Journal Entry 7
Zaskja Stormsson
My Wolf,
Mor asked me again if I felt like discussing my private conversation with your father. I, again, told her no. Truthfully, I can’t imagine ever wanting to discuss Ulf’s decree that I should marry a monster.
Your father may think me a selfish brat, but I’m not. Despite my disappointment in him, I won’t be the one to drive a wedge through your the family.
Besides, I gave Ulf a way out. I’m waiting to see if it’ll bear fruit. Since he hasn’t stopped by my house, which I haven’t left in five days, I assume that he either hasn’t reached a decision or he has, and it remains unchanged.
Then again, the only person I’ve seen, aside from Mor, is Saga.
The instant Myrknótt ended, she exploded through the door and ripped me a new one for the letter and jewelry I’d hidden in her trunk.
She may be furious, but she’s wearing my necklace.
Unlike Mor, who stared at the bracelet as though it were cursed before tucking it away without a word.
Saga has been a breath of fresh air in these days of stillness and staleness.
She says you’re working tirelessly on strengthening Kjell’s prison cell. Is that the only reason you haven’t come? Or did your father forbid you from it?
Maybe I’ve had too much time to think, but I can’t shake the suspicion that you lied about the mutuality of our feelings to kill my defiance and get me to return.
I know I should stop putting all my thoughts on paper, but I can’t keep them bottled up, and I have no one to talk to about such matters. It isn’t as if anyone will ever read this entry anyway, since I’m writing it in the margins of an old book of fairy tales that Mor used to read to me.
I intend to spring for a new journal, but not before I can think of a better hiding spot for it than my trunk. I’ve considered keeping it at the forge, but I’d need to see if I can lift a floorboard or craft some nifty lock and secret compartment that Koppar can’t stumble upon.
Anyway, back to the prison cell. The one that needs to be rewrought for vampyrs. Koppar is apparently working overtime on fashioning metal bars. According to Saga, he’s smoking out the whole village with the amount of smithing he’s been doing.
I tried to go help him, but Mor refuses to let me leave the house. Is my freedom to roam a thing of the past?
On the upside, it would preserve me from Heinous Havrik’s marriage proposal. How much longer will Ulf keep it from her?
Gods, Nordin, how Mor will rage! And possibly lock me up inside our cozy pit house forever instead of for a finite time.
Or take me away…
Would she? And if she did, where would we go? To Ljosam?r? Would another pack take us in?
I wish I were writing on magical paper. One where answers would bleed from the ether.
How neat would that be? Until I write again.
Or until my journal does?
With all the love in my heart (if you ever wanted it in the first place),
Zas