As it turns out, Dianizia is starting to get used to getting what she wants.
Oh wait. Snub… well, not the winner, but a winner, of … well, a Godswar, and that might be bad.
So some Dreamstalkers harvested all of Prism’s eggs while she was all trying to have like one fucking day of bliss with … yeah, Zhazzy, aboard the Immaculate. Dianizia hasn’t been this furious in a long time. Vey’G conveyed telepathically to P after the fact how much Ellarie was all-in for his love, and that he just secured yet another legal victory in C, I’s high court. Dianizia is steeled to fucking take out Vey’Ghul. Old Zhazzy clone is being a shockingly amazing lover to P through her trauma.
At any rate, Prism is fucking horrified, terrified. Loving old Zhazzy’s arms are little solace now.
And then in a flash that loving Z is gone. Snatched away by Dreamstalkers. Creepy fucks.
But he left behind a solitary drunken journal entry. Ha.
Against perhaps my better judgement I start another journal. I need some clarity of thought.
Apparently I am a clone. Dianizia had Immaculate create me to present me to Micah in the hope that her ostensible love for me would be enough to abandon her plans to wed the Savant Vey’Ghul that was the victor of the Godswar on one dimension. Strangely enough, her plan seems to have worked.
I am a clone. This knowledge is unsettling. I already felt like my soul was in some bizarre fugue. Or perhaps simply dead. And now this. The ghost of Xyv lectures me on compositional fugue in the back of my mind. Shut the fuck up, Xyv. Why must his voice so often be in my head?
I am a clone. This was not supposed to be who I became. Destiny is a cruel word and a fool’s errand.
Micah’s love for me seems genuine. I truly do not think she has malicious or even ulterior motives with all this. She was a vampire savant, betrothed to one of the most ludicrously powerful beings ever, and she abandoned that for me. Granted, she was clearly in over her head, and perhaps she realized stretched across a long enough timeline her fate as Vey’Ghul’s wife would be grim. Perhaps she has managed some more wisdom now that she is longer of tooth.
You’re a funny man, Zhazran. A funny, sad little man.
I quite impulsively asked for Micah’s hand in marriage. Why?
I stared at that last word through another glass of wine. Why, why, why? Do I love her? I once loved her, deeply. I hated my love for her, I hated that weakness in me. Was it some strange aspect of pride? Claiming her hand that spurned the great overlord god as some badge of honor to make up for the wasteland of bad luck and failed potential of my past, was that it? A trophy wife, some sort of consolation prize?
No. The truth of it is that it simply feels normal to have her as a lover, as it never did with her sister, the mother of my only child. Almost… proper. My logic cannot pin it down. But after all I’ve been through, I think it may be time to just breathe and let my heart have a turn finally. But can I?
I do not understand her love for me. I do not suppose that I have to. Morrigan never loved me like Micah seems to. My affections for Micah are a rare distraction that is actually efficacious against the ghosts of my past clawing at my sanity. I should ask Dianizia to erase certain memories… Since I’m a custom order anway, perhaps I should go all the way and chase contentment? Would I still be me? Is any semblance of contentment possible with my memories intact?
Fantasies. I used to have such a laser of a mind. So focused, so driven. Just look at this wine-adled diarrhea of words. Zhazran the Pathetic.
Will that manