September 20th, 2004

Zoicite☆For all I carry are murdered

~Excerpt from the novel I'm writing, "Swan's Song~

To be a mystic is to be alone.

Or so I have heard it said.  Often times in my youth I have mused upon the meaning of those words, trying to discern how it could possibly apply to me.  The thought of being alone vaugely frightened me for I liked to be surrounded by people even in my supposed shyness.  Of course I took in all of it's various meanings, so I had to go to the person who could better tell me what it meant, my mother.

"Mother," I asked.  "What does it mean, that to be a mystic is to be alone?" My voiced chirped with all the innocence of one so young and naive, not even to puberty yet and sounding as if that time was a far while off.  I perched at the side of her great wing chair, an object that I associated with sagity and wisdom, mainly because I never asked a question where she was not firmly ensconced in it.

My mother looked up from the book she had been reading, a great volume with the words "Mealistica's Alchemy" embossed upon slightly musty leather.  She adjusted the reading glasses perched on the tip of her pert nose and then she smiled calmly and with much assurance to her lips.

"There is one thing that defines a mystic's life, one thing alone."  She began, careful to explain it to me in a way that I would understand.  "That is 'duty'.  We are here to serve the people of Sylvia and we cannot let anything get in the way of that duty, not even our personal lives."  There was no hint of bitterness in her soothing voice.  At my inexpirenced age, how was I to know of the hardships that my young mother had faced in her life?  I didn't, I merely took her word for it.

Those words embedded themselves firmly in my psyche so that I wouldn't forget.  Eventually I started to fear those words I should of never had to.  Wondering if my fate cursed me to be alone or if when it came down to it I was nothing more then a mindless servant to the Elementals.  In growths and spurts I even began questioning my already fragile faith.

That questioning is but the basis for this book that I am now writing.

This is my story.


Magus Bainbridge
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