Moving forward.

Things are better now, for the most part. It was touch-and-go for the past few days. Learning to tend to our own emotions without Bastien's expertise was hard enough...Rane's death made at the more difficult. I am rather ashamed; my grief was unbearable, and I turned to rage instead. Rage: the comfort, the energy, the familiarity. Mjollnir had calmed down significantly, and was roaming free for much of that second day. I have decided that I no longer despise him, though I shall still keep one eye turned toward him.

However, Mjollnir and I spoke...as I have mentioned, he harbors resentment toward me, as he believes the Wars are brewing still, and another invasion is forthcoming. I do not know why i suddenly believed him. Desperation, or restlessness...I am not certain. Nonetheless, I took it upon myself to "gear up" for battle. I shaved my head, cleaned my firearm, readied the equipment. I wanted to kill. I wanted to hurt them as deeply as I was hurting. I had gone mad, reveling in the lunacy of myself.

The Host, during this time, was talking to a mutual friend online. The Host was unsure how to handle the situation, and therefore played relay to the friend, who was quite firm in what she said. It was true; all of it. I was so wrapped up in my own feelings, my own selfishness, that I had abandoned my small ones. However, the depth of what I was feeling could not be shut off; it was too raw. I had no choice but to become Away, until I was calm.

Oddly, as if on cue, everyone else decided to become Away, as well. I heard last evening that everyone had gone, and the Host was in quite the panic over it. My apologies to her, of course, but at the same time, the sanity of Nambiet was in shameful disrepair.

Now, having returned, we are still rather weak. Taking on such a massive responsibility so suddenly has been arduous. We are working toward the calm we knew before, however, and are also appreciating each other more. Something I cannot say we did for either Bastien or Rane.

In other news…

The Host spoke with the mother on Wednesday. Perhaps Thursday, but I believe it to be the former. (The mother is always kind to us, especially to Molly, although we do unnerve her a bit.) For some unknown reason, the Host told the mother about the rituals we endured. No details, really…a basic description. We were expecting to be told we were lying, or at least exaggerating. However, to our surprise, the mother not only validated it, but verified it as well. She told us that she knew he had once owned an Egyptian book of the Dead, and a book of black magic and sorcery. Furthermore, she seemed to have knowledge of some rituals, as he tried to coax her into participation when she was younger.

So many pieces are falling into place. It is almost frightening; it seems logical now. There is no longer the lingering doubt that we perhaps invented the rituals. There is no longer the shame in hiding it. There is a relief, now…relief and acceptance. As much as we wanted to believe, at times, that the rituals were fabricated, imagined…the rituals did, indeed, occur. The abuse occurred. That, in itself, does not please me. But the fact that I can look upon another and know we are believed…the reassurance is almost captivating.

And at the same time, there exists a melancholia, as well. We must now accept that these things were done to us, against our will in defiance and hatred and selfishness. We must admit we were hurt, and are still hurting. There is so much to process...not too much, however. We are renewed, strengthened. I can handle this.