserving of a break. She also tells me she might have some information on how to fix my flightlessness soon. Now that could be interesting. Apparently, since I'm nearing the last leg of my coming out of angelic dormancy, I'm right now at what Cambria calls my most "malleable". She says that any molding or shaping that needs to be done physically or mentally will take place during the next few months.

I don't know if I want to change. Not now, at least. I'm still settling into one mode, I don't want to be flipped into another just yet. It's frightening.

I spend the day alone in the rafters of the tavern, reading about mythical history, brushing up on my facts. I'm only interrupted by Warren and Margra's entry sometime around three in the afternoon. My chatter with them is brief, and that's all it really is, is chatter. It's pleasant, it's nice, but it's short-lived when Warren gets up to go back to work. Margra and I sit in silence like we usually do, sit there completely still and act as living opposites. I leave her when Bram comes on, feeling so much more tired than I did going in.

I feel as if I could fall asleep walking on my way back to the unit, and somehow, I find myself standing in front of the door to the office. I stare at it for five, maybe ten minutes, trying to pluck up the courage to sneak in and sit on the sofa and read. He can work, I'm just tired of talking to myself to try and fill the silence of the unit. I tell myself I'll be quiet, I won't distract him, but in the end, tiredness wins and I shuffle back to bed and hope the door will open and I'll wake up the next morning and there he'll be.

I'm sitting here now, where I usually write these entries, wondering if I'll cure my tiredness tonight. Maybe it's just thirst that's got me feeling this way. Tomorrow, I'll go into the office if he's still holed away in there. Quietly, I'll sit there and watch and wait until all this craziness is over.

February 4, 2013

Things happen again in my sleep.
A flash of silver in the bright, fluorescent lights of a completely white room. A woman's gentle voice telling me, "Relax." The fringes of my vision fading away, even in sleep, until nothing is left by a pock-marked ceiling floating overhead, the faces of my parents occasionally flickering into view. Blackness, then searing pain. I wake up screaming, crying out for help into a dark, empty bedroom. Well, empty except for myself.

I roll over, feel the space beside me.
Where are you?

When did it get this way? How did it go from so imaginably wonderful to cold again?
"Good things come to an end, Karou," Cambria tells me during our training today when she senses something is wrong with me. I don't know how she does it. I smile, I do everything I normally do when I'm in a good mood, but she sees right through it every single time. "What nobody knows if that you walk around like a loaded gun; you're a knife hidden up someone's sleeve, very sharp. You're lethal -- you're not submissive and you shouldn't be wasting your time waiting for him to appeal to your silly emotions. Push them all away. Forget about them and focus on your work."

No, no, no.
Don't you see it's not easy like that? Can't you take my thoughts, my feelings seriously?
I hate her thinking she can just... Mold me so easily like this. Physically, sure she can mold me all she wants. But there's no her changing my thought process, the way I see the world and certainly not who I care about and in which way I choose to express that.

In lighter news, there are new faces walking the halls of the compound.
Warren wants me to spy on them, get to know them. I can do that. I am good at being a fly-on-the-wall.
Twin sominiums. The girl seems easier to crack than the boy. This may be a good way to test all that I've learned...

Wanderlust;
a strong, innate desire to rove or travel about.

CONCORD, MASSACHUSETTS
(And a brief stop in Boston because why not)

Birds fly south for the winter, but first, I go north.
I go to the place I once called my home that was never really my home.

My wings, not strong enough, not healed enough, cannot take me all the way from Montana to New England, so when I'm far away enough from the compound, I use some of the money I've made (which is actually quite a lot) to buy myself a ticket to Boston. It's the second time I've flown in an airplane, but I'm not nervous at all and sleep the whole flight. When I land, I reinforce my glamour to keep my wings completely out of sight, and step out into the city I was never really ever allowed to explore but always wanted to.

That's what I do -- I go explore.
I spend some time in the theater district, walking around, enjoying the sights of kids in college -- kids my age -- running around, having a good time. I visit the science museum I remember visiting in the second grade. I go everywhere, from the harbor, to China town. I do not, however, go to the North End. I do not want to be around any place that has pasta practically oozing out its windows.

When it's late and I'm out of sight, I fly myself to Concord.
I go to the house we lived in until I was fifteen. It's still there, though the new family living in it has redone it from the shambles it was in when we gave up on that sleepy little town. I try to make myself to go the back shed Melissa and Bryant (they aren't my parents anymore. I don't have parents) kept me in when I turned twelve. I try to open it and peek inside to see if those poems I wrote to myself are still carved in the wall, but I can't make myself.

