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Sunday, February 20, 2011

Lifting a Curse

Dear Diary,

I would not credit the advice at the time, but there is no question that I slowly undo the curse laid upon the chain mail bikini.  (Know this, Diary, that someone caused my metal garment to shrink so much as to be unwearable.  I assume jealousy twisted the weak mind of some exile who is now bent on being vile to innocent persons.)  Run, my mystic contact told me.  Run laps around Town Square to unwind this curse!  And after about 800 laps, I see progress!

The magic is so strong it follows me about.  Stairs in the Healer Temple are wondrously less inclined and easier on the lungs.  Places once far from Puddleby are a bit closer in distance.  Why, even the earth itself relents in its pull upon me.  My hands tremble as I write this.  I feel I could face anything.  Even Prue's pinched face.

I must close and begin another run.  I will speak to Lily about providing towels and bottles of water.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Idleness

Mr. and Mrs. Trymon of Pudddleby.  Mr. Trymon and Mrs. Slyph of Puddleby.  Need surname!!!  Slyph and Trymon.  ser Slyph and Trymon.  ser Slyph, the Foxweir Knight, and honey-pot sugar dumpling Trymon.  Very long for the new stationery, but it will do.  I love him!  I am so happy!  HE IS MINE.  NO ONE CAN STOP OUR MAGICAL LOVE.  

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Found at Last

Dear Diary,

I found you!  Well, my butler Pockets found you when we inventoried house-closet 3.  I gave the poor old Dwarf a fright when I screamed, seeing you under that hat box.  Pockets immediately drew his axe, imagining rats no doubt, and started swinging!  (I will dock his pay for those two mannequins.)

Everything is different and changed and altered.  There is much to tell.  I ended a long study of twelve years, and, convinced a part of my life was past, found love and companionship yet again.  His name is Trymon, a thoom that once had tea with J'nder and me—and with Lady Gaia herself.  I also took on a squire in the form of one Lily Fren, a fen'neko of uncommon pluck.  One can imagine her receiving the Accolade if she is not killed during training.

More to come.  It really is an exciting time.  In Puddleby of all places.