Journal Entry 2
Zaskja Stormsson
My Wolf,
It’s been a little over a year since I learned I descended from Freyja. Every day, it has become easier to accept. Don’t get me wrong—I’m still heartbroken, but my soul has started to mend. Mostly thanks to you, Mor, and Saga.
But this letter isn’t about them. It’s about you. Or, at least, it’s meant for you. Like all the letters contained in my journals. I started penning them at thirteen. You don’t know this, of course, but you will soon.
Tonight.
You will know everything tonight.
I realize I might not be of age yet. “Might not” gave you pause, didn’t it? If it didn’t, it has now.
Anyway, you all claim I was five when you found me in the Wilds, but what if I was seven, Nordin? What if it isn’t my nineteenth birthday I celebrated last month, but my twenty-first?
Who even knows in which month I was born? On which day? Unless I find a way to portal back to the South, the mystery of my origins will remain that: a mystery.
But this last entry isn’t about who I was or where I came from; it’s about who I want to become and where I want to belong.
Whatever my actual age, I’m no longer a child. I’m aware you’ve noticed. Your stare has grown different in the last year. Heavier.
I can sense it when you think I’m concentrated on something or someone else. Take the other day when you visited the forge to borrow a hammer and I was bent over my worktable, shaping fishing hooks. You looked at the hooks but also at me. Your gaze wandered over my face, my neck, and my breasts.
Do you like the way my body has filled out? How my waist has tapered while my hips and breasts flared? Do you ever catch yourself wanting to mold me with your long, deft fingers?
You have such beautiful hands, my Wolf. Every time I stroke myself, it’s them I picture between my thighs.
Not much scares you, but I worry that my love for you might. I worry that you won’t know what to do with it or me. In the same way I worry you’ll always see me as something fragile and forbidden.
For all these reasons, I’ve decided to gift you my journals tonight. Not because it’s Júl and I couldn’t think of a better present, but because I need you to understand that my mind is no longer that of a child.
I need you to understand that this isn’t some misguided crush.
This is me confessing (almost out loud) that you are the love of my entire life, Nordin Stormsson. Just like your brother was to Lenora.
With all the love in my heart (which can hardly be contained a second longer),
Zas