Journal 18 - Day 14 in Beaumont Pt. 2

**Psychic Paper**
"There is a new god in our midst and they call him Pa. I will keep my ears to the ground as they live in holes. He sounds nice :) -K"
 
(Written in the Queen's French) **The night of the 5th after the dance party--the happenings after we reconvened**
Once again, I find myself tangled in a strange distraction. Stealing my last glance at the dance floor, I let my pain and furious sorrow drown me beneath a funky moo—nlight. I still can’t believe Lux is slow dancing with that beast of a man.
 
Even when I run willingly into a good time, it’s lost on them that getting lost in rhythm brings the best reflection. And gods, what another day it’s been. The weight I carry — the ache I keep sealed behind smiles — is too great to bear without fracture. I had to distract myself, to push the last pieces of my strength into another before grief swallowed me whole. Good times are rare medicine — a way to find your center, to remember happiness, to feel tethered to your group.
But I feel near nothing from this group.
 
They don’t even try to ask how I’m holding up, or why I cry over a box… or over my poor, tortured Ildris. Why I call myself a leader. A ruler.
 
After the moment I spent with Ildris mourning and rejoicing for Zah’kar, he gave me strength to shoulder the pain again. But what I have observed since then… what I have been called… it was uncalled for and vulgar. Especially from the mouth of one who claims to protect me and want the best for my wellbeing.
 
This group drains me.
Some of them — vain, selfish, narcissistic — have no idea what rot they carry under their skin. Perhaps it’s stress, hurt, confusion, or the goddess’s pain bleeding through my pores that my patience is a razor to a strand of hair.
Still, I hold my poise.
 
When Ildris and I returned, the group was already elbow-deep in a pile of metals — looting a secret office belonging to gods-know-who. I found it all disturbing. Why were these zealot dick bags using a children’s story as an experiment? Which this comic world is 100% real. And that being said, how is it a story here? So many questions, I will hope to find out with Xhoya. Or away from her so she doesn't lose this story in her childhood too.
She was adorable when she discovered the full collection of The Pack. I hope she’ll accept my invitation later...
 
But that wasn’t where my mind lingered. No — I thought of the power trips, the disregard, the disrespect that bloomed from such a simple task. Ultimately we took everything besides the illegal fae shit. Which was once more l0oked at by greedy eyes. A blatant risk and disregard to all of our safety.
 
They’d agreed to take turns choosing three items special to them. I went last, which was no sweat off my nose. I recognized the usefulness of the metals, though I take no joy in creation. That was always my brother’s passion. So, as I once did for him, I gathered what could be useful and placed it in the shared box for everyone.
 
And for that, Gidget — in her frantic, frothing obsession with her craft — called me a bitch.
 
Me.
Who explained five times that I had already moved the magical connection bar to the free-use box. She called me a bitch for helping her. That word was the final nail in the coffin of whatever relationship we once had. From this moment on, she is beneath me. My protection remains only out of duty — not affection. As a good leader and Ruler.
 
Bitch.
 
This is why I cannot respect you, Gidget. Why your condescension and arrogance ring hollow. You disregard Xhoya’s warnings, doubt her expertise, and turn to Echo not because you trust him — but because he’s a tool you can verify data through. Jaxion stands by you, a new developing faction or relationship, basking in the illusion of control his BRN rank still grants him. He believes himself a leader, but all I see is a man shackled to pride and a false sense of order.
 
He even moved a box marked unsafe — was warned, scolded, and dismissed it as overreaction. I’ll ask Silas to help document the event, if only to protect those of us who saw it. I don’t fuck with the fae.
Jaxion also refused Xhoya’s plea to return the ingots crafted by her divine brother, Ip — a god. He denied her out of greed. Money? As if that means anything anymore. If he keeps this up, Uncle Ip will teach him the meaning of humility. That ingot, those pebbles — they belong to the god, and thus to Xhoya. Period. You do not claim dominion over the divine. To count Xhoya out as a child is a poor reflection on anyone's intelligence.
 
Their naïveté sickens me.
Echo, bless him, watches like a child desperate to understand. Silas keeps himself closed, withdrawn, haunted. And Lux… clutches lovingly at ash.
 
What am I to do with these people? I really pray I can still reach Jaxion, perhaps Echo and Silas — but Gidget… she has sealed our fate. My trust in her is nearly broken.
I am done being their quiet ornament. Blink is my ultimate and she has told me to lead.
So, I left the greed, with poise. With silent watch and judgment. With hopeful example.
And as I did, I wondered — why does this group need me, when so few accept me as anything more than a ditzy tagalong?
 
So I clung to another — Lux, my bright right hand, my charge. She alone can lift my pain. After gathering the boxes and comics, we recounted the day’s lessons.
 
Xhoya learned new spells — her starry eyes glowed with pride. I loved that for her.
Lux discovered her teacher was her great-grandfather — making her a Genasi-Changeling werewolf. The world never stops surprising me. I treasure this news for her.
 
And, well… my mind wandered back to that dancing distraction. The strange, naked man under the moonlight. I wondered if he could be one of Lux’s kin — though, admittedly, my curiosity was also selfish. I wanted distraction. I let it win. (Sorry, Lux — only a little.)
Apparently, the ash she holds so close is a finger made of stone. So many questions… but I won’t pry. My role in her timeline is to guide. So guide, I did — and a Funkmoo I did lure.
 
I didn’t find her family that night, but I found her a good time — a worthy partner to dance with under the snowy moon. Funkmoo, a follower of someone he calls Pa — perhaps a god, perhaps something else. I’ll need to ask about this new “deity.” The curiosity it stirs is divine in itself.
 
After watching an admittedly good looking Jaxion steam in the cold air as he and Echo moved the metals to the Cindercleft, I joined Lux and Silas in seeking out the naked dancer. We found him underground. With a song, we brought him up — and he conjured a dance floor from nothing but magic and will. He showed off many of his... perks, including his strength, making light work of the sweaty labor Jaxion endured. If I was really naive, I wouldn't have seen the quickness in which the shirt went back on Jaxion's back as Funkmoo paraded in a jockstrap and feather boa.
 
Lux and me, we danced the night away. It was a guilty pleasure I gladly indulged in. And I feel great for it. Magically enhanced. Thank Funkmoo and Pa!
 
Jaxion even came alive for a moment dancing with me! I even was dipped in good fashion before the soldier of duty swallowed him again. Echo seemed confused and happy to work on the Cindercleft away from Funkmoo but ate. Silas also ate but remained distant as ever, stayed lost in thought — perhaps haunted by what we will find at the Ash Site. He should’ve danced those plaguing thoughts away like I did.
 
Xhoya joined us, too. Gods, I was proud of her for that. Baby steps I will take!
Gidget looked over now and then but stayed at work. I could’ve pulled her to dance, but why? Our timelines don’t need to intertwine further. Let her keep her guns, her gears, her quiet disdain. They’re her true companions.
 
So I played the quiet princess role she and the others think I should — fragile, harmless, smiling... unassuming.
 
~Insert eye flutter roll here~
 
Now, though, I am alone again.
Truly alone — to endure as I was made to. The exhaustion, the pain, the heartbreak, the confusion… and the growing fury. I stare at sleeping Gambit, Xhoya, Ildris — at Lux, maybe finding her joy, and at the broken mangled body of my elder whose scorched heart still hangs on. They have to my reason...
 
Alone at last to falter and find calm. To release emotion. To bask in what joy the stage and song still grant me before I don the mask again — to help carry a group of frightened, foolish mortals toward a destiny they neither understand nor deserve. I'll include myself under frightened and foolish, too.
 
My Hope and faith in this party falter — and so does my understanding of the role I’m meant to play for them.
 
Be myself, I'm reminded on loop now.
But what if I give up on them?
What if they dismiss me first?
 
What then?
 
— Kiíellièn