They watch.

The 30th Day of the Beginning of Spring, the 4th year of Robert I's reign.

Chair too large, surrounding me,
Cloak too tight, strangling me,
They watch.

I cheered, was jubilant, arrogant.
I fell, was saddened, frightened.
They watch.

I wear a mask, under my title.
I care. I struggle, bleed.
They watch.

I hold forth a weapon, blade keen as their teeth,
Trying to hide the shakes and trembles.
They watch.

I am betrayed, and I smile.
Stabbed in the back, and I smile.
They watch.

Then, they come out of the darkness,
and bite me, teeth sharp, eyes gleaming.
They kill.

This is but a shadow, but I couldn't express how I feel any other way.
I can only trust those I had befriended before this accursed title was given to me.

It is power, acting as a beacon, a bonfire, to their greedy eyes. Even she came back. She wanted me to depend on her, to need her. I cannot afford to do such, not now. The whispers run faster than the blood.

I wanted to rely on her for advice, but unstable as she is, she turned away from me. In a way, I am almost glad, because it is one less lever for them to use against me.

I still am not used to signing this, but I suppose I shall.

Vasteel-ddu of the House Lamaran-thal, co-Reeve of Telantha