Saga 16- Dear Diary...

I have never considered keeping a diary, a journal of my thoughts. I have always thought that my thoughts should remain in my mind, lest some enemy come across it and discover my every weakness. Yet, I find my thoughts plagued by all kinds of worries and demons, and feel compelled to write them down, if only to remove them from my mind.

My darthiir- how strange it seems to call him ‘mine’- keeps a journal, and I often see him writing in it. I imagine that I feature in it somewhat, and am curious to know what he thinks about me. I cannot read it though, that would eliminate what little trust he has for me.

And now, I have written my problem. He doesn’t trust me. This would have no problem normally, in Menzoberranzan, my lovers never trusted me, and for good reason. Yet, and I know not why, I want him to trust me, even though I do not trust him.

I am unsure of myself, for the first time in my life. Everything I have done before, I have made a decision, and known it to be right. I know that a relationship with Daie is what I want, but I am unsure of my emotions. This is a feeling I’ve never felt before. When I’m with him, I am happy, yet his refusal to lie with me perplexes and even upsets me.

There, now I can never let this be read, without becoming a laughing stock. Well, not that anyone could read this. I’m sure none of the Company can read Drow. I suppose Daie’s journal must be written in Elvish, so he runs far more of a risk of discovery than I.

Anyway, his refusal to sleep with me. It is not such an affair as he seems to think it is. In drow society, sex is a casual thing, due to lust, sometimes as a reward.

Ah, perhaps that is it. I imagine that in his society it is far more important. He has most likely heard tales of the depravity of the drow, and he is scared.

I think I’ve worked it out. We both love each other, this is fact. Yet he wishes to know me more before we become intimate. I’m sure now that he feels unable to indulge with someone who he has only just admitted his feelings for. This seems strange to me, but it must be the answer. After all, the darthiir must love me. He has to. He must.

* * *

Good evening, my journal. Again, I regale you with my tears and fears. There seem to be a lot these days. I imagine you long for the days when all I spoke to you about was Father’s anger and the pain of hangovers after a night out with Ellesime and the others. Well, I’m going to write about Raven, so listen.

She has been acting strangely since we confessed our desires. She seems fragile. Oh, in public, she is her usual proud self, calm, commanding, the Raven I fell in love with, but in private, she is much more open. She tells me her secrets. She seems to trust me, but my reluctance to have sex obviously pains her, causing her fragile emotional state at the moment. She talks of drow strength, of hiding emotions, but I can see the truth here; she has never felt love before, she cannot cope with it. The drow may have full command of the anger, hatred, lust, greed, but love is as alien to her as my celibacy. Small wonder she is in such pain.
It pains me to make her feel this way, but what else can I do? I cannot let this continue, but I cannot surrender myself before I am ready.

The real issue at stake here is simple- She needs to have sex to feel trust, and I need to feel trust to have sex. Damned if we do, damned if we don’t.

I can only see one way forward here, to continue as we are. I have to convince Raven that I trust her, and gain her trust. She tells me something of her childhood, but avoids certain questions. She never answered what it was that made her leave Menzoberranzan, for example. She turns to me for comfort, but does she turn to me, or to my strength? While I am not as physically strong as her, I have more experience of these emotions.

Why am I so cynical? Whatever the situation, all that matters is that I love her, she loves me. We will work this out, soon. Enough of this, I leave you, my journal; I go to find this dusky warder who holds my heart imprisoned.

Hmm, I quite like that. I’ll have to remember it.

Adieu, diary.

Daie Vanya