Lerr-isstory

Lerrissa’s Journal: Age 8

[Entry 1 – First Page. My Book. Mine.]
Papa gave me this notebook and said it’s for “writing thoughts.” I asked if that means writing down when Thalin’s annoying or when I find cool rocks, and he said yes, so that’s what I’m doing.
My name is Lerrissa Blackbard. I’m eight, and I can swing a pickaxe, climb halfway up the slag mound behind our shack, and tell copper from fool’s copper (Papa showed me the trick).This book is mine. If you’re Thalin and you’re reading this, I will sit on your head.

[Entry 2 – What’s for Dinner? Rocks, Probably.]
Mama made stew again. I think it’s the same stew from three days ago but with new potatoes. She says it’s “nourishing,” but it smells like socks. I didn’t say that out loud. Mama’s tired lately. She stays up reading all these scrolls and old books, and sometimes she forgets to sleep.
Papa says she used to be the smartest person in the city, but she fell in love with a dumb miner and now she lives out here. He said it with a smile though. He always smiles at her like she’s made of sunlight.I hope someone looks at me like that someday. But maybe with less stew breath.

[Entry 3 – Papa Let Me Come Today!]
Today I got to go to the mines. Not deep inside, just near the front. Papa tied a rope to my belt just in case. I had my own pick and everything! He let me chip at the soft wall near the entrance while he went further in. I found a rock with green streaks and named it Grizzle.
The other miners laughed and said I’m already better than half the rookies. One of them called me “Little Stonepaw” because I kept slipping in the dust. I like that name.Grizzle’s sleeping under my bed now. He’s my new pet. Don’t tell Reise.

[Entry 4 – About Reise]
Reise is my chocobo! Well… she’s sort of mine. She’s still really little, and she came from the city because of some training program for kids. I don’t know why they gave one to me, but I love her. She has pink feathers like sunset clouds. Papa said that’s rare.She chirps when I braid her downy fluff. She follows me like a shadow, and she bites anyone who yells too loud. Thalin tried to throw a snowball at me once and she pecked his shoe clean off.
I gave her a ribbon for her birthday (I don’t know when it really is, so I made one up).She's my best friend.

[Entry 5 – I Don’t Like Magic.]
Mama says Thalin has a gift. She says he can feel the aether around him. He made a lantern float by accident and now everyone keeps giving him extra sweets.
I tried to copy him, but nothing happened. I stared at a candle for two bells straight and just got a headache.Papa says magic isn’t everything, and strong arms can be just as useful. I want to be useful. I want to help. But I don’t think the world wants someone like me to help with sparkly spells and fancy chants.Maybe I’ll help with something else.

[Entry 6 – Papa Told Me About His Papa]
I never met my real grandfather, but we have Papa. He’s not blood, but he raised Papa when he was little. He’s got white hair and the biggest laugh. He calls me “cub” and tells me bedtime stories about our people before the mines. About running through grasslands and chasing stars.
He says I ask too many questions, but he always answers anyway.He said, “Your feet belong in the dirt, but your spirit’s got wings.”
I’m not sure what that means yet, but I think it’s important.

Lerrissa’s Journal: Age 9

[Entry 7 – I Punched a Boy Today]
Only a little punch. Not in the face.
There’s this boy, Jode, who comes by with the food cart from the merchant post. He said my ears looked like they belonged on a mole. I told him moles are good diggers and he said, “Exactly.” So I socked him in the shoulder and told him his face looks like a busted sack of flour.
Papa didn’t scold me. He just said, “Try to use words next time.”
But he smiled a little, I saw it.

[Entry 8 – I Don’t Think I’m Pretty]
Mama combed my hair today. It took forever and there were tangles and I hated it. She said I’ll want to look “presentable” when I’m older. For who?
I’ve got dirt under my nails, a scrape on my chin, and shoulders like a baby bull. Thalin looks like a painting. I look like a boulder someone stuck ears and a tail on.
But Reise doesn’t care. She chirps and nuzzles me whether I’m covered in dust or stew or sadness.
She thinks I’m perfect. I think I believe her.

[Entry 9 – I Think I Turned Into a Rock]
Okay. I need to write this down while my fingers still work.I went into one of the caves past the big slag hills—not the one Papa works in. This one had weird blue moss and bats with shiny eyes. I brought my shovel. Just in case there were gems.
I found a glowing crystal poking out of the wall. It was humming. Not like music, but like it knew something. So I touched it. Obviously.Bad idea. My hand turned grey. Then my arm. Then my face. I screamed and it echoed like ten of me were yelling all at once. My legs got heavy. My skin went all stiff and glittery. I think I meowed in panic, but it sounded like rocks grinding in a tunnel.I was a rock. A weird, sparkly cat-rock.Papa found me after sundown. He dropped his pickaxe and said something that wasn’t a word. Then he hugged me and said I looked like “a statue somebody made after three ales.”
He carried me home. Mama cried. Thalin poked my tail. Reise tried to sit on me like a nest.The alchemist said it’ll wear off in a week or two. I can still blink. I can write if I hold the quill like this. It’s hard. But I’m okay.Papa called me “Stonepaw.” The other miners heard. They laughed. But I kinda like it.

[Entry 10 – Chipped My Elbow]
I can move my fingers again. Kinda. They still feel heavy, like dragging pickaxes through honey.
Mama tried to give me a bath but the soap just slid right off. Papa said I’m “polished enough to sell.” I told him I’m not ore. He laughed anyway.
Some of the miners brought me snacks and shiny things. Said I’m their “lucky rock.” One gave me a belt buckle shaped like a turtle.I tried walking today. My knee clicked. I sat down fast and chipped my elbow on the floor.
I didn’t cry. Reise laid her head in my lap. That helped more than anything.

[Entry 11 – Dream of the Crystal]
Last night, I dreamed I was still in that cave. But the crystal wasn’t glowing—it was talking. Not with words, but like... singing in my bones. It said I wasn’t broken. Just changed.
When I woke up, my shoulder had gone back to normal. Still pale, but soft again.Thalin asked if I’d miss it—being all sparkly and weird. I said maybe. He said I looked “cool and terrifying.”
I said thank you, and he blushed.
Papa says maybe the magic stuck to me a little. “Some things don’t come off easy,” he said.
I don’t think he meant just the stone.

[Entry 12 – Back to Me. Kinda.]
It’s gone. All of it. I’m me again. Flesh and fur and freckles. My tail doesn’t clink when I move. I can run again. Jump again. Hug Reise without hurting her.
But when I look at my hands, I still remember. The weight. The cold shimmer. The fear of not being me anymore.I asked Papa if I’m still Stonepaw now that I’m not stone.
He said, “Aye. And don’t you ever forget why.”So I won’t.

Lerrissa’s Journal: Age 10

[Entry 13 – Erynn Got the Pretty Genes]
Everyone says we’re twins, but we don’t match. Not really. Erynn’s taller (by a lot, if you ask her), and her hair stays neat even when she runs. She has Mama’s cheekbones and a way of making people do what she wants without asking twice.
She plays flute like it’s nothing. Papa says she’s got the “voice of a wind sprite.” I say she cheats by practicing while I’m hauling ore buckets.
She kissed my cheek this morning and said, “You’re the favorite, y’know.”
I don’t believe her. But I kept that kiss all day like it was a secret coin in my pocket.

[Entry 14 – The Great Pickaxe Duel]
Erynn challenged me to a pickaxe duel. Not real pickaxes—wooden ones. She carved them from old broom handles and said it was to “settle who’s the better Blackbard.”
We fought in the yard behind the house. Thalin was our referee but kept cheering for whoever was louder. Mama shouted for us to stop but Papa was laughing so hard he nearly fell off the porch.
I won. Barely.
Erynn gave me a bow and said, “Warrior Queen of the Ash Pit.” Then she flicked mud in my face.
I flicked it back. She shrieked. We both got grounded.

[Entry 15 – Mine Dust and Daydreams]
Sometimes I get this ache in my chest, like I’m meant to go somewhere. Like there’s a road I haven’t seen yet, but my feet know the direction anyway.
The mines are fine. Papa says I could be forewoman one day. That’s a big deal.
But when I watch the gladiators training in the city on errands, I can’t look away. Their movements are like storms you can steer.
I told Erynn once. She said, “So go. Make your own storm.”
She always knows what to say. It’s annoying.

[Entry 16 – What’s Mine Is Theirs]
Mama let me go to the market alone. I brought back what we needed and still had three gil leftover. I spent it on candied chestnuts. I gave two to Thalin. One to Erynn. Kept the last for Reise.
Papa said I could’ve spent it on something for myself.
I said I did.

[Entry 17 – Fight at the Spring]
A Highlander girl from the next camp pushed Erynn into the spring because she said Miqo’te “don’t belong in Ul’dah.”
Erynn laughed it off. But I didn’t.
I shoved the girl into the mud and told her we belong anywhere we damn well want. (I didn’t say “damn” out loud. But I thought it.)
Papa pulled me aside later. Said I shouldn’t fight battles Erynn doesn’t ask me to.
But he didn’t say I was wrong.

[Entry 18 – Erynn's Secret]
I caught her crying last night. Erynn, I mean. She said she was “just tired,” but her eyes were red and her hands were shaking.
She’s always so calm. So perfect.
I crawled into her bed and held her hand under the blankets. We didn’t say anything. Not really. Just breathed.
She squeezed my fingers and whispered, “Thanks, Rockhead.”
I don’t care if I never hear ‘I love you.’ That was better.

[Entry 19 – A Feast for the Beasts]
Today, I cooked.
Well—tried to cook. Erynn dared me to make a “proper stew” like Mama. I found potatoes (mushy), onions (sprouted), and some dried meat I think Papa forgot in his tool satchel. I added salt. And... sugar. And mint. And... egg.
Thalin said it looked like someone melted a boot. Papa tasted it anyway. Then asked if I was trying to poison the rats.
So I did.
I poured the rest behind the barn. Three rats, a lizard, and Reise loved it. They cleaned the whole plate and tried to eat the pot.
I might not be a chef. But I am a provider.

[Entry 20 – The Sound of the Deep]
Papa let me come down farther in the mine than ever before. Said I was old enough now. The air down there feels thick, like it’s watching. Everything’s quiet, but not still. Like the mountain is breathing.
We sat by a glimmering wall of raw copper. He took off his gloves and placed both our hands against the rock.
He said, “This earth fed our people when the world left us hungry. You give her your respect, and she’ll always give something back.”
I asked what I should give.
He said, “Whatever piece of you you’re not afraid to lose.”I still don’t know what that means. But I think I will, someday.

