|
[
January 11th, 2010 3:06pm ] |
Diary Entry
Watcher's Diary, November 2004
I feel as if I know the truth, and I don't dare speak it aloud.
But I must.
I know now that Marsha has been lying to me. I wasn't just injured... I was dead. All the testing, all the time I spent alone in the cells, waiting to see if I was a time bomb sent to kill my friends... I know now that I was brought back from the dead.
Why?
Why would someone do that? What benefit could that possibly hold for anyone?
More importantly, who? Marsha? She's not a shaman; if she has power, it doesn't come from her. I just... know that. I don't even know how I know it. All I know is that Angel is right to keep her out of the building. If she's a part of this...
I'll investigate. I'll find out what I can.
We must also find Spike, and quickly. If he truly is under the control of an outside force, then stopping that is our highest priority. Although I know he's loathe to admit it, having Spike as a second Champion, another unstoppable force for the side of the good guys, it' is a blessing. There must be a way to find him.
I had not realized the Watchers, and my friends, have been decimated so entirely. Even when... even though I knew the Council had been destroyed and were attempting to reconstitute, the sheer loss of life and number was lost on me until now. Giles, Ms. Casimiro, Richard and his son. Others, a few scattered here and there, but we are so few now, and there are so many girls that need guidance. I am glad that I was brought back, for many reasons of course, but this, my vocation, this is what I was trained for. To help, to teach. To fight.
Fighting without my friends by my side. Angel is all that is left. Cordelia is gone, Gunn is gone, my Fred is gone. Even Illyria is gone now, and Connor seems to be happy resuming his normal life. Good for him.
Is this how Angel feels? Outliving all of his friends decade after decade, losing those that mean the most to him? There's every chance that Gunn can still walk in through the front door. There's every chance that Illyria could appear right in the room in front of me. But they're gone.
I was gone. And Angel was left alone. I blame myself for that. I was... it doesn't matter now.
All that matters is I'm going to make it right.
|
|
| Entry #2, Paper Journal |
[
November 18th, 2009 2:20pm ] |
Ms. Clellan has kindly provided me a leather-bound journal and a large supply of writing implements, suggesting that keeping a diary of sorts might be beneficial in my recovery process. I hope that she's correct; I still feel a little disconnected from things, even though I am finding myself growing more and more... aware.
I feel as though I've been out, just floating around without a tether. I don't know where, but wherever it was, there was no sense of order, no sense of time. It's not a real memory, but a feeling. Sort of like a remembered ream, I suppose, but a dream that you know actually happened. Now that I'm awake, it's a bit of a struggle reaching into that fog and putting things that I remember in order, trying to remember what actually did happen as opposed to what I... dreamed.
I dreamed that I was dead. Not that I went anywhere, but that I was simply no longer alive. That perhaps my death is the reason for the confusion, for the floating and misrembrance. I was somewhat surprised when Marsha told me that I had not died, but had been in a very deep coma for several months. Perhaps that is why I thought I had died, but there is something there that draws me. I must figure it out. But later. When things are clearer.
I can feel myself getting stronger; my handwriting looks more as I remember it, and not the shaky scrawl of even a week ago. Things I think I remember, spells and books and my education at Oxford, all these things tell me I should not be recovering so quickly, that it must be enchantment, but I can find no trace of it. Although I suppose that is the point, isn't it?
I must get to Angel; perhaps he can contact... oh, God, I don't remember her name. Names. I have to start remembering names. At least I remember my own.
(signature)
W.W.P.
|
|
|
|
[
November 16th, 2009 3:27pm ] |
|
... i don't know where i am i just know that i don't think i should be here ...
|
|
|