#malfas

Write a diary entry for your character, dated 10 years in the future. Long hours have been whiled away between her study and her laboratory, by the time she sets down at her desk and deliberately ignores the scattered mounds of paperwork. The journal she takes up is old, bound with leather, though very, very far from her oldest book. She ponders the view outside her window – all moonlit forest and starscattered sky – and turns back to her journal. A word is spoken to unlock it, and a quill pen is dipped into ink to begin writing. The new year comes and goes as it always does, I suppose. I am left weary by Caelinda’s celebrations, though unfortunately I could not partake in as much alcohol as I wished, despite her urgings. I’ve yet more missives to write, between my work at Indaris Court, the Magisterium, the academy. At least in the latter the students are proving eager and enthused for knowledge – it makes it easy to teach them. It makes me recall olden days so frequently that I have come to loathe that my visits and sessions are intermittent at best. The Black Harvest has sent the twelfth beleaguered acolyte to my door to request my attendance in their gatherings. It has grown ever so more difficult to turn them away without cursing them, ever since they graduated from letters to people. The Burning Legion is long-since shattered, they say, as though I am unaware. I have long since grown weary of the scheming and alliances that inundate such gatherings, and I much prefer being a teacher of alchemy than the infernal arts. Let them cast for whatever ambitions they have without me. I have lived it long enough to know the ruin they invite – I am content investigating the occult under Indaris’ patronage. Ka'ese visits often. It has taken years to heal the rift between us, and still, at times there are things that divide us. It has grown easier ever since we shamed Father into the ground – though still I regret that it is metaphorical, and not literal. He presents himself the perfect diplomat, perfectly polite and mannered, though I can see he winds himself up so thoroughly. It is good that Caelinda can usually coax him into being tipsy. We talk often over the stones – his life in Dalaran is progressing well. He has a husband and more gold than he knows what to do with, which he tells me that his beloved insists on taking increasingly flamboyant vacations. I’m happy, for him. I’m glad I can say as such earnestly, after so long. Thradia is still cordial at best with him. It is a mild poison that has come between us about him, yet one that I detest nonetheless. But I cannot ignore her scars. She is weighed down, I can tell, but she is as strong-willed as I. I find myself thankful that neither of us have managed to fall off of the face of the world, to be separated once more. It fills my heart and hers to be together again, even though there is precious little I can teach her, now; she has proven that her knowledge matches mine, and my grimoire will do well, in her hands. I saw Hanniel the other day in her stead; the boy is growing hearty and vibrant, and is still dazzled by the tricks I show him. They’re little things, but it is always gratifying. Has his mother’s singing voice. Malfas is doing well for himself, there. Caelinda’s business is doing exceedingly well, though between it and my obligations we savor every moment we may spend together. I hope it is someday soon that she might steal me away for some other vacation – an adventure, she calls it – again. Her business is doing incredibly well for itself, and sometimes I find even myself in disbelief at the type of curiosities she brings in. She cares well for the hippogryph, at least; she takes more joy from flying than I do. My gratitude and love for her has not waned. She is still as stubborn as I am, but she anchors me to what matters. Has, for years now. I hope for many years more.

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