[Entry 21 – The One-Eyed Pipistrelle]
Found a cave bat today. Little thing. Barely bigger than my hand. One eye was sealed shut, and its wing looked all twisted like bad thread. Erynn shrieked when it flopped out of the rafters, but I caught it in my scarf.
Thalin said to leave it. Papa said nature sorts things out. But it looked at me. Like it knew I wouldn’t.So I didn’t.I made a nest out of cotton scraps and kept it warm by the stove. Gave it drops of honey-water and rubbed its wing straight with my fingers. I named it Scooter because that’s what it does. Scoots in circles and squeaks when it wants more water.
It doesn’t bite me. Not even once.Mama says it’ll fly again soon. I don’t know how she knows. But I believe her.I’ve never had something that small trust me before. It feels... I don’t know. Strange. Good, though.
Like maybe I’m not just made for swinging hammers after all.

Lerrissa’s Journal: Age 11

[Entry 22 – Erynn's First Kiss (Not Mine)]
Erynn kissed someone. A boy from the city. He was visiting his aunt near the refinery and helped her carry our washbucket. She kissed him behind the woodpile and came back with cherry-red cheeks.
She told me because she had to tell someone. Then made me swear never to tell anyone else. So I’m writing it here.
I haven’t kissed anyone. I think I want to. But not just to do it. I want it to mean something.Like when I hold Scooter now, and he tucks under my chin. That kind of safe. That kind of warm.
…Is that weird?

[Entry 23 – My First Real Fight]
I broke a boy’s nose.
He pushed Thalin down a slope because he didn’t want to walk home with a “witch brat.”
I didn’t think. I just moved. Grabbed him by the shirt and headbutted him hard enough to crack teeth. My forehead’s still sore.
Papa was mad. Mama was disappointed.
But Papa patched my head himself. Said, “If you’re gonna fight, make it count.”
Thalin didn’t say anything. Just gave me his last biscuit that night and leaned on my shoulder during stories.I think I’d do it again. Probably harder.

[Entry 24 – That One Time With The Fire Gel]
Erynn and I found a weird red glob in a cave pool. It jiggled when we poked it. I named it Wibble. She named it DO NOT TOUCH THAT RISS.
Wibble exploded when I scooped it into a basket.We didn’t get hurt hurt. But we came home smelling like roasted hair and the old boots behind Papa’s workbench.
Mama banned us from cave exploring for a moon.
Erynn says I have to stop naming dangerous things.
But I still think Wibble would’ve made a great pet if he hadn’t been so... explodey.

[Entry 25 – I Dreamed of Shields]
Had the weirdest dream. I was standing on a cliff, holding a shield bigger than my whole chest. There was something behind me—someone small. I couldn’t see them. But I was standing between them and everything else.I wasn’t scared. I felt solid. Like nothing could move me.I told Papa and he just said, “Sounds like you’ve got the heart for it.”
The what?
He didn’t explain. He just smiled.
I keep thinking about that shield. The weight of it. The purpose.

[Entry 26 – Scooter Flew]
He did it. He flew.
It was awkward and wobbly and his one good eye spun in circles, but he did it. Made it from the windowsill to the porch beam and back again. I cried. Like really cried.
Papa said I’d done something special. I told him I didn’t do anything—just fed him and kept him safe.
He said, “Sometimes that’s the hardest part.”Scooter sleeps in my scarf now, even though he doesn’t have to.
I think he’s staying.
I don’t mind.

[Entry 27 – I Don’t Fit Anymore]
I tried on one of Erynn’s tunics today and the seam ripped straight down the back.
She laughed until she hiccupped. I didn’t.
I’m not mad—just… confused.
Her arms are still delicate and soft, and mine are starting to look like Papa’s. I’ve got thicker thighs, wide shoulders, and hands that could snap her flute in half.Mama says I’m “just blooming early.” Papa says I’ve got strength in me that most boys would envy.
But I keep seeing myself in the mirror and wondering—am I still pretty? Or just big?I miss when we were the same size. When we matched.
Now I feel like the wrong twin in the wrong story.

[Entry 28 – Scooter Flew Too Far]
It happened this morning.
Scooter climbed onto the windowsill just like always—but this time, he didn’t look back.
He flapped twice, turned toward the mountains, and disappeared into the sky.
I waited until sundown. Called for him with honey in my palm. Left the scarf he used to sleep in out by the door.But he didn’t come back.
Thalin says maybe he found a mate. Papa says maybe it was just time.
Erynn said, gently, “Not everything stays.”
I didn’t cry. I just... folded his scarf, and tucked it away under my bed.I told myself if he ever returns, I’ll recognize his flap. His sound. His stubborn little squeak.
Even if it takes a hundred years.I’ll remember.

[Entry 29 – The Morning I Didn’t Get Up Right Away]
Most mornings I jump up before the sun. The floor’s cold, Papa’s already gone, and Reise is waiting to walk with me to the shed.
But not today. Today I stared at the ceiling too long. My bones felt too big for my skin. My thoughts wouldn’t get quiet.
I heard Erynn humming from the washroom, Thalin practicing sparks outside, and Mama clinking cups in the kitchen.
And me? I just laid there, with a heavy heart and a body that doesn’t seem to fit right anymore.Eventually I got up. Put my feet on the floor. Took one breath, then another. Reise headbutted my ribs like I’d done something heroic.
Maybe I had.

[Entry 30 – The First Time Someone Called Me a Freak]
There was a merchant boy. He came through with a caravan from Ul’dah—rich family, soft hands, slick words.
I offered to help carry sacks. He looked me up and down and said, “What are you supposed to be? A girl or a quarry beast?”
I laughed in his face. Told him if he needed help lifting his ego, I’d lend a hand.
But later, alone, I checked the mirror again.
My chest is flat. My shoulders are square. My voice isn’t soft like Erynn’s.Mama said, “Beauty isn’t a thing you fit into—it’s what you make room for.”
I still don’t know what I am yet. But I know I’m not a freak.

[Entry 31 – Me and the Black Wolf Pup]
It was limping near the waste piles. All bones and black fur, ribs poking through like cage bars. Erynn saw it first but I was the one who moved.
I followed it for nearly half a malm. Brought dried meat and a shirt soaked in broth.
Didn’t try to pet it. Just sat.
Waited.Two days later, it came back. Limp still bad, but eyes curious. Let me wrap the leg, press salve. Didn’t growl.
Didn’t stay, either.
It left when the moon rose.Papa said, “You’ve got the heart of a den-mother, Riss. Even the wild ones know it.”
I think I’ll remember that forever.

[Entry 32 – The Girl on the Balcony]
We went into Ul’dah today for supplies. Hot winds, loud voices, sand biting at the corners of every window.
While Papa haggled over copper rates and Erynn bartered for dye ribbons, I wandered. Just a little.
I passed a balcony where a girl in full armor leaned on the rail. A gladiator, I think—sword strapped to her back, golden plate catching the sun like a second skin. She didn’t smile. Just watched the horizon like it had something personal to say.I stared.
She noticed. Didn’t say anything—just nodded once.
Like she saw me. Like she recognized something.I didn’t say a word to anyone else the whole walk home.
But my heart hasn’t stopped beating like a war drum.
I think… I want to be that one day.
Not just strong. Not just loud.
Seen.

Lerrissa’s Journal: Age 12

[Entry 33 – First Steps Toward the Blade]
Papa let me watch the drills outside the Gladiator’s Guild today.
We’d delivered ore, and while he talked with the quartermaster, I stood in the corner like I was made of shadows.
Steel rang like music. Feet thundered across the stone. One of the girls—shorter than me, even—flipped a boy twice her size straight onto his back.
I felt it in my chest. Not fear. Not envy. Something else. Something that said: you belong here too.
When I asked Papa if I could join, he didn’t laugh. He didn’t say no.
He just said, “Then you better learn how to take a hit first.”I think that was a yes.

[Entry 34 – The Argument]
Mama says the sword isn’t a future. She says I’ve got strong hands—why not heal with them? Or write with them? Be safe. Be smart.
She says one swing from a blade can end more than a life. It can end potential.
I didn’t yell. But I stood tall and said, “And what if my potential is the swing?”
That made her quiet.
Erynn says Mama’s just scared. I think she’s right.But I’ve never wanted anything so badly in my life. Not even Scooter.
Not even to match Erynn’s stride.
I want this.
I need it.

[Entry 35 – Training Hurts. So What?]
The drills Papa started me on are awful. My arms ache, my calves are knots, and I’ve got more bruises than clean skin.
I dropped the practice shield on my toe and didn’t even cry.
Erynn made me tea. Papa wrapped my hands.
Thalin sat beside me and read spells out loud while I winced through pushups.Nobody laughed. Nobody told me to quit.
For once, I didn’t feel too big, too loud, too much.
I just felt like someone who’s becoming.

[Entry 36 – Erynn’s Voice Cracked Today]
She was singing to herself while sewing—an old Ishgardian melody Papa taught us—and her voice caught on a high note. Just for a second.
She turned red and blamed the cold.
But I saw it.
She’s growing up too. Not just me.
Sometimes I think we’ll drift apart, like Scooter into the mountains.
Then she tossed a pillow at my face, and we both laughed until our sides hurt.Maybe we are drifting.
But maybe we’re learning to swim.

[Entry 37 – The Day I Stood My Ground]
A boy from a merchant house cornered Thalin behind the well. Said magic was “unnatural,” said our kind weren’t meant to live in cities.
He shoved Thalin’s book into the dirt.
I stepped between them. I didn’t yell. I didn’t raise a hand. I just looked at him and said, “Pick it up.”
He didn’t. But his voice wavered when he backed away.Thalin was shaking. I handed him his book and said, “You don’t ever shrink for people like that.”
I don’t know if he heard me.
But I meant it.
I always will.

[Entry 38 – The Day They Let Me In]
They said yes.I showed up at the Gladiator’s Guild at dawn—armor too big, hands wrapped in rough cloth, heart hammering like a drum. I handed in my form, signed with Papa’s blessing, and waited.
Didn’t breathe much.
Then the guildmaster just nodded and said, “Let’s see what you’re made of, girl.”I wanted to cry. I didn’t. Not until I got home and shut the door to the shed and Reise pressed her head against my chest like she knew.They gave me a wooden blade, scuffed and heavy, and put me in the ring with a boy named Bren. He was older. Already training. He moved like he’d done this forever.
I moved like someone trying not to embarrass herself.
He cracked me across the ribs hard enough to drop me. My lungs forgot how to work. My knees hit the dirt.The others watched. Nobody said anything.
I thought maybe that was it. That I didn’t belong.But the guildmaster just pointed at me and said, “Again.”So I stood up.
And again.
And again.
Until I stayed on my feet long enough to land a hit.I bled a little. I ached a lot.
But they let me stay.
They let me stay.

