A Soft Voice Amidst Cacophony

I was, truth be told, attempting to design a suitable gift for Tzol, in addition to the present I'd already made for her. Thought the crowd of the Square would... inspire me. That something might catch my attention, set my mind working.

Something did, of course, but in an entirely different way. The gods move mysteriously, as always, and unexpectedly.

A noble, lying in a pool of his own blood. The Reeve. Caught fleeing by a thrown dagger. The blow of a pious man, a priest even, against a common official, albeit one of some high status. A simple issue? Obviously not.

I did what I could for him, in the alley, and in my own home. A debt created, for that, not in money... Something deeper. Perhaps a responsibility both ways, there are some who feel that way, after saving a life. The first step to being a guardian, however improbably. I have no desire to pursue that particular nuance, however.

The dinner will be held regardless, I've decided. Plans move beyond us, sometimes, and become in and of themselves forces of movement. Ever an instrument. Who could ever escape their fates?

I re-read this, and I find my words nonsensical. My thoughts disordered. If Tzol were here, or Eleia, or perhaps even Venice, they would chide me for my refusal to attend to basic things. I still forget to sleep, forget to eat.

None of them are here, of course. I am left alone, with my ghosts and my dreams and my scheming.

I'll burn this book, I think, and transfer my thoughts finally from this unworthy medium, from among the old butcher's accounts. Move my thoughts from this relic of death and blood and cold calculation. A cleansing with fire, things begun anew. Or perhaps not anew, but... differently. Better, one would hope.

It's dawn now, somewhere, I think. I can't see the light from where I am.