The Diary of Lemon, Nov 9

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November 9

Days like these are the fortitude of my very existence. There are times when I can only question the reason I am here, when nothing about my life seems to fit together. Sometimes I feel like a puzzle with all of the wrong pieces. But days like today serve to remind me that my pieces fit together quite well...

I had found a place on the ancient ruin, perched demurely on a high rise of cold stone. The rain had been falling in torrents for nearly two days – a gift from the Gods. I have always been fond of rain, and of water. Needless to say, I was not about to go hiding in the forest, seeking shelter from the gentle caress of the rain. I was going to soak in the feel of the droplets against my skin for as long as I possibly could – and I was pleased to find that I was not the only one with this notion. I was in good company, in fact; for, though the forest was still and silent, the ruin was teeming with life. Deer lounged on the various levels of the ruin – one perched above me on one of the mossy arches, another rested against one of the stony graves. I could not tell how many others joined me – but to be in their silent company was well enough. The world was at peace, soothed to a sleepy tranquility by the careful touch of nature's hand. There was little more I could desire, in that moment.

I lay on my cold, wet stone, simply feeling the world around me. So often, we become caught up in our fickle everyday lives, and we forget to simply be. We forget how precious existence is, and how delicate – how easily it slips from our grasp.

But alas, such peace cannot possibly last forever. I was moved from my state of meditative quiet by the steady stare of a fellow deer. I have been blind for almost my entire life, and my body has made up for it's flaw by increasing the competence of my surviving senses. In this way, I have grown to hear the sound of breath, to hear the subtle differences in walking patterns and footsteps, and even to hear the spiritual aura of deer. And I know when I am being stared at – especially in such a burning, constant way.

Turning my head, I offered the stranger a smile. His breath quickened with fear at my movement, and I lifted my silver brows in surprise. Gathering my own breath, I hefted my body up onto its spindly legs, and descended from my beloved place in the ruin. I felt the stranger's fear rising, growing toward a pinnacle, until it burst into a flurry of movement. He fled. I moved slowly around the circumference of the ruin, attempting to re-locate the poor soul. I certainly did not wish to frighten the deer – I well remember my early days in the forest, when the mere thought of socializing would make me numb with terror. I felt a little guilty for seeking out this shy one, when I knew that he would probably prefer to be left alone. Yet, I also understood that such existence was morbidly desolate; I had personally suffered the painful feel of self-inflicted outcast, the longing to be a part of something which terrified me. Such utter destitution was not good for the spirit.

Turning one last corner of the ruin, I found the fellow. He was trembling, watching me with that fierce gaze which seemed to burn right through my flesh and examine my very spirit. A momentary flutter of shame tremored through me; I do not like to be examined, for I imagine that I am something quite hideous to behold. How can anyone appreciate such a face, marred by a dead, unmoving gaze? How can anyone look upon such disgustingly scarred, whitened eyes, and feel anything except utter repulsion? But the press of my mask reminded me that my face was well hidden from view, that this stranger did not yet know what horrors lay beneath.

I gave the fellow – Corvus – a bow. He was hesitant to return my greeting, but he eventually did. My silver lips curled into a smile of relief. He was far braver then I had been, once upon a time. A younger Lemon would have run with a tucked tail, in the face of such a bold confrontation. Then again, I have always been quite adept at hiding, and I probably would have avoided such a confrontation in the first place.

“Come on then, darling; there's no need to be nervous.” My voice sounded strange to me – it is not often that I find use for it. Sometimes I forget what my own voice even sounds like, and the gentle murmurs take me by surprise. But Corvus seemed to heed my words; slowly, he began making his way toward me. I dared not move an inch from where I stood, for fear of frightening him away once more. The stag extended his head to sniff at me, and I flinched at the accidental blush of his lengthy mane against my skin. I lifted my head (being considerably shorter than him) and inhaled, taking in his scent and locking it away in my mind. As we withdrew from our careful greeting, our masks collided. I noted that his mask seemed to end in a lengthy point – a beak. I smiled. His spirit is avian, as well. No wonder he is cautious...


I have diaries for the 10th and 11th, but I'm not sure if I will upload them. <3 I find her musings to be particularly dull, lately...

Also, hooray for the community site! C:
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