[Entry 39 – Erynn’s Letter From Bukyo]
She got a letter from someone in Bukyo. A traveling bard who saw her play once at the market. He wrote in verses and metaphors and called her “a song in sunlight.”
She blushed so hard I thought her ears would catch fire.I teased her, sure. But later I caught myself wondering what it’d feel like to get a letter like that.
Not from a bard. Just… from someone.
Someone who saw me as more than bruises and sweat and gravel under my nails.Someone who saw the storm and the girl.

[Entry 40 – My Fingers Don’t Want to Sew]
Mama tried to teach me embroidery again.
Erynn stitched a crane in six colors. I stabbed my finger and bled on the fabric.
Mama sighed.
I told her I’d rather stitch people back together than patterns.
She said, “That’s not an excuse to be sloppy.”
I nodded. But I still can’t make a straight stitch to save my life.
Still…
I stayed until the end. I mended a hole in Reise’s saddle blanket.Maybe that’s good enough.

[Entry 41 – A Day with Papa]
Just me and Papa today. No errands, no chores.
We sat by the stream with tin cups of watered cider and skipped rocks until my arm ached.
He told me about the first time he swung a pick. Said it felt like waking something up in his blood.
I told him that’s how the shield feels.
He just nodded.Then he looked at me and said, “I don’t worry about you because you’re strong, Riss. I worry because you don’t know how strong yet.”
I haven’t stopped thinking about that.
Not once.

[Entry 42 – The Night I Got Jealous]
A girl in the guild—Yve—got praised today. She parried something fast and clean, and the instructor said she had the reflexes of a hawk.
I told myself it didn’t matter. But it did.
I wanted that praise. That look. That nod.
I wanted to be seen like that.Erynn caught me sulking and asked what was wrong. I told her it was stupid. She just handed me a plum and said, “Then be stupid for a minute. Then go train.”So I did.
I trained until my arms shook.
Tomorrow, I’ll train again.
I want that hawk praise too.

[Entry 43 – Erynn Didn’t Hug Me This Time]
When I told her I got accepted, she just said, “I know. You were always going to.”
I expected a hug. Or at least a big grin.
But she just smiled this small, sad little smile and kept folding her scarves.
Later that night, she brought me ginger tea for the bruises and braided my hair without asking.
She didn’t say anything else.
I think she’s proud of me. But I think she’s scared too.
I don’t know how to fix that.

[Entry 44 – I’m Not Good Yet]
There’s a girl in the Guild—Marza. Small, sharp-eyed, fast as a blink.
I sparred with her today.
She read every move I made before I even moved. Knocked the wind out of me three times, then offered me a hand up like it was nothing.
I didn’t take it. Not because I’m mean. Just because I needed to get up on my own.
Later, I apologized. She shrugged and said, “We all start somewhere. Most never stand back up.”I want to be like her.
But stronger.
But kind, too.
But mine.

[Entry 45 – A Letter From Papa’s Old Captain]
He showed it to me after dinner. Said it was from his old captain in the Flames—back when he was a soldier and not just a miner.
The letter said, “We never knew if Rorik would come back from the mines or from the war. But he always did.”
I asked him why he kept it.
He said, “To remind myself that surviving doesn't make you soft. It makes you stubborn.”
He patted my shoulder and said, “You’re more stubborn than I ever was.”
I think that was the first time I believed I might actually make it.

[Entry 46 – Something New in My Chest]
There’s a girl in the Guild. Older. Her name’s Lyssa. She wears her hair in a thick braid and moves like she knows how to break a man with her pinky.
She smiled at me today. Not the way people do when they’re being polite—but like she saw me.
It made my face go hot.
I dropped my training blade on my foot.I don’t know what I’m feeling.
I just know it’s big, and it’s warm, and I keep glancing around corners I never looked at before.I didn’t write this to understand it.
Just to say it happened.

[Entry 47 – Mama Watched Me Train Today]
I didn’t know she’d come.
She stood off to the side, arms crossed, lips tight, just… watching.
I wanted to show off. I tried too hard. Got knocked down twice.
But I got back up. Every time.
When it was over, she didn’t speak at first. Just walked beside me in silence.
Then she said, “I still think you could be a great healer. But… I think maybe this is your healing.”I nearly cried.
I didn’t.
But I nearly did.

[Entry 48 – Papa’s Story About the Cave Lions]
I sat with Papa tonight on the porch while the wind stirred the dust around our boots. He had his pipe, and I had a splinter in my thumb I didn’t want to admit to.
He told me an old story—one I hadn’t heard in years. About the cave lions of the northern cliffs. How they only hunt in silence. How they teach their cubs to listen before they leap.
He looked at me and said, “You’ve got their bones. Stubborn. Solid. But now it’s time to learn their quiet.”I didn’t really get it.
But later, lying awake, I thought about what it means to be strong without roaring.
To fight with purpose.
To wait when it matters.
To choose the leap after you’ve listened.Maybe that's the part that makes a warrior.
Not the blade.
Not even the bruises.
But the pause.

Lerrissa’s Journal: Age 13

[Entry 49 – I Don’t Look Like a Girl Anymore]
My arms don’t fit in half my sleeves. My hips are wide. My jaw’s starting to square out.
When I walk past the market stalls, some people call me “lad.” Then they see my face—or my chest—and get confused.
One woman said I looked like a “blacksmith’s daughter with something to prove.”
I didn’t correct her. I just carried my own sack of ore and kept walking.Erynn wears gowns now. She walks like the floor was made for her.
I walk like I’m checking it for cracks.I don’t hate how I look.
I just don’t know what to do with it yet.

[Entry 50 – Marza Let Me Braid Her Hair Today]
After drills, she just sat on the bench and handed me the comb.
Didn’t say anything, just tilted her head forward and trusted me.
Her hair’s like silk rope—heavy, dark, strong. I didn’t know how to braid anything that long, but I tried.
She said it looked “like a storm twisted in gold.” I think she meant it as a compliment.
I smiled too wide and nearly dropped the comb.She didn’t notice, I think.
Or maybe she did.
I’m not sure why that matters. But it did.

[Entry 51 – Mama Doesn’t Understand My Clothes]
She keeps buying me skirts.
I keep cutting them up and turning them into wraps or binding for under my tunic.
Erynn says I could “lean into it”—make the muscle look elegant.
I don’t want elegant. I want honest.I tried on a blouse with lace cuffs and felt like I was wrapped in someone else’s skin.
So I wore my Guild coat instead.
Papa didn’t comment. He just said, “You walk straighter when you’re wearing that.”He’s right.
It fits like a promise.

[Entry 52 – I Got Called “Sir” in the Guild]
It was a new recruit.
They apologized right away, turned red, and fumbled through “Miss—Ma’am—I mean Gladiator.”
I laughed it off, slapped their shoulder, and told them to just call me Riss.But that night, in bed, I just… sat with it.
Not in a bad way.
Just thinking.
Sir. Riss. Miss. Stonepaw. Warrior.
What do any of those really mean?
What if I’m all of them?
What if I’m something else entirely?I don’t have the answer.
But I like the question.

[Entry 53 – Erynn’s Song Was About Me]
She played at a tavern in the city. Said it was just a new composition—something soft, steady, with a hard chord underneath.
But I knew it was about me.
There was a line about “the one who rises after falling, who shields others with splintered hands.”
When she finished, she looked right at me. Didn’t say a word. Just smiled, tired and proud.That was the first time I felt beautiful in months.
Not for how I looked.
But for what I am.

[Entry 54 – Thalin’s Secret]
Thalin came to my room tonight. Said he needed to talk, but kept pacing like his thoughts were birds he couldn’t catch.
Then he said it.
He sees things. Before they happen. Not always. Not clearly. Just flickers. A person stepping before they fall. A spark flaring in someone’s hands before a spell.
He thought it was a curse. Said he’d been hiding it.
I didn’t laugh. I didn’t flinch.
I just pulled him into a hug and said, “Then tell me next time you see me fall so I can brace for it.”He smiled, finally.
I think that’s the first time he believed it’s okay to be different.
I hope he always tells me now.

[Entry 55 – Blood and Bone, and Me in Between]
Marza and I sparred today. No holding back. The instructor wanted to see what we’d do under pressure.
We circled like wolves.
She feinted left, I bit hard, and she dropped me with a sweep to the knee.
I gasped when I hit the mat—knocked something loose in my ribs.
She backed off, waiting for the instructor to call it.He didn’t.So I got up.
Even though I was wheezing. Even though my hand shook.
I blocked her next strike with my whole forearm and roared like something from a cave.Everyone went silent.
Marza smiled. Just a little. Like she’d been waiting to see that.

[Entry 56 – Behind the Alley Wall]
I was taking the back path past the tavern when I saw them. Two girls. Pressed close together, one with her hand in the other’s hair. Their foreheads touched.
Then they kissed.
Not soft. Not shy. But like they meant it.
I stopped walking. Didn’t even realize I had.They didn’t see me.
But I saw everything.I don’t know why I kept thinking about it.
About how the taller one held the smaller girl’s face with both hands like she was something precious.
I wasn’t scared.
Just… stuck.Like something inside me was knocking gently and waiting for me to listen.

[Entry 57 – My Chest Hurts (And Not From Training)]
It started last week. Just a little tenderness. Now it’s worse. Sharp sometimes. Mostly when I turn too fast or take my binder off too late.
Mama says it’s normal.
Erynn offered me one of her old tops and I nearly bit her.I don’t know how I feel about it.
I don’t hate them. But I didn’t ask for them, either.
I just wish I could choose when things changed. Or at least understand who they’re changing me into.I caught Marza looking when I peeled off my coat.
Not in a gross way.
Just… a glance.
I looked away first.I don’t know what any of this means.
But I’m writing it down so I don’t pretend it didn’t happen.

[Entry 58 – Papa's Sword]
I asked Papa if he ever wanted to be a fighter. Not just a miner or a mentor—but a real blade-bearer.
He got quiet, then pulled out a wrapped cloth from under the cot. Inside was a sword—dull, scarred, and beautiful in that tired sort of way.
He said he carried it during a skirmish near Ala Mhigo.
Said he hated what it made him feel. But he never threw it away.
“I keep it,” he said, “because it reminds me what power costs.”
Then he handed it to me. Let me hold it.
It felt heavy. Not from weight—but from memory.I asked if I’d ever feel ready.
He just said, “You already are. That’s why you’re scared.”

[Entry 59 – I Hate Everything Today]
My boots don’t fit.
My chest aches.
My leggings ripped.
Erynn stole the last dried plum and smiled like it was funny.
The new recruit at the Guild said I move like a “trained bull.”
I hit him.
Instructor said my form was wrong.
I know it was wrong. But I was too mad to fix it.
Then I cried. In front of people.
I wanted to disappear.I’m so tired of trying to be strong.
Can’t I just be left alone sometimes?
Can’t I just be me without having to fight everyone’s idea of what that means?I didn’t eat dinner. Reise curled up beside me and licked my hand.
That helped. A little.

