Journal page 6

My dearest friend,

I am by no means a perfect man. My flaws run deep, and as I age, the crevasses only run deeper and darker as each drop wears them down. By far the largest of my flaws is my temper. It takes little to blind my judgement completely.
Afterwards, I try to cradle myself in substances. Alcohol, and felweed being the main sources of comfort.

But it takes a special person to send me into such a rage that each time I see them, I feel like a mad kodo on a rampage. The woman has such an intricate way in which she can manipulate my emotion that I felt as if she were some sort of demon sent to torment me. Like a phantom, she haunts my steps and dreams. I attempted to understand her in order to gain some control. But, demons cannot be reasoned with. They simply exist to cause chaos and destruction in their wake.

Weeks had passed and I endured her taunting and constant searching. I would see her from the corner of my eye, studying me like a predator. She knew my comings and goings. She took notes and watched my steps to memorize their patterns. She knew the faces of my acquaintances and business associates. Every day I tried to understand her purpose and intent. I would ask her. I would threaten her. I even went so far as to attempt to kill her just to be rid of this pest. Yet, she continued to resist, and she continued to gnaw through the walls of my carefully constructed facade. She always returned, just as strong and irritating as an infestation.

Her eyes began to torment me. At night, I would dream of them except they were morphed into the black eyes of some sort of pestilence. In my dreams, she stared at me from the darkness. Two wet, black, beady eyes of a rat, a raven, or an insect. However, I knew it to be her. She would wait patiently and keep silence. It was maddening. She would stare, watch, and wait. Each time I went into the inky blackness to destroy her, she would morph into the shadows. It was as if she were incorporeal and had become darkness herself. I could never reach her. Touching her would be like touching water, and she slipped through my fingers. She was hell and I had to endure her for eternity.

I had enough of this madness and sought to kill her once and for all. Her blood was as red as my own, and I was determined to prove it. I learned through the confrontation that her name was merely an ironic nom de plume. For some reason, this irked me more than it should. The demon once called herself, 'Sunny.' It would like be naming the devil 'Happiness,' or 'Joy.' Instead, her true name (if that is not another lie) is the far more apt, 'Opalette,' derived from the stone, the opal. The opal is a symbol of discontent, curses, and bad omens. Their multifaceted sides reflect many colors, as if they were a stone of a thousand faces and have no one true nature. I found this entirely appropriate for her.

The confrontation ended in a standoff. While I managed to connect several heavy blows to her small frame, she was quick and agile and had the ability to vanish. Towards the end, it almost seemed as if I had gained the upperhand and she was afraid of me. It was as if she had realized that there were limits to her torture. We had come to an agreement, and I was to not see or hear for her for some period of time. I promised to kill her if she broke this truce.

While I found the confrontation to be anti-climatic and deeply unsatisfying, I slept well last night. For the first time in weeks, the raven's glossy, obsidian eyes did not follow me. I did not hear the loud flapping of wings at a distance. I was not haunted, and perhaps I will soon be rid of her nevermore.

Yours truly,

--Kiaphus