Alira: Journal Entry [Kismet]

[Alira Drakrul]

*The azure handwriting is smooth and elegant, the quill tip only appearing to lift between words*

So much has happened, I don’t even know where to begin…

*A blot of blue ink as if she placed her quill tip on the paper in a hurry*

Kismet. That lil’… …

*The ink trails off on the page as if she laid her quill down for a while*

Argh... Kismet… I seriously don’t know what I am going to do with her. At times I listen to her and I find I just want to kill her. Her happy voice just grating on my nerves, almost piercing my very composure as I struggle to control my urge to strangle her… other times… I find myself listening to her ramblings and almost beginning to understand it. Stuff that should normally seem like the monologue of an insane person, begins to change and for but a moment… a brief moment I feel like that it all makes sense and I feel the urge to follow that vision. Then the revelation is going and I’m left going, “What the hell is she talking about?” At times I think she is simply mad and infecting me with her delusions and other times, I fear… I fear… I don’t know whether her words will drive me to my goals or whether she is going to convince me to try sunbathing. At times, and in that instance, it all makes sense and sounds perfectly rational.

*The writing begins to appear more impassioned, a bit louder in literary standards.*

You know I asked her just the other day, when I almost was ready to kill her, after listening to her sing her incessant song about bugs who are ladies, ladies who are bugs… again I had that brief insight and for a moment, it made sense, they represented something else… metaphors… and then poof it was gone. I was so frustrated that I yelled at her and said, “Kismet! Are you trying to cause me to go insane?” You know what her reply was? “Not if I’m succeeding…” Oh Goddess, I leaped out of my chair, my composure gone and she ran up the stairs screaming, “I'm a roaring terror of whateverness!” Oh Goddess… please help me…

*The handwriting goes even larger, the quill barely even lifting between words now… *

An’ then... AND THEN… Do you know what that little pain in my undead ass did? She sang. Right, bad enough, but do you know where she sang her song? A bank… during lunch hour… prime time… all the people doing their shopping, errands and such. An, oh goddess, I swear just thinking about this again makes me want to go up there right now and strangle her until her precious little eyeballs just pop out her adorable head… I digress… she put on a mask, the tribal one with pointed teeth and sang… I have the lyrics somewhere; let me find them… she… wrote them down for me …

*A large blot of blue ink as if she laid her quill down again…*
Here they are…

*Another piece of paper, folded, appears to have been attached to the journal page with black wax on the back of it. When unfolded, the paper is covered with all sorts of scribbles and odd drawings. Some nice and pleasant like flowers and puppies and others morbid and twisted like what looks to be a cat with two heads, sitting at a table and drinking from a straw that is inserted into another cat’s head that lays by itself, no body, on the table. In the center of the doodles, is a long thin column of words… each word alternating different colored inks like a rainbow…it reads…*

Masquerade!
Paper faces on parade . . .
Masquerade!
Hide your face,
so the world will
never find you!

Masquerade!
Every face a different shade . . .
Masquerade!
Look around -
there's another
mask behind you!

Flash of mauve . . .
Splash of puce . . .
Fool and king . . .
Ghoul and goose . . .
Green and black . . .
Queen and priest . . .
Trace of rouge . . .
Face of beast . . .

Faces . . .
Take your turn, take a ride
on the merry-go-round . . .
in an inhuman race . . .

Eye of gold . . .
Thigh of blue . . .
True is false . . .
Who is who . . .?
Curl of lip . . .
Swirl of gown . . .
Ace of hearts . . .
Face of clown . . .

Faces . . .
Drink it in, drink it up,
till you've drowned
in the light . . .
in the sound . . .

Masquerade!
Grinning yellows,
spinning reds . . .
Masquerade!
Take your fill -
let the spectacle
astound you!

Masquerade!
Burning glances,
turning heads . . .
Masquerade!
Stop and stare
at the sea of smiles
around you!

Masquerade!
Seething shadows
breathing lies . . .
Masquerade!
You can fool
any friend who
ever knew you!

Masquerade!
Leering satyrs,
peering eyes . . .
Masquerade!
Run and hide -
but a face will
still pursue you!

Masquerade!
Burning glances,
turning heads . . .
Masquerade!
Stop and stare
at the sea of smiles
around you!

*The journal then begins again...*

If I had been feeding when she told me that, I would have choked. Aye, it is true probably none of the mortals had any clue what it all meant, but I asked her if their was anyone who approached her afterwards or gave her dirty looks. She said no. I haven’t gotten heard any inquiries from my eyes in the kindred community so I think it went unnoticed. Thank the Goddess.

Of course, how she even decided to sing that song amazes me. She hasn’t really been exposed to much education about us… partly because I may kill her and frankly also because I’m not even sure it would understand. Did she have another run in with kindred? Is she able to see us for what really are even past our safe guards? Was it just some sort of twisted, sick coincidence? I told her not to do that again, though perhaps even that wasn’t enough for her to understand. In a stomach-twisting, sick way it would have been amusing to see the looks on other kindred as she sang, blatantly mocking the masquerade…us… to all those ignorant mortals… I still hold strongly to the belief that it must be maintained, although the look on some of the elder, more traditional vampires may have been worth her death… might save me the trouble of doing it myself… then again it would take away the pleasure I might feel from it as well… finally snapping and wringing her neck as her screwed up, fucked up brain rattles in her skull…