[Entry 60 – I Want Someone to Want Me]
Not just… like a friend. Or a sparring partner.
I want someone to see me walk into a room and feel something.
Not confusion. Not intimidation. Not a pat on the back like I’m one of the boys.I don’t even know if I want to be kissed. I just want to be wanted.
Softly. Completely.
Held like I might vanish.
Told I matter in a way that doesn’t involve how hard I hit or how fast I recover.I want to be looked at like I’m music.
Even if I’m more drumbeat than lullaby.Is that stupid?
Probably.
Still… I want it.

[Entry 61 – Erynn Found This Journal Once]
I caught her reading it. Entry 56.
She closed it fast and didn’t say anything.
Later, she left a note under my pillow:"You don’t have to explain anything to me. I’ve always known you were brave in ways I’m still learning how to be. I love you. Don’t hide that fire.”
She didn’t bring it up again. Neither did I.
But I kept the note. Pressed it into the back cover.I don’t know what I did to deserve a twin like her.
But I’m starting to realize she’s part of my spine.
She keeps me standing, even when everything else tries to make me fold.

[Entry 62 – The River Was Cold, and That Was the Point]
I went to the old bend past the ridge. The one where the water slows down and the rocks are smooth enough to sit on.
Didn’t bring anything but a worn towel and a jar of pickled plums. No practice blade. No chores. No one else.
I just took off my boots, waded in up to my knees, and sat there.
Let the cold bite at my skin. Let my breath slow. Let the world not need me for once.I watched a hawk circle overhead and thought,“Even they need to land sometimes.”I didn’t learn anything.
I didn’t solve anything.
But I came home lighter.
And that was enough.

[Entry 63 – They Called Me “Gladiator”]
It was a passing comment. A merchant’s guard was giving directions and said, “Let the gladiator through.”
Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t blink.
Just said it.
Like it was fact.It hit me harder than any blade ever has.All this time I’ve been trying—to prove it, to earn it, to grow into something that doesn’t make people tilt their heads or second guess.
And for just a moment… someone saw me exactly right.
No confusion. No condition.Just Gladiator.
Like I was already there.

Lerrissa’s Journal: Age 14

[Entry 64 – I Think I Know What This Feeling Is]
Marza laughed at something I said today. Not a polite laugh. A real one—head back, hand to her stomach, eyes creased.
And I felt it. That pull. Like someone lit a candle behind my ribs.
I watched the way her braid bounced when she turned. The little scar under her chin. The way she wiped sweat off her brow with the back of her glove like it was nothing.I didn't say anything.
But I couldn't stop looking.
And when I looked away, I felt it again—that heat that’s not fear, not admiration, not pride.
I think it’s… wanting.Not to be her.
But to be with her.
Even if I don't know what that really means yet.

[Entry 65 – I Got Knocked Down, and She Waited]
Another sparring day. New blade technique. I overreached and got floored—flat on my back with the wind knocked clean out.
Before the instructor could say anything, Marza reached down, offered her hand.
She waited. Didn’t force it. Didn’t tease. Just waited.
I took it.
She pulled me up like it was the easiest thing in the world.That’s it.
That’s all.
But I haven't stopped thinking about the way her grip felt.Like maybe I wasn’t a burden.
Like maybe I was meant to be held.

[Entry 66 – The Crush Is Real]
I told Erynn. Just blurted it out.
Said I think I might like a girl. Not like friends like. Not like training partners.
She didn’t flinch.
Just asked, “Which one?”
I nearly screamed.I didn’t tell her it was Marza.
Not yet.
Just said, “It’s new. I don’t think she even sees me that way.”
Erynn nodded and said, “Then you’ve got two jobs: don’t let it eat you alive, and don’t let it turn you cruel.”Sometimes she says things like Papa.
It scares me how much I needed to hear that.

[Entry 67 – What If She Never Looks at Me That Way?]
I caught Marza talking with someone else today. Leaning in. Laughing again. She touches people so easily, like connection isn’t something that costs her anything.
I wonder if she even knows how much it means when she touches me.I’m scared to tell her.
I don’t want to ruin it.
I don’t want her to pity me.
But mostly, I don’t want to lose her—before she was ever mine.Is it better to hold it all in and keep what I have?
Or say it and risk being just another story she tells when someone asks about the weird girl who stared too long?

[Entry 68 – I Almost Told Her]
We were sitting by the training yard fence after drills. Just the two of us, passing a water flask and watching the sunset set fire to the copper spires.
Marza leaned back on her elbows and said, “You ever think about what’s next? Like after this. After swords and sweat and all the noise?”
I nodded.
She smiled, soft and tired, and whispered, “I think I want peace. Not luxury. Just… peace.”My throat closed up.
I almost said it.
I think I want peace too. But only if you’re in it.
But I didn’t.She’d already turned away, watching the sky.
I let the words die in my mouth.
I wonder if she’d have heard them anyway.

[Entry 69 – The Hardest Hit I’ve Ever Landed]
Something broke open in me today. Not pain. Not grief.
Want.We were practicing momentum strikes—cleaving through a line, resetting your stance in time for the next blow.
The instructor paired me with Bren again. He smirked. Called me “soft” in front of everyone.
I didn’t rise to it. I rose through it.
I planted my feet, took his blow on my shield, and sent him flying with a counterstrike that cracked the breath from his lungs.
He hit the dirt hard. Didn’t get up right away.I didn’t apologize.
I just stood there, shaking, but tall.I’m not soft.
I’m full of feeling.
And it’s starting to make me strong.

[Entry 70 – Papa Talked About Love Today]
I asked him what love looked like when he was young.
He smiled like old stories were smoke behind his teeth.
Said, “Back then, it was simple. A man courted a woman. They got wed, had kids, worked land or stone or steel.”
I asked if it ever went differently.
He took a long pause. Looked out past the ridge like he was seeing something I couldn’t.Then he said, “It did. But folks didn’t talk about it. They called it foolish. Dangerous. Unnatural.”
I felt something clench in my stomach. Like maybe I shouldn’t have asked.But then he looked at me. Really looked at me.
“Thing is, Riss… the world’s always been loud about what it thinks love should be. But hearts don’t care. They beat where they want.”I didn’t speak.
I didn’t have to.He reached over, squeezed my hand, callused fingers warm and solid.
“You want to love a girl, you love a girl. And if anyone’s got a problem, they’ll answer to me.”I cried.
Quietly.
He didn’t say anything else.
He just kept holding on.

[Entry 71 – I Didn’t Flinch This Time]
We passed a couple today. Two women. Walking hand-in-hand through the market like it was nothing.
A few people stared. One man muttered.
But they didn’t stop. Didn’t let go.
And I didn’t flinch.I stood there, back straight, hands at my sides, watching them pass.
And instead of fear, I felt... hope.
Not that I’d find them. But that I could find something like that.
Something open. Steady. Quietly brave.It wasn’t just wanting to be one of them.
It was wanting what they had.

[Entry 72 – Erynn Let Me Rest Against Her]
I told her what Papa said.
She didn’t laugh. Didn’t say “I know.”
She just opened her arms and pulled me in, both of us sitting cross-legged on her bed with my head against her shoulder.
She said, “You don’t have to figure it all out right now. Just promise me you won’t pretend it isn’t real.”I think she’s the only person in the world who knows how to hold me without making me feel small.She’s not just my sister.
She’s my mirror, when I can’t see myself clearly.

[Entry 73 – I Found My Voice Today]
Another trainee made a joke. A crass one. About two women he saw kissing behind a smithy.
Said it was “for show.”
Said, “That’s not real love.”I turned and said, loud and clear:“Then you don’t know a godsdamn thing about love.”The whole room went silent.
He tried to laugh it off.
But nobody laughed with him.Marza met my eyes across the yard.
She didn’t smile.
But she nodded.And that felt like something.
Something that didn’t need words.
Something like respect.

[Entry 74 – I’m Not Ready to Tell Her]
Marza.
It’s always her name, isn’t it?I’ve said it so often in this book it feels like a prayer now.
She sat beside me today. Close enough that our arms touched. She smelled like pine resin and riverwind.
I looked at her mouth and wondered what it would feel like.
Not even to kiss. Just… to speak to, when I was saying something I really meant.But I didn’t say it.
I didn’t ask.
I’m still too scared.
Not of her.
Of me.
Of what it means to be seen like that and not loved back.I want her to know.
But I don’t want to lose what we have.
So I’ll hold it. Just a little longer.

[Entry 75 – I’m Taller Than Erynn Now]
I noticed it today when we were brushing our teeth. I looked over, and for the first time… she wasn’t level with me.
She still feels bigger. Louder in a room. Brighter when she walks in.
But my shoulders are higher. My arms are thicker.
She bumped me with her hip like it was a joke and said, “Guess I can’t hide behind you anymore.”
I laughed. But later, alone, I stared at my reflection and thought:When did this happen?
And why don’t I feel ready for it?

[Entry 76 – My Breastplate Doesn’t Fit Right Anymore]
It rubs now. Just under my chest. It used to sit flat, snug against my ribs. Now it bites when I move wrong.
The training one’s worse. No give, no curve. It presses too hard, leaves bruises I don’t want to explain.
I caught myself holding my arms over my chest during drills. Not from shame—just… discomfort.Erynn offered to help me adjust it. Said she could pad the inside with softer lining.
I didn’t say yes. But I didn’t say no.
I don’t want to change my armor.
But I don’t want it to keep hurting either.What do you do when your body stops fitting your skin, your clothes, your self?

[Entry 77 – I Hate That They Bounce]
My chest.
They bounce now. Even when I bind. Even when I wear the thickest tunic I own.
I tried sprinting uphill and had to stop halfway—not from exhaustion, but from pain.
I crossed my arms in the middle of a drill today just to keep them still.No one said anything.
But I saw the glances.I don’t hate having them. Not really.
But I hate that they make me feel watched.
That they make me feel different, even among people who used to just call me “Stonepaw” and never look twice.I don’t know what womanhood is supposed to feel like.
But I hope it gets easier than this.

[Entry 78 – I Don’t Look Like a Boy Anymore]
I used to hear it all the time—"Is that a boy?” “That one’s built like a lad.” “Are you sure?”
Not so much now.
Not since the shape of me changed.
Now it’s “young woman,” “miss,” and sometimes “girl” with a tone I don’t like.
I’m still strong. Still loud. Still me.
But the world looks at me different now. Like I owe it softness. Like I’m not allowed to be without permission.Papa says bodies change, but spirits stay steady.
I hope he’s right.
Because I’m not done becoming yet.
Not even close.

Lerrissa’s Journal: Age 15

[Entry 79 – I Don’t Apologize for My Shape Anymore]
I caught my reflection today—training shirt soaked through, arms streaked with sweat, chest rising and falling heavy after drills.
And for the first time… I didn’t wince.
I didn’t tug the cloth tighter.
Didn’t cross my arms or shrink.I just looked.
And thought, That’s me.Not what I was. Not what I’m “supposed” to be.
Just Rissa.
Broad. Sharp-eyed. Soft in places. Strong in more.
I don’t need to explain myself anymore.
Not to mirrors. Not to merchants. Not to the boys who still don’t know where to look.
I take up space.
And that space is mine.

[Entry 80 – I Got to Lead Today]
Instructor asked me to lead the warmups. Me. Not the oldest trainee. Not the cleanest record. Me.
I thought my voice would crack, or I’d trip on my own words.
But I didn’t.
I stood tall. Gave the commands. Corrected stances. Held pressure during sparring rotations.
When someone faltered, I steadied them.
When someone got cocky, I called them out.Afterward, a younger girl—tiny, maybe eleven—came up and whispered,“I wanna move like you someday.”I didn’t cry until I got home.
Then I did.
Because I remember being her.
And now?
Now I’m me.

[Entry 81 – I Knocked a Boy Out Cold]
He called one of the younger recruits a slur.
Said people like us didn’t belong in the ring.
He didn’t know what he meant by “us.” Just knew it hurt.So I stepped in.
Didn’t shout.
Didn’t wait.
One clean hook with the sparring glove. Dropped him like a sack of wet sand.Instructor didn’t scold me.
Just raised an eyebrow and said, “Was it worth it?”I said yes.
Because it was.

[Entry 82 – Marza Helped Me Bind My Chest Today]
My breastplate has been miserable again. Chafes under the arms, presses wrong at the ribs.
I mentioned it—barely—during cooldown.
Marza didn’t say anything. Just took my hand, led me behind the supply shed, and unrolled a fresh linen wrap from her pouch.
“Sit,” she said.
I did.
Barely.She knelt in front of me, focused, gentle.
Slid the cloth beneath my shirt, hands so careful.
Wrapped once.
Twice.
Each pull tightened and settled. Not too much. Not too little.I couldn’t speak.
My face was fire. My ears buzzed.
Her fingers brushed my side and I thought my heart might break in half.When she finished, she looked up and smiled.“Better?”
I nodded.
Still couldn’t breathe.
Not from the wrap.
From her.

[Entry 83 – I Think That Was a First Kiss]
It wasn’t on the lips.
Just the edge of my jaw.
But it felt like a kiss.
Marza leaned in after a win—mine, for once—and whispered, “You were brilliant.”
Then her mouth brushed right where my jaw meets my ear.Soft.
Warm.
Intentional.And then she was gone. Back to her place in the line, all smirks and calm like nothing had happened.But I’m still sitting here, writing like I might explode.
I keep touching the spot with the back of my hand.
It tingles.
It means something.
I don’t know what yet.
But I want more.

[Entry 84 – What If I Got It Wrong?]
I keep replaying it. The kiss-that-might-not-have-been.
What if it wasn’t what I thought? What if she kisses all her friends like that?
What if she did mean it, but changed her mind?I’ve been quieter around her. Not cold—just careful.
She doesn’t seem different. She still laughs, still teases, still says things that make my stomach do backflips.But I’ve stopped leaning in.
Stopped reaching.Because I don’t want to grab hold of something if it’s not being offered.
But gods, I want it to be offered.

[Entry 85 – A Stolen Moment Behind the Stables]
The festival in the city was crowded—music, laughter, too many voices and lights and expectations.
I wanted to disappear.
So I slipped away, down to the old stables where the chocobos sleep.
And she was there.
Marza.I almost turned around, but she saw me.
Said, “Too loud in there?”
I nodded.
She scooted over on the bale of hay.
Said, “Sit. Just for a bit.”We didn’t talk much.
Just watched the torches flicker through the slats in the boards.
Then she leaned her head against my shoulder.
Didn’t ask. Didn’t move.
And I didn’t breathe for a whole minute.When I finally did, it was slow and deep, and I realized—I could stay like this forever.She didn’t kiss me.
But she rested on me.
Chose me.That felt like enough.
Maybe even more than a kiss.

[Entry 86 – I Think I'm Falling in Love]
There. I said it.
It’s not a crush anymore.
Not a maybe, not a maybe-one-day.
It’s now.
It’s her.It’s in the way I remember the sound of her laugh like it’s a song.
The way I look for her shadow before I round a corner.
The way I dream and it’s always her face, always her hands, always her breath brushing mine.I don’t know what to do with it.
But I know it.
Like a river knows how to move.
Like my body knows how to lift a shield.
Like I was built for this kind of feeling.Even if she never feels it back—
Even if it stays quiet, soft, and unsaid—
I’ll be glad I felt it.
Because it’s made me more.

[Entry 87 – She Feels It Too]
I know she does.
I saw it in the way her hand hovered near mine today—just close enough to notice, just far enough to deny.
In the way she said my name when no one else was around. Quiet. Careful. Like it mattered.
I didn’t push. Didn’t ask.
But when I looked at her, really looked… she looked back.
And didn’t turn away.She’s scared.
I get it.
I’m scared too.Maybe we’re both waiting for the other to be brave first.
Maybe we will be.
Later.

[Entry 88 – Papa Called Me His Lioness Today]
We were walking the ridge trail—him with his walking stick, me with a satchel of greens for Mama.
He stopped suddenly and looked at me, eyes sharper than usual.
Said, “You’re not my cub anymore, Riss. You’re the lioness now.”
I laughed and tried to brush it off, but he grabbed my arm.
Gentle. Firm.
“You stand like your spirit knows the size of your shadow. That’s no small thing.”I didn’t know how to thank him.
So I just hugged him.
And I swear… he leaned in like he needed it, too.

[Entry 89 – Mama Adjusted My Tunic Today]
I was fidgeting again. My binder twisted weird under my armor and made my ribs sore.
Mama noticed.
She didn’t say anything at first. Just touched my arm, guided me inside, and sat me on the low stool near the hearth.
She unpicked the seam of one of my undershirts and resewed it with more give in the chest.
Said, “A warrior still needs to breathe.”We didn’t talk about bodies. Or discomfort. Or shame.
But she knew.
She always knows.
And she didn’t try to change me.
She just made room.

[Entry 90 – Dad Watched Me Spar]
He rarely comes. Says he wants to give me space to grow without his shadow hanging over me.
But today, he stood by the gate, arms crossed, watching every move.
After the final round, I was dripping with sweat, breath ragged, arms shaking.
He nodded once.“Good form,” he said. “Good heart.”
That’s all.
But that’s everything.When Papa teaches me how to stand firm,
Dad teaches me what to stand for.

[Entry 91 – Thalin Brought Me a Spell Charm]
He carved it from scrap wood. Painted a rune on it with his thumb.
Said it was for protection. “Not magic,” he said. “But… almost.”
I asked what it protects against.He shrugged and said, “Loneliness, maybe.”
Then he looked away and started rearranging his herbs like it didn’t mean anything.But I kept the charm.
Tied it to the inside of my belt.
Haven’t taken it off since.

[Entry 92 – Erynn Knew Before I Did]
She brushed my hair tonight. I was too tired to stop her.
Halfway through, she asked, “It’s Marza, isn’t it?”
I didn’t answer.
She didn’t need me to.“I’m glad,” she said. “She makes you gentler. Not smaller—just softer around the edges.”
Then she kissed the top of my head and said,“Don’t let her make you wait too long.”And I think that’s the only time I’ve ever been jealous of how well she understands love.

Lerrissa’s Journal: Age 16

[Entry 93 – She Kissed Me. This Time for Real]
We were alone.
Behind the training hall. Late. Everyone else had gone.I said something dumb—I don’t even remember what.
She laughed, eyes crinkled, lip caught between her teeth.
Then she stepped forward.
Just one step.
Close enough that I could feel the heat off her skin.She didn’t ask.
She just looked at me like she’d been holding the question forever.
And then she kissed me.Soft.
Certain.
No apology.I didn’t move at first. Too stunned.
But when I did… gods.
It was like my whole body remembered something it had never been taught.
Like this is what I was made for.She rested her forehead against mine after.
Whispered, “That wasn’t nothing.”
I said, “I know.”

[Entry 94 – I Didn’t Tell Anyone]
Not Erynn. Not Thalin. Not Papa. Not even this page until now.
I’ve been holding it like a lit candle cupped in my palms—too precious to show, too scared the wind will take it.But it happened.
And we’ve seen each other since.
And she smiled.
And it wasn’t awkward.We haven’t kissed again.
Not yet.
But everything feels different now.
Like the silence between us hums instead of hangs.I don’t know what we are.
But I know I want more.

[Entry 95 – Papa Knows Without Me Saying]
We were tending the garden bed outside the back shed. I was pulling weeds with more anger than necessary.
Papa paused and said, “Your shoulders are heavy, girl. What’re you carrying now?”
I didn’t answer. Just stared at the dirt like it owed me something.He didn’t press. Just stood up and said,“Love’s not something to be ashamed of. It’s just one more kind of strength.”Then he walked inside, like he hadn’t just seen right through me.
I sat there in the dust and let myself smile.
Because maybe, just maybe… I don’t have to hide anymore.

[Entry 96 – She Took My Hand in Public]
Not in town. Just on the path back from the lake.
But still.
Outside.She reached for it while we walked—no words, no warning—and laced her fingers with mine.
I looked around.
No one was there.
But it still felt like a choice.Not a secret.
A moment.And I squeezed her hand back.
Just once.
Not hard.
Just to say, I’m here too.

[Entry 97 – Mama Made a Comment Today]
She was adjusting a hem on one of my older tunics and muttered, “This would’ve fit you two seasons ago. Now look at you—hips like mine and a bust that won’t be ignored.”
I nearly choked on my tea.She didn’t mean it cruel.
Just… truthfully.I guess I knew.
My armor’s tighter around the chest and I’ve had to start letting out the waistbands on my training wraps.
My butt jiggles when I run now. Which is—
…a thing.Mama smiled at me, soft.
Said, “You’re a woman now, whether you feel ready or not. Doesn’t mean you lose the warrior. Just means you take up space differently.”I didn’t respond.
But I hugged her before I left.

[Entry 98 – Mama Said I Look Like a Woman Now]
She didn’t mean it cruelly.
We were mending gear together—mine had torn under the arm again.
She looked me over and said, “You don’t look like a girl in borrowed armor anymore. You look like a woman who earned it.”Then she handed me a roll of reinforced thread and added,“Might need to adjust the chest seams. You’re not exactly flat anymore.”I snorted. She smirked.
But underneath the words was something warm.
Pride.
Not the loud kind.
The kind you wrap in cloth and pass down without ceremony.I think that’s the closest Mama’s ever come to calling me beautiful.

[Entry 99 – Marza Watched Me Train Like She Was Starving]
I don’t know how else to describe it.
I was running the morning drills. Shirt tied at the waist, sweat down my back, limbs sore but alive.
When I looked up, Marza was watching.
Not like a student.
Like someone seeing a storm she wanted to be inside of.She didn’t smile.
Just bit the inside of her cheek like she was trying to keep something in.
And I couldn’t breathe for a second.I think… I like when she looks at me like that.
Not because of my body.
But because she sees everything.
And still wants me anyway.

[Entry 100 – I Taught My First Full Lesson]
No instructor. Just me and five trainees, all nervous and too polite.
I told them to forget rank. Told them today, I wasn’t their superior—I was their shield.
We practiced movement, pressure turns, footwork under fatigue.
When one kid dropped their sword, I didn’t yell.
I told them, “Everyone drops it eventually. Real question is—do you pick it up?”By the end, they weren’t looking at me like I was a stranger.
They were looking at me like I was theirs.I get it now.
Why the instructors used to watch me so closely.
It’s not about control.
It’s about legacy.

[Entry 101 – Papa Called Me Grown Today]
We were watching the sky shift over the mines—deep amber turning to violet.
I asked him if he remembered the day I first lifted a pick.
He smiled like I’d just handed him something fragile.
Said, “You used to run circles around my boots, little rock-hammer.”
Then he looked at me. Really looked.“And now I’d put my back to you in a fight without blinking.”He didn’t say “I’m proud.”
But I felt it.
Like a warmth between ribs.
Like a name only we share.

[Entry 102 – Thalin Made Me a Salve for My Scars]
I didn’t ask him to.
I just mentioned my shoulder was sore, and the scar from last season’s blade test kept splitting.
He brewed something—herbs and wax, smelled like lavender and iron—and handed it to me in a wrapped tin.
Didn’t explain. Didn’t make it weird.Just said, “Because I know what it’s like to carry something you didn’t ask for.”
Then walked off.I stood there with that tin in my hand for nearly ten minutes.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.I think that’s the closest he’s ever come to telling me he understands.

[Entry 103 – She Kissed Me Like She Meant It]
Not a quick kiss.
Not a maybe.
Not a whisper in the dark.This one was real.We were in her room—quiet, lamplit, my gloves still on the floor.
She touched my face like she was memorizing it. Like her hands were learning me, not claiming me.Then she leaned in.
And kissed me.
Slow. Deep. Soft at first—then not.
Fingers in my hair, my hands on her waist.
Like we were breathing each other.I didn’t think. Didn’t pull away.
I just melted.It didn’t feel like fire.
It felt like belonging.
Like I was home.
Like I had always been waiting for this—to be held, to be wanted, to be chosen.And when we finally parted, she smiled.
Whispered, “Took us long enough.”
I laughed.
And kissed her again.

[Entry 104 – She Said It First]
We were lying in the shade near the edge of the cliffs. Afternoon sun, ocean breeze, her head on my stomach.
She traced circles on my ribs while I tried not to combust.Then, like it was nothing—like she was telling me it might rain—she said,“I love you, Riss.”I didn’t breathe.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t move.Then I rolled over her, pressed my forehead to hers, and said it back.
Because I meant it.
Because it was true.
Because there was no part of me—not my blood, not my bone, not my beating heart—that didn’t belong to her in that moment.She smiled like she’d known all along.
And I kissed her like I’d never stop.

[Entry 105 – She’s Been Called to the Front]
Orders came through this morning.
The front in the east needs reinforcements. They’re pulling trained Gladiators from every major Guild.
Marza’s name was on the list.She didn’t cry.
Didn’t hesitate.
She just looked at me with this quiet, steady thing in her eyes and said, “I’ll come back. I will.”I helped her pack. Checked the edges of her gear. Folded her tunic three times before tucking the ribbon I wear in my braid into the side pocket.
She didn’t say thank you. She just kissed me.
Not soft.
Not rushed.
Just certain.I didn’t cry in front of her.
But gods, I wanted to.

[Entry 106 – I Watched Her Leave]
At the gate.
She turned once—just once—and I swear, the whole world slowed.
She smiled.
And I smiled back, even though my chest felt like it was splitting.I didn’t run after her.
Didn’t beg her to stay.
Because I love her.
And love, real love, isn’t about possession.
It’s about return.I will wait.
And I will keep training.
Because if I ever get called up too…
I want her to be proud when she sees me on that line beside her.

Lerrissa’s Journal: Age 17

[Entry 107 – The Ribbon Is Still in My Braid]
Every morning.
Even if it frays.
Even if it smells like dust and sweat and fire oil.
I keep it there.
Right behind my ear, where she used to tuck my hair when we trained.I caught a new recruit staring at it today.
They asked if it meant something.
I said, “Yes.”
That’s all.Because love isn’t always loud.
Sometimes, it’s just present.
Even when the person you love is not.

[Entry 108 – The First Letter Came]
Three weeks. I’d started to think maybe I wouldn’t hear anything.
But it came.
Folded tight, sealed in Guild wax.
Her handwriting is messier than I remember—shaky, like she wrote it on a moving cart."I miss the weight of you next to me. I miss your steadiness. I dream about the sound of your laugh, even though you always say you don’t laugh pretty. I’ll be home, Riss. Not just alive. I’ll come back to you.”I held the letter to my chest for hours.
Didn’t read it again.
Didn’t need to.

[Entry 109 – I Don’t Flinch Anymore]
There was a spar today—fast, brutal, unpredictable.
I got clipped on the jaw. Once, I would’ve stepped back.
Today, I stepped into it.
Turned the hit into momentum, swept low, brought the other trainee down with a clean shoulder check and a single word:“Again.”Instructor pulled me aside.
Said, “You used to fight like you were trying not to break. Now you fight like you’re trying to protect.”
I nodded.
Didn’t say it, but I thought it:I am. And the person I’m protecting isn’t even here.

[Entry 110 – I Wrote Her Back. Finally.]
I didn’t know what to say at first. Every word felt too small, or too big.
But then I just wrote what I’d want to hear:“I miss you like breath in the cold. Like heat in my chest. I don’t need you to come back perfect—I just want you to come back whole. I’m still me. Still yours. Still strong enough for both of us.”I sealed it with wax. Tied a sprig of lavender from the ridge behind the training yard.
She used to say that smell reminded her of home.
I hope it still does.

[Entry 111 – One of the New Girls Froze Today]
Training dummy bucked wrong. Steel rang. She flinched, dropped her weapon, panicked.
Everyone started shouting.
I didn’t.
I walked over, knelt beside her, and said, “It’s okay to shake. Just don’t sit in it.”
She blinked. Nodded.Then she stood back up.
And picked up her sword.
And kept going.I saw her again later, by the water trough.
She said, “You didn’t make me feel weak. You made me feel brave.”
I didn’t cry.
But I felt it in my chest.Maybe Marza taught me how to hold someone.
But this—this is me learning how to lift them.

[Entry 112 – Erynn Bought Me a New Shirt]
It’s fitted. Not tight, but it knows the shape of me.
I looked in the mirror and almost didn’t recognize myself. Strong arms, high collar, long lines down the waist.
It’s not feminine. Not masculine. Just mine.She said, “You always dress like you’re afraid someone will notice you.”
I said, “I’m not anymore.”
She grinned.
Then said, “You’re starting to look like the person I’ve always seen.”Sometimes I wonder if Erynn sees too much.
But I’m glad she’s looking.
Because when I forget who I am… she reminds me.

[Entry 113 – Mama Gave Me Her Old Belt Knife]
She said she hadn’t worn it in years. That it was more ceremony than use.
But she still sharpened the edge before handing it to me.
“It kept me safe,” she said. “Even when I thought nothing could.”The hilt is worn. The blade has nicks. But it feels real in my hand. Like it knows how to stay.
Like I know how to carry it now.She didn’t hug me.
But when I slid it onto my belt, she said,“Now you’re ready.”
I didn’t ask for what.
Because I think… she meant everything.

[Entry 114 – The Letter Came Late]
I almost missed it. The courier came just before sundown.
No seal. Just parchment, folded once, ink blotched near the edge.“Still alive. Still thinking of you. Missed your hands today. Missed your laugh. Missed the sound of your boots when you walk beside me. Hope you’re still smiling. Hope you’re still mine.”I read it five times.
Then held it to my chest.
Then tucked it under my pillow.I am still smiling.
I am still hers.
But something inside me whispered:Not forever.

[Entry 115 – The Fire Drill Went Wrong]
We were practicing siege response when the oil cask ruptured.
Flames jumped higher than they should have. Smoke hit my lungs like a punch.
Everyone scattered—too fast, too loud.
I froze.Only for a breath.
But it was long enough to remember the first time I saw Marza hurt.My hands started shaking.
Not from fear of fire.
From fear of what it could take.But I stayed.
I moved.
I got three of them out through the side passage and doused the flames with sand barrels no one else thought to grab.Later that night, I scrubbed the soot off my arms and stared at my reflection.
And whispered, “You didn’t run.”That matters.

[Entry 116 – I Dreamed She Was Gone]
Not dead. Just… gone.
Like she’d stepped off the map and no one remembered she’d ever been here.In the dream, I was calling her name.
Over and over.
No one answered.When I woke up, I couldn’t breathe.
Had to open the window, let the night air in.
Held her last letter to my chest like it could pull me back together.I’m not used to missing someone so viscerally.
Like an ache in the soul instead of the skin.I know she’s out there.
But sometimes, the silence feels louder than war drums.

[Entry 117 – Papa’s Quiet Gift]
He came to the training yard. Just watched from the edge, cane planted, brow furrowed like he was counting breaths.
Afterward, he handed me a wooden medallion.
Simple. No carving.
Just smooth, worn with years of touch.Said it used to be his when he was my age.
Said he held it whenever he didn’t know what he was fighting for.I asked what he fights for now.
He smiled.“You.”I keep it in my boot now.
Not because I need it to be brave.
But because I need it to remember.

Lerrissa’s Journal: Age 18

[Entry 118 – I Graduated First in My Class]
It’s official.
Top of the field. Commendation from the Guildmaster himself.
When they read my name aloud, I heard Papa’s cheer over everyone else’s.
Erynn cried. Thalin clapped like he was trying to break his own hands.
Mama just squeezed my shoulder and whispered, “You’ve made this family more than proud.”The sash is heavy. The badge feels like it glows when I touch it.
But more than that?
I feel ready.
For the first time, I’m not chasing anything.
I’m standing.