In the morning, I decide to remind myself of the place I was born. So, I go do all the touristy little things people who visit Concord do.
I visit Walden Pond and listen to an older couple read Thoreau. Then I go to the place where the Revolutionary War started and stand in between the space where the first shot of it was fired and the English it was fired at. It starts to snow and I tilt my head back to face it, let it come down and dust my skin. It's a nice feeling, cool and pleasant, cleansing, but it doesn't quite fix the everywhere-ache.
I see kids I went to school with. A few recognize me. Fewer acknowledge me. One girl, Angelina Roy, who sat behind me in AP Statistics senior year, is vampiric, I notice. Not by her appearance, but by her smell, by the way she looks at me with shock and horror when she realizes my own smell. I suppose I give her the same look, and we don't say anything to each other, but the entire time we're in Starbucks, we share smiles every time the guy she's with stutters or says something stupid. I wonder if she's always been this way.

I don't know where I'll go next, but I bought myself a map and I've been staring at it for an hour and a half now.
I think I'll try somewhere in Europe.
I need to go some place that I've not yet been, that nobody I know has really ever been.
Distance hasn't worked its magic yet -- I still can't think about the place I came from and the people in it without feeling sick or anxious.

PORTLAND, MAINE

It’s freezing when I decide it’s time to leave Massachusetts. It feels like snow but I don’t want to waste any more money on transportation costs, so I fly by my own means and take short breaks when I feel my wings start to “jam up” on me. Luckily, the snow doesn’t actually begin until I’m at my destination.

Originally, I had thought about going to Old Orchard Beach, where Aunt Lisa (Dad’s side, obviously) took me once before things got bad. I must have been six or seven when we went, and, while I can’t remember much about the place, I remember how it smelled; sugar being spun into candies, salt water, and sun screen. It smelled like summer. But it isn’t summer now, so I settle with my second option. I stop in Portland and decide to visit some of the oddity shops Cambria told me about. I’m very careful before I begin my exploration of them, always making sure they aren’t run by anyone who looks like a Circle Member.

The first two I visit are both mortal owned but have mythicals in them. I notice a pair of fae – who see through the glamours that keep my wings hidden and smile at me through bits of sea glass. A lycan in his mortal form stares at me over the edge of an old book. We talk, he tells me he works there part-time, introduces himself as Tom. It’s the first time I’ve talked to someone since leaving the compound, and the company – even though it only lasts fifteen minutes – is more than welcome. He helps me choose an elixir that’s meant to keep my wings from freezing on me again.

I spend hours just walking around, exploring, before I come to another shop. This one is owned by mythicals. You can smell it the moment you turn onto the street. I go in and buy what I’ve been looking for.
~A book of maps of the mythical cities; Alabaster, Isadora, Lockwood, BlueAsh, Shiro Sora. {No Enoch, but that's supposedly hidden from everyone that isn't a Celestial}
~Pencils and a new sketchbook with a cover that is advertised as fireproof, and pages that claim to be waterproof.
~A set of throwing knives; the sword is a little too obvious.
~Blood – because hey, a girl’s got to eat.

The cashier -- an Eastern psionic with eyes so light grey they're almost white -- notices my selection of the book of maps. She smiles and asks me if I'm planning on touring the cities. I tell her, yes, I was thinking about maybe stopping at one or two (Maybe staying a while). We get to talking and she tells me to hang around until closing, and she'll tell me a bit more about the cities she's been to. I do, and she tells me I can get to Lockwood in about an hour from there, but I tell her, "No, I'm looking for something a little further away."

"I know a place you could stay in Isadora," she tells me. "My sister Saria owns an inn on the coast."
She gives me the information and I thank her, and before I know it, I'm at an airport buying a ticket to Spain.

These choices might seem reckless, these decisions to just pack up and go where I want, but I can't keep still. I thought about staying in Portland a few more days, but my head tells me I need to keep moving.

Though I've talked to people, I'm finding myself lonely again. I told myself I wouldn't think about The Compound, but I'm unable to help it. Every time I move further away from it, the memories within it prod me harder. I sleep on the plane and the whole way across the Atlantic I have nightmares about what I left back there.

The Windowsill

“The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven..."

Some mornings, I wake up thinking I might be going mad.
These voices I hear in my dreams -- they aren't normal, are they? But I can't be loosing my sanity.
An insane person would never admit their flaw -- or what I suppose is genius in some few cases.
So then what is this inability to settle that creeps up on me when I least expect it?
I watch the sky a lot, lately. I stare up into it wondering what, if anything, lies beyond the sun's reach.
Logic says I should crack open an astrology book or open up Google to find out. But that curious, fantasy loving side of me has once again turned to literature for answers. I find I can relate to fiction and poetry much more than numbers or figures these days.

But it's amazing, really. That the mind can take a situation and perceive it in so many different ways.
Everything, it seems, is neutral until it is thought upon. Every action without a consequence unless the mind allows for one to be created.

What happened yesterday evening in the common room?
And why can't I decide on a meaning behind it?

EXHALE

All it takes is a few minutes in one of the unit's hallways. But before that, some assistance from an outside force.
An opening in my arm, a few holes in my neck, and suddenly, things are being pieced back together.
Not in the way they were pieced before, of course, but in such a way that I feel this great chill lift off my shoulders and dispate into the once lonely feeling hallway around me. A look, a few drops of blood -- what was called poison but actually seemed to heal --, and an exhalation of what I feel and suddenly there's a shift and I feel more like my real self.

The next morning, I return to the site of the 'incident' and hope that no changing of minds has gone on during the night. And it has but it hasn't, all at the same time. Winter looks at me differently. He smiles. There's some hesitations, but I suppose there has been a good deal of them on my part, as well. The morning passes into evening, and that's where he tells me he's found a loophole in the big mistake I made nine months ago. He hands me a sheet of paper, an undo button, and I sign my name and suddenly, legally, I'm his fledgling again. And there's that assurance that maybe there's a lot to look forward to.

I write, having woken up in the middle of the night, in the unit, in the place I sleep so comfortably. The room is quiet, and while my hands burn from the new markings Cambria has placed on me, I do not feel any great deal of pain. My neck isn't so lonely anymore. I end my entry now, and go back to sleep.

Let my guard down. Let the facade fade.

FIGHT OR FLIGHT

I think we chose both.
We're somewhere above the ocean right now, in a plane on the way to BlueAsh. There's something that needs attending to there. A situation.
Emergency meeting, of sorts. We left this afternoon, after the issue with my hands was cleared up, thanks to Iliya's help.

It started this morning, this unraveling of events.
It's all a bit odd, in writing it down, but this flight is long. A problem has come up in that Ellis is pregnant, but supposedly not with Magnus' child. There is some thought that it might be his, but from what most of us know, the changes of that are rather slim... In discussing it with Warren, I revealed to him what I knew about the Blacks, what I knew about Roman's past based on an old journal I'd picked up somewhere in Cambria's archives. It seems there is a great chance the child is his. In all this, I asked Warren what would happen if the child did so happen to be Roman Black's...

And then I was hit with the sudden sense of deja vu, as the image of a very unhappy Cambria flashed before my mind. Her connections with Ariane and Ariane's connection to Roman...
It's odd writing it down.

Another unraveling.
I told of that moment I did not wish to remember.
Even now I, would rather forget about it then write it down. Maybe I'll be able to write about it one day, but not today, not now. The ink feels too thick as it slips from the tip of my pen. I hate pen. Why didn't I remember my pencils? I suppose I was in a hurry to pack... I had hoped to say goodbye to Bram and Margra this time, but we left so quickly. I left Bram a note, and can only hope he'll find it soon.

I am uncertain of what will take place in BlueAsh. Things are going to be different now, that much I can tell. I am unsure if I should be nervous of this, as I have not seen any glimpses of Russia in my visions or my dreams as of recent. But I am tired and this flight is a long one. Who knows what I will see or feel during it... I'm not fond of his nervous anticipation.

RETURN

Russia is some hour and a half behind and some thousand feet below me right now. Again, I write from a place in an airplane, drifting through a silvery looking sky. It's still dark out, as we decided we would leave during the evening. Mostly everyone is asleep right now, but I'm not tired. Not yet, anyways. Something about the smooth, quietness about flying makes me sleepy.

