Death Does Not Become Me....

" You took me for a ride, You took me for all the other fools in your life. Now I don't care about your pain anymore. " ~Vast Doesn't everyone know that I don't give a shit what's happening? All these little kids keep lurking and scampering around me, trying to give me advice. What kind of advice can a 6 year old give, really? I'm not asking, looking, or even putting a face on that says, 'Give me advice, my life is in ruins!' It's just messed up that everyone thinks they know best. Moris Ravenswick tried explaining to me last week that the best way to torture Zillah was to be with him. What a joke. This man shares the same pain as me, knowing that his significant other will always fall into the arms of another... who happens to be my ex-significant other. I'm not going to fuel that fire. Even that little brat Maharet, who has never paid attention to me a day in her spoiled little life, attempted to cheer me up. Then all these other...

Is it not better this way? He can have all that he's ever wanted that he claimed I took away. I even helped him erase traces that I even existed at the Townhouse. He thought me careless with his daughter in the house, but I saved her, actually. I tugged her along the streets until I saw a familiar face, shoved her off, and ran blindly until I couldn't walk anymore. Of course he doesn't understand, quick to accuse and call me names. All the efforts I put in these past few years.. wasted.

It's all been so lovely. The Townhouse is transforming before my eyes. Everytime I visit (I'm not ready to call that place home), there are new things and new decorations. Ameera lives there now, too, and I've decided I'm never going into her room again. Ever. Since I'm not too fond of the Townhouse (the only reason I'm there is for privacy), and I'm not really allowed at the warehouse, I've been sneaking into the Rhyme. I can't really get in, only as far as the drive, but it's the closest I can get. I don't know what keeps bringing me back there, but it pulls me in like a magnet. It's a great place to nap and hide from the world, the new owner doesn't even know I exist. Honestly... I haven't been feeling well. Everything has been going so nicely on the outside that if I stopped smiling, it would be obvious. His face is haunting me in my dreams, buried under the murky water of the Thames, eyes dulled out and staring, accusi...

I've dreamt about it a few times, knocking him out when he was most vulnerable and not paying attention. It was almost too easy, as Zillah lay there in a daze, and the Professor stunned from the spell he just cast. I hit him over his head with his own case, and it instantly brought him to the floor. I stepped to my lover, still laying on the surgical table, traced his face gently, and overode the Professor's touch with a kiss of my own. Looking back down at the barely breathing body of the Professor, I sighed and cast a spell that would help me drag him out of the Warehouse. The London fog was in my favor, as it hid the awkward sight of me lugging him along, and the scratchy drag of his dead weight on the cobblestones. He went over the edge of the docks easily, welcoming the cold waves with an outreached embrace. I watched for a moment, making sure the current took him til he was a speck, and turned back toward the warehouse. Zillah must never know of this. He would neve...

We were lounging at the warehouse the other night... Actually more like Zillah was humoring me after I had drank more than my share of wine. It was the night that this whole fiasco was supposed to end. The past week had been a nightmare, and I was ready for it to be over. After being kicked out, disengaged, held hostage, and then practically begged to stay, I sobered up while we waited for the Professor and his surgeon to arrive. When we heard the familiar knock on the door, he looked with his mismatched eyes glinting in the glow of the twinkle lights and kissed me. It was time. I was repulsed instantly by being in the same room as the Professor. But I directed my sights to Mrs. Westcott, who had curious bruises and cuts about her body, as she tightened manacles around my lover's body to a surgical table. She ignored the world around her as she set forth to slicing and dicing. I couldn't watch for fear of a weak stomach, but stayed in the huddled in the pile of pillows, ...

I need to find a new place to go. Apparently refusing to help with this dumb surgery thing was the wrong answer. He threw my things out of the Townhouse and demanded I give him back the engagement ring. I didn't realize he was so needy, especially considering he's had everything under control and has so many more people (that aren't me) helping him out of his sticky situation. I tried, I really did try to help him, but he wouldn't have it. And now that I've given up, when I don't have the energy to keep trying, he guilts, and pushes, and prods me to do this. He pets me, whispering how much he needs me, but his face shows a sneer and a clenched jaw. He forced me to London, it being unsaid that he wants to keep an eye on me until the surgery. I don't think he's noticed that I've escaped from the warehouse window...

I received a letter in the post today from the untrustworthy Xylander. I went to the Rhyme, the same place I can no longer call home, and sat in the front drive to read the almost too-elegant script. It was easy to set it on fire, watching the corners burn first until the whole parchment was soon consumed. What do I owe the Professor or Zillah Grey, for that matter? Nothing. It's hilarious to think that they would actually think I could help. I've been trying this whole time, blindly following my heart, only to be betrayed yet again. How come I never see this coming? I should expect it after all of these years. I would never let the Professor cast any sort of magic on me and last I spoke/argued with Zillah, he already had plans with his new-found Mistress to return him back to his glory days. It seems they all have it under control, so now is my chance to disappear into the crowd and let them worry about their own problems. Goodbye Drama.