[Entry 119 – The Order Accepted Me]
The Paladin Order.
They said yes.
The moment they pinned the emblem to my breastplate, my heart nearly stopped.I looked down at the shine of it. Saw my reflection staring back—taller, sharper, older. But still me.
Still the girl who once froze in a fire drill.
Still the one who stood her ground in a crowd.I knelt before the Captain.
And when I rose, I didn’t feel like I was stepping into someone else’s boots.
I felt like I was finally wearing my own.

[Entry 120 – The Last Letter]
Marza came home.
Not the same.Her smile was smaller. Her posture was tighter. Her laugh didn’t echo the same way.
We tried.
We held each other like we still belonged.
But her hand didn’t find mine naturally anymore.
And my heart beat loud—not with joy, but with grief.We sat beneath the ridge tree where we first kissed.
She said, “I don’t want to hurt you. But I don’t know how to be here anymore.”
I said, “I know. I don’t want to pretend, either.”
Then we cried.
Held each other one last time.
And let go.That night, I didn’t write in this book.
I just sat by the fire and listened to the quiet of something ending gently.

[Entry 121 – The Company’s Booming. So Why Do I Feel Off?]
Papa took me to the new site today—three times the yield of last year’s quarry.
We walked through scaffolding and glittering veins of ore like kings.
Miners nodded as I passed. Some even clapped me on the back.He said, “Your efficiency models saved us moons of wasted gil. We’ve never been stronger.”
I should be proud. I am.
But…When we rode past the outer shacks, I saw a boy washing his face in muddy runoff.
Barefoot. Bruised. No older than Thalin was when he started practicing spellweaving.I didn’t say anything.
Not yet.
But I haven’t stopped thinking about him.

[Entry 122 – Ul’dah Looks Different When You Stop Rushing]
I had a patrol route through the Steps of Thal today.
Usually I focus on the rooftops, the exits, the routine.
But today… I looked.A woman was scrubbing a broken comb outside a tea stall.
A boy was selling peeled roots for a single gil each, fingers frostbitten in spring.
And no one stopped. No one saw them.
Just stepped over. Around. Past.I have a badge now.
But what is it for, if I walk past too?

[Entry 123 – Her Name Was Veks]
She was caught stealing bread.
Slim, fast, sharp-eyed. I nearly didn’t catch her.
When I did, she didn’t fight—just stared me down and said,“Either let me go, or throw me in with the others. Don’t waste both our time pretending you care.”But I did care.
So I bought the bread.
And told her to run.
She blinked like I’d struck her. Then nodded once and vanished down a grate like smoke.She left something behind.
A token carved from bone.
It reads: Kind doesn’t mean weak.I’ve kept it in my coat pocket ever since.

[Entry 124 – The Law Isn’t Always Justice]
A merchant accused two kids of theft.
They were just sleeping in the alley behind his shop—barely enough skin on their bones to stand upright.
But he wanted them charged. Said they “looked the type.”I refused.
Told him he needed proof.He got angry. Called me naive.
Said, “You Paladins forget who pays your wages.”I looked him in the eye and said,“We don’t wear this crest to protect profit. We wear it to protect people.”I filed the report myself.
I don’t know if it’ll go anywhere.
But I slept easy for the first time in days.

[Entry 125 – They Call Me “Golden Girl” Now]
Not behind my back.
To my face.
Guards. Instructors. Even the highborn clients we escort.
“Golden Girl of the Order.”
“The shining stone of the mines.”
It’s always said with pride.But sometimes, I hear the weight under it.
Expectation. Distance.
Like I’m already too clean to understand the mud.I smile anyway.
But some days… I miss being just Rissa.

[Entry 126 – Whisper Names and Burnt Fingers]
Met someone today in the tunnels under the Sapphire Avenue Exchange.
She didn’t give a name, just offered a warning:“Not all broken laws are crimes. Not all kept ones are just.”She was healing a boy who’d been beaten by guards. Not for stealing.
For watching someone steal.She cleaned his wound with ash and clove oil.
Said she used to be a Temple acolyte. Now, she follows a god no one prays to—Mercy without permission.I didn’t report her.
I gave her one of my salves.
And she said, “Golden Girl’s not so golden underneath, huh?”
I said, “No.
Just fire and dirt.”

[Entry 127 – They Leave Notes for Me Now]
No names.
No requests.
Just scraps of paper, folded and weighted with stones.“She’s sick—south well.”
“Guard patrol shifted.”
“He didn’t make it. We buried him near the wall.”I read them.
And I go.
I help.
No questions.They know I’ll come.
They trust me with nothing—not their names, not their pasts—
but they trust me with their lives.And it feels more sacred than any vow I’ve taken in polished marble halls.

[Entry 128 – Papa Doesn’t Ask, But He Knows]
I came home late. Mud on my boots. Splinter on my knuckles.
Papa looked at me once and said, “You’re walking farther than your patrol routes.”
I didn’t deny it.
Didn’t explain.He just set a mug of warm cider on the table and said,“If you ever need tools, mine are still in the shed. Locked box under the bench. You know the key.”It wasn’t permission.
It was understanding.
And that, from Papa, means everything.v

[Entry 129 – I’m Becoming Something They Don’t Have a Name For]
I wear the crest by day.
Shield the rich, keep the peace, follow the code.
By night, I see the people the code forgets.
I patch wounds in alleys. I carry children back from the edge. I bury those who never made it far enough to beg.And I don’t know what that makes me.
Not a Paladin. Not exactly.
But not a rogue either.Something else.
Something older.
Something that holds the blade and the wound.Rissa.
Stonepaw.
Golden Girl.
Shadow’s Shield.Whatever they call me—
I know who I fight for now.

Lerrissa’s Journal: Age 19

[Entry 130 – Two Eyes, Two Colors]
Saw a girl today in the Sapphire Exchange. Same streak of brown and red hair. Same narrow shoulders. Same look—half-hunted, half-defiant.
And eyes.
One green.
One blue.Gods, I remembered.
That little pickpocket, years ago. Must’ve been barely eight. I caught her running after she slashed a purse—fast as flame. I snatched her arm before she could vanish down the alleys.She squirmed like a cornered rat until I sat her on my lap and handed her food. A sweetroll. Warm, fresh. Her eyes said no.
But her stomach said yes.She didn’t speak much. But I remember how she held the gil I gave her—some for the bastard who sent her out there, and some just for her. Her fingers gripped it like it might vanish if she blinked.And when she finally leaned back against me—just a little—I felt it.
Not trust. Not yet.
But something close to hope.I hugged her.
Patted her head.
Told her, “Things’ll get better. Try not to get caught next time.”
She stared after me like she didn’t know if I was real.I think about her sometimes.
That tiny spark.
That look.
Like the world cracked just wide enough to let light in.I hope she made it.
I hope she burned brighter.

[Entry 131 – After the Chase]
Couldn’t sleep. Kept thinking about her.That girl. The way her wrist felt in my hand—bones sharp under skin. The way she looked at me like I was another boot about to drop.But when I handed her food, she stared at it like it might vanish. Then she ate like she hadn’t seen a meal in days. No words. Just hunger. Survival.She leaned on me. Not all the way. Not trust. But her body gave in for just a moment. I let her rest there. Didn’t rush it.And the gil I gave her? Her fingers clutched it like it was sacred. Like losing it would cost her more than she could say.I don’t know her name. She didn’t offer. I didn’t ask.I let her go.Didn’t draw steel. Didn’t call the Brass Blades. Just let her walk back into the city that made her that way.And it felt right.Not by the Code.
But by my heart.

[Entry 132 – Not in the Book]
Asked Instructor Vaillen what the Code says about mercy.He quoted three articles, two oaths, and a line from a lecture I’ve heard ten times. “Uphold the law. Defend the realm. Protect the innocent.” As if the law always knows who’s innocent.But I’ve seen the cracks. The parts the Code doesn’t cover. That girl from the alley—if I’d done what I was trained to do, she’d be in a cell or on the street again, worse off than before.We protect people. That’s what I signed up for. Not just merchants and nobles. Not just those who can recite the statutes. People.But if I say that out loud too often, they’ll start watching me. Paladins aren’t supposed to ask questions. We’re supposed to shine.Thing is… light only matters if it reaches the dark.

[Entry 133 – Sentinel Eyes]
They heard about the girl.Not from me. I didn’t file a report. But someone must’ve seen. Or talked. Word trickled up the barracks like blood up a bandage.Ser Adalyn pulled me aside after drills. Said it plain, like she always does.“You let a known thief go free?”
“She was a child.”
“So’s a fire when it starts. But leave it untended, and it burns down homes.”Her tone wasn’t angry—just cold. Disappointed. The kind of disappointment that says, You were one of the good ones. That quiet edge that makes you feel smaller than you are.She said I showed poor judgment. That my heart was in the right place, but a Paladin’s duty isn’t to feel—it’s to act. To uphold. To obey.But I’m not a sword to be swung. I’m not steel.I wanted to tell her that light isn’t something you follow blindly. That a shield without compassion is just another wall.Instead, I stood there and took it. Saluted. Bit my tongue.But inside?I burned.

[Entry 134 – Cracks in the Wall]
I stood in the chapel tonight after drills. Alone. No prayers. No incense. Just me and the stone.The statues don’t look back. They never do.I keep wondering what makes someone good.Is it following the Code? Swinging the blade when ordered? Locking up a starving child because a merchant demands justice?Or is it holding back? Choosing kindness? Even when the rules say not to?I came here to be a shield. To protect. But every day, it feels more like I’m just another piece in someone else's wall.The other squires don’t ask questions. They eat what’s given, march where told, smile when praised. Maybe that’s easier. Maybe that’s the right way.But I see the cracks. I feel them.And part of me wonders—if the law can’t bend, how long before it breaks?I’m not leaving. Not yet. There’s still work to do. Still people worth fighting for.But the path isn’t straight anymore.
And maybe that’s okay.

[Entry 135 – Shadows Between Pages]
Had a half-day off drills. Didn’t want to go back to the dorms. Didn’t want to hear another sermon about obedience. So I wandered.Found a secondhand bookshop near the Weavers' Guild—half-hidden behind a bolt of sun-bleached awnings, no sign, just the smell of old parchment and dust.Inside, it was quiet. Cramped shelves. Crooked ladders. No one at the counter.I went in for sword forms. Tactics. Something I could use.But then I saw a spine tucked sideways. Thick, bound in cracked leather. No title. Just a sigil burned into the cover—curved like a claw, or a crescent moon.I pulled it down. “Treatise on Voidsent Taxonomy, Volume III.”I know I shouldn’t have opened it. The Order discourages “unwholesome literature.” But something in me wanted to look.The language was sharp. Elegant. Precise. Whoever wrote it didn’t fear the dark—they understood it. Described demons not as monsters, but as survivors. Intruders, yes—but also castaways. Complex. Intelligent. Lonely.It didn’t feel evil. Just… sad.And that’s when I heard her voice.
Soft. Amused. A little smoky.“Most people put that one back.”I looked up. And saw her.