After about a week in BlueAsh, we've finally decided to return to the Compound. Warren says he has work that needs to be done there, "lose ends" he needs to tie up. But he did say we could come back and forth when work was slow. I think I've made it obvious enough that I like the castle. Warren certainly has. He's different there, different in a good way and I hope that doesn't fade too much when we're back in the US. I gather it will to some degree, but maybe there's something I can do to keep him from icing over completely. He claims to have a "new outlook" on things. On this matter and on this new lense he's seeing through -- I feel much better about my own views; especially now that I have gotten the most... Startling one out there. So now he knows, and now I know his own perspective (at least from what he's told me and how I've interpreted it; hopefully accurately).

I look forward to seeing Bram. I would say that I'm excited to see Lia, too (even if she is more Warren's friend than mine, and occasionally does try to poke at my psyche), but she stopped and paid us a visit in the Castle. I think she might have already returned. If not, then she'll probably be back in the compound soon. I don't see what she'd be doing there after we left unless she's doing something related to The Circle.

Cambria left me a note on one of the exposed rafters in some hallway in the castle. Odd that she managed to get it there, though I have a feeling that Iliya had something to do with its placement and delivery. Apparently Margra was taken (seemingly against her will. More like she was peer pressured) into going to some run down "protection program" by that girl Eponine. Margra returned from this by Cambria's request and, while in one piece, seemed to have backtracked in the social-progress she had made when I last saw her. Needless to say, Cambria's hinting she wants me to do something about Eponine and avenge the "damaged done" to my sister.

Now I am beginning to get tired as I promised in the beginning of this writing... Sleep now. Hopefully no weird dreams...

THE BLACK WINTER

Lately, it seems as if most of my entries are about travel or settling in a new environment. Not that that's nessecarily a bad thing, but I do feel like if someone reads these some day they may find themselves getting bored by the happenings in my life. Really, though, there's nothing boring about everything that's been going on. Quite the opposite, if I'm honest. It would take more than just a few pages to tell what I've been up to in full detail, and I don't even have the time to do that.

I'm in Russia (again) and in BlueAsh (again). I'm not here with Warren or for vacation purposes as I've been before. No, I'm here because my training for the Black Winter has begun. I wasn't expecting it to all start so soon, really. But Roman and Magnus were getting bored or something, and so they kept pestering Warren until I finally called and told Roman I would come when he wanted me there. So here I am. I left on short notice and I do feel bad that some of my good byes were rushed (I didn't even get to see Margra at all. She doesn't talk to me anymore for some reason. I suspect she's bored of me), but I figured the sooner I went, the sooner I would be through with the training.

My days here are incredibly busy, as I said before. By the time I get back to the suite at night, I'm exhausted and sleep dreamlessly through the night. Obviously, what I've been doing here isn't all physical conditioning. A lot of it is mental, as well. "Learning how to be a vampire" is a harder than it sounds. My daily schedule looks something like this;

-Wake up at some ungodly hour to have enough time to shower and relax a little.
-Meet Magnus in the atrium and practice "concentrating my energy" (Really, it's sitting there staring at a bookcase while he grumbles about Roman and answers letters)
-Physical training. This usually consists of staring at a candle and trying to light it using my limited pyrokinetic abilities.
-Meet with the other more "official" members of the Black Winter and listen in on their meetings. (Must remember to keep my wings dormant and wear a scarf. When my feathers aren't being stared at, someone's trying to sniff my neck or my wrists)
-Meet Roman in some different part of the castle every day. Spend about half an hour getting lost until I finally figure out where it is I'm supposed to be. Talk with him and try to polietly evade his flirtatious advances.
-More physical training. Sometimes Magnus is busy around this time though, and when that's the case he will typically give me an errand to run or give me free time, which I spend in the library browsing through books on vampiric history so that way I can figure out what the hell Roman's talking about when he goes on tangents about "the good old days".
-Feed.
-Get back to the suite at around 11, try to call back to the compound if I have enough energy left to do so.

I have to admit I am very homesick, if the compound can be called a home. I am settling in here, but I do find myself awake late at night feeling rather lonely. I miss him most. Every day I do. After having been with him for so long, it's difficult to adjust to him not being here. It was like this when I went away on my adventure here without him a few months ago, too. He says he'll visit when work isn't so busy, and I feel selfish for wishing he could just drop everything and be here now, but I miss him. Tonight I'll try calling again and hope I can talk to him, even for just a few minutes.

Magnus is calling for me now. Time to get back to work.