Entry Log #1.
This was my first attempt to write in runic language. It came to me naturally.
A bit crude, but it solves the problem. To me, it didn't matter whether a paper had been crammed full of letters in mortal script—it will still appear as nothing more than a blank sheet of rectangle to me. Runic language had its own mystic, so I could read it well by uttering the True Name of sound and letting it guide me...a knowledge courtesy to my butler.
Entry Log #2.
Surprisingly, most of the books in the library were written in runes. The rows of books were endless, and just thinking of how much I could consume for a pastime was a literal haven. If Vontravis hadn't strongly suggested against it, I would have even volunteered to be a librarian instead.
Entry Log #3.
On my butler's first day in my assigned manor, he asked simple questions on my preferences. I didn't really have a clear answer for that one though. Isn't that his job to figure out? At nighttime he asked me why I slept on the floor instead of the bed next to it.
I said that beds are a social construct and that the floor is natural. I'm simply returning to my roots.
But that was an excuse. I think I even sounded philosophical back there.
Actually, I hoarded quite a lot of books that my manor's built-in shelves couldn't hold all of it, so I placed it on the bed instead. What's a bed if not a perfect storage space for more books?
He stared at me like I was some sort of crazy eccentric. How rude.
Entry Log #4.
My newly assigned 'butler' is very attentive to details. The first time he took over the preparation of my meals, he'd taken note on dishes I'd had and hadn't touched—adjusting them accordingly.
He now follows without questioning anything.
Entry Log #5.
I noticed something had changed in the manor, gradually. The butler removed all the mirrors, changed the glass windows into mosaic frosted ones, and all sorts of reflective objects. How did I know? Well, for one, reflective objects often had a glossy surface. The objects I've constantly touched for familiarity were all replaced with rougher ones.
I asked him why, and he replied that it was by my order.
I never gave such an order, but I didn't pry.
Entry Log #6.
I managed to strike a long conversation with the Saint of Souls...and soon regretted it. I asked how he was chosen by the Sovereign among the seven Saints to be my personal aid. He would complain exaggeratedly and flail his arms around like a jester.
"Did 'She' hear me out? No, why would 'She'? 'She's' the Sovereign. I feel like I just got demoted by several levels overnight without even doing anything." Or so he says. The way his speech patterns change was funny.
The butler seems dissatisfied with me, yet he also appears to enjoy his new post. It was ironic. But the feeling is mutual; I don't like him either.
He has gotten very talkative.
Yet another day passes.
Entry Log #7.
Vontravis had randomly taught me about details that weren't mentioned in the books. Some that are embellished versions, he corrected. He talked about Abyss and its inhabitants in greater detail, but I would never admit that I was really fascinated while listening to his ridiculous stories. He talks informally and louder when you boost his ego like a balloon.
Apparently, most of the souls here retain their memories of when they were still at the mortal plains, unlike the ones in the other two divine realms. He said that was why this realms' inhabitants carried the air mortal culture, or so he phrases it.
He randomly added that I sounded quite 'posh for a ten-year old kid'. Is he mocking me?
Entry Log #8.
I've yet to hear the details of what I'd supposedly done in the throne room, or what absurdities I'd suggested to the deity. The Saint of Souls told me I carried a certain air of confidence at the time, as if I was certain that 'She'd' listen to my demands.
I never thought of myself capable of something like that.
Vontravis must've already noticed something wasn't quite right.
Entry Log #9.
Another lapse in memory.
My butler was changing me with a frilled tunic. I found the fabric's texture uncomfortable, and that it exposed skin a little too much. After that was another splitting headache.
When I came to, the whole room was thrashed like I'd just threw a tantrum. Vis stood frozen at the corner of the room, staring at me intently, but he didn't say anything. Since then, he'd changed all my clothes to loose-fitting layered ones.
Has he noticed?
At some point he'd also started wearing gloves at all times.
Entry Log #10.
I finally had the courage to ask if Vontravis knew of a servant who'd gone missing recently. Surprisingly, he did. He knew about it in great detail, said she wasn't missing, but that she'd officially been declared pardon.
He said he was the one who cleaned up the scene and nursed me back to health under the Sovereign's orders. Perhaps that's also why he was now assigned as my personal aid. Had he secretly found me detestable this whole time?
When I asked what her name was, he said it was Petra.
...How fitting. I thought to keep that in mind.
Her death was mine to carry, after all.
Entry Log #12.
This page had been ripped off and is deemed unreadable.
Entry Log #11?
Vontravis woke me up at the crack of dawn, asking if I was alright. I found myself standing at the middle of my manor's front garden, barefoot. Below me were several shallow holes dug by hand.
I had mindlessly destroyed the garden he had carefully tended to everyday, but he never said anything about it. Instead he asks how I am. My wellbeing. I did not answer.
I let him guide me back to my quarters, and he washed me clean. We had not exchange words the whole time until I fell back to sleep, nor had he addressed it the following days after.
After a span of a fortnight of constantly tracking my own behavioral patterns, I wake up the next day to find a new entry I had no memory of writing. It was a tad too neat—obsessively so—and a stark contrast to my clumsy ones.
Entry Log #13.
Are you perchance playing a game of cat-and-mouse?
Please, this is too dull.
I half-expected you to be more creative, you fool.
I blankly traced the pages of the new addition of entry today. It was certain now. On days where I get splitting headaches and black out, another entity takes over the reins in this body and parades it like a skin suit.
I did not like that at all. Frankly, who wouldn't?
On a mere span of two weeks, 'it' had interfered with my daily life with unpredictable, erratic displays of lunacy. Worst of all, I couldn't tell what its goal is, nor the aftermath of what it's done when it's in control.
I'd found temporary relief when I stopped hearing voices, and now arises a completely new problem: that one of the voices had started doing harm.
'I need to find a better way to deal with this.'
I flinched after hearing light knocks on the door and immediately hid the notebook under the dresser.
"You can enter."
Vontravis headed towards my direction with his usual, echoing steps. He always trudged with refined grace that it often made me wonder why he was playing house as a reliable adult taking care of a problematic child such as I.
"I've drawn your bath, young master. I shall prepare you for your trip to be introduced to the Wraiths. Oh, and don't worry, I've already prepared you an identity. It wasn't difficult to begin with. All you have to do is prove yourself, just as you intended. I trust you already know what to do?"
"..."
...What is this demigod of a man spouting this time?
No, I think I phrased it wrong—just what in the world had that entity wearing my skin done, this time?
"Whatever for?" I blurted without thought.
"My, do you jest? You swore to join one of the Sovereign's legions to prove yourself to 'Her'! Have you forgotten already?"
What kind of 'mother' deports a 10-year-old kid to join some shady who-knows-what?