[Entry 136 – The Woman Behind the Stacks]
She was tall. Not towering, but still. Like a shadow that chose not to move.Dark hair, pale skin. Eyes sharp, but not unkind. There was something ageless in the way she carried herself—not old, just… practiced. Polished. Like every motion had been refined across a hundred lives.She asked if the book interested me. I said I was just browsing.She smiled like she didn’t believe me, and didn’t mind.We talked. Not long. Ten minutes, maybe less. About authors. History. Folktales. I didn’t realize until later she never once gave her name.But she knew things. About voidkin. About the myths we tell to make the dark easier to swallow. She spoke like someone who had read the margins that most people skip—or torn the pages out entirely.I should’ve walked away. I didn’t.I asked if she came here often. She said only when something interesting appears.And I—I think she meant me.

[Entry 137 – Coincidence]
Went back to the bookshop.Told myself it was for a tactics manual I saw on the lower shelf. Told myself I’d flipped past it too quickly last time. Told myself I needed the distraction.She was there again.
Same place. Same shelf.
Like she'd never left.She nodded at me. No words. Just that knowing look, like she was already reading my thoughts before I opened my mouth.We didn’t talk much this time. But when I left, I realized something strange.I hadn’t picked up a single book.

[Entry 138 – Things Left Unspoken]
Third visit. I told her my name this time.She didn’t return the favor.Instead, she asked how long I’d been with the Order. Said she could tell by the way I carried myself—straight spine, tired eyes.I laughed, dryly. She wasn’t wrong.She asked what I liked to read. I said I didn’t have much time for stories anymore.She said, “That’s a shame. Stories remind us who we are.”I didn’t have an answer for that.But I stayed longer than I meant to. Again.

[Entry 139 – Watched]
She knew about the girl.Didn’t say it outright. Just mentioned that not all kindness is lawful, and not all lawfulness is kind. Her voice soft. Careful.She said she’s been watching me for a while now. Not in a predatory way—at least, not entirely. More like… observation. As if I’m a puzzle she’s been piecing together.She didn’t call it fate. Didn’t pretend we were bound by threads or stars. But there was something intentional about her presence.She sees me. And she doesn’t flinch.I don’t know why that matters.
But it does.

[Entry 140 – Her Name Was Valeria]
She asked me what keeps me in the Order.Not in a mocking way. Not like some of the outlaws I’ve run into, who spit on armor and call us puppets.No, she asked it gently. As if the question wasn’t a challenge—but an invitation.I told her the truth. That I still believe in the shield, even if the wall behind it is starting to crumble. That someone needs to be there, between the blade and the innocent. That even when the Code feels hollow, I want to make it mean something.She listened. Fully. As if my words mattered. As if I mattered.When I finally asked her name, she smiled—touched her chest like she was weighing it.“Valeria.”Just that. No surname. No story. But it settled in my chest like an anchor.We talked about light and darkness. About systems and souls. She said the Order serves a world that fears complexity. That it teaches obedience before understanding.I told her I didn’t want to become that.
She said I hadn’t. Not yet.And for the first time in weeks, I felt less alone.

[Entry 141 – An Invitation Without Words]
I stayed late at the shop today.The bell had already chimed closing. The streets outside were growing dark, but I didn’t move to leave. Neither did she.Valeria brewed tea—something rich and spiced, with notes I couldn’t place. She handed me a cup without asking if I wanted one. She already knew.We didn’t speak for a while. Just sat across from each other between the shelves, surrounded by dust and ink and stories long forgotten.Then she slid something across the table. A small folded note. Handwritten. Elegant script. No flourish. Just a question:“Dinner? Not as friends.”I read it twice. Then once more, just to be sure.I looked up. She wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t nervous. She simply was—calm, composed, waiting without pressure.My throat tightened. I hadn’t thought about dating in moons. Not seriously. Not since everything started to feel heavier. But this… this wasn’t a game. This was someone who saw me. Who chose me.I said yes. Not with words.
Just a nod.She smiled.And it was the first time I realized she had fangs.

[Entry 142 – A Table Between Us]
She took me to a place I’d never noticed. One of those quiet, upper-tier spots tucked between two jeweler fronts—no sign, no lanterns. Just a curtain and a hush.Inside: candlelight. Low tables. Private booths with drawn silk screens. Not rich, exactly. But refined. Like the kind of place you go when you want the world to forget you for a while.She let me sit first. Ordered for both of us—nothing extravagant, just warm dishes I didn’t recognize. Everything smelled like cloves and citrus. Comfort and memory.We didn’t talk about the Order. Or justice. Or the girl in the alley.We talked about books. Music. The rain in different cities. She asked if I liked thunderstorms, and when I said yes, she smiled like that answer meant something.She didn’t reach for my hand. Didn’t lean close. But her presence filled the space between us. Like gravity. Like a tide pulling me forward, slowly, gently, and without apology.I wanted to ask what she was—what lived beneath the calm. But the words never came. And somehow… I think she already knew.When the bill came, she paid without a word. And when we stepped outside, she looked at me—not searching, not unsure.Just present.“You don’t have to figure it all out right now,” she said.I nodded. I didn’t trust my voice.She kissed my cheek.
And walked away.

[Entry 143 – Unwritten Hours]
We’ve seen each other four more times since that first dinner.Never in the same place twice.A rooftop garden above the Alchemists’ Quarter. A narrow path by the waterfalls outside the city walls. Once, just her apartment—spartan, high-ceilinged, full of dried herbs and too many books. Everything she touches is quiet, purposeful. No wasted space.She never presses. Never pries.When I tell her things, it’s because I want to. Not because she pulls.And she listens like no one else does. Not like a friend, not like a commander. Like someone who sees what I’m trying to become, not just what I’ve been trained to be.I still train every morning. Still serve. Still wear the armor, recite the oaths.But when I’m with her, I forget how heavy it all feels.We haven’t spoken about the future. Haven’t put names to what this is.But she holds me sometimes—arms around my waist, chin resting on my shoulder—and I don’t need definitions.Just the warmth.
Just the stillness.
Just her.

[Entry 144 – Not of This World]
She doesn’t always cast a shadow.I noticed it tonight, walking through the lantern-lit arches near the Marble Promenade. The light hit her clearly—should have thrown long across the stones.But there was nothing. Just me. My boots. My shape.I didn’t say anything. I didn’t need to.She looked at me, like she felt the pause in my step.“You already knew,” she said.I think I did. Not in words. Not in proofs. But in how she moved. How her presence filled a room before she even stepped inside it. How she never quite blinked at the same rhythm as everyone else.She didn’t confess. Didn’t explain.She simply told me: “I don’t want to hurt you.”And I believed her.There are things in this world older than the city gates, older than the gods. She might be one of them.But she chose me.And I’ve never felt safer.

[Entry 145 – Night Without Armor]
It wasn’t planned.She made tea. I made a quiet joke. She laughed—really laughed, the sound fuller than I’ve ever heard from her. Something unguarded passed between us. A silence that wasn’t awkward. A pause that asked a question.She kissed me first. This time, not the cheek.My hands found her waist. Hers traced the curve of my jaw. Everything slowed down—not rushed, not urgent. Just present. Every motion asking: Are you sure?I was.There’s something sacred in undressing for someone who sees more than skin. Who touches you like you’re precious, not claimed. Who doesn’t conquer—only offers.When we lay together, I forgot about the Order. About duty. About whether this love fits inside a Code written by men who’ve never known softness.She held me like the world wasn’t watching. Like the weight didn’t matter. Like I was allowed to be just me.No armor. No laws. Just breath. And warmth. And trust.I slept in her arms.
And for the first time in moons… I didn’t dream of battle.

[Entry 146 – Two Worlds, One Silence]
By day, I carry a shield. March in formation. Recite the Code. My uniform is spotless, my salute exact. I speak only when prompted. I smile, just enough.No one suspects a thing.They see discipline. Purpose. Maybe even pride.They don’t see the way my hands tremble sometimes when I think of her.
They don’t see the bite marks she left on my shoulder, carefully hidden under linen and steel.They don’t see the way my heart aches when I leave her bed before dawn—stepping back into a life that demands I pretend I don’t love a woman who doesn’t cast a shadow.We haven’t spoken of what comes next. Maybe we don’t need to. We both know this can’t stay secret forever.But for now, we live in the in-between.A hand brushed under the table. A glance too long. A heartbeat held when no one’s looking.She is my breath when the air turns thin.
My stillness when the world demands motion.
My sin, if the Order calls it that.
My sanctuary, if I’m honest.I’ll keep serving. For now.But some part of me wonders…When the time comes to choose—
Which part of me is more real?

[Entry 147 – Cracks in the Glass]
They assigned me to escort a merchant caravan through the Sagolii.Routine work. Long hours. Dry air and empty roads. The kind of job where your thoughts echo louder than the wind.I kept thinking of her.Of how she traced her fingers along my collarbone the morning I left, whispering something I didn’t catch. Of how the desert sky, pale and endless, reminded me of her eyes when she isn’t wearing glamour.She told me once that love, for her kind, isn’t common. Too much risk. Too much vulnerability. But she said I was an exception.The word still haunts me.
Exception. Like a gift. Like a warning.Back at camp, a fellow Squire made a joke about romance and temptation. I laughed along. Said nothing. Swallowed the guilt like wine gone sour.Because I’m in love with something the Order would call unholy.And I don’t feel corrupted.
I feel whole.

[Entry 148 – If They Knew]
She traced her fingers across my ribs tonight. Not with hunger—just curiosity. Like she was memorizing the shape of me.We didn’t speak for a long time. Just the sound of her breathing, my heartbeat, the rustle of fabric between us.Then, quietly, she asked:“What would they do if they knew?”I didn’t answer right away.Because I’d imagined it, of course. Tribunal hearings. Forced confessions. Words like corruption and blasphemy. Maybe exile. Maybe worse.But what I fear most isn’t punishment.It’s watching their eyes change.
Seeing the people I trained beside—fought beside—look at me like I’m wrong. Like I’m a stain on the banner.I told her, finally: “They’d say I betrayed the Order.”She tilted her head. Her voice barely above a whisper.“But did you?”And gods help me, I couldn’t say no.
Not with certainty.She didn’t press. Just curled against me, her palm resting over my heart like it was hers to guard.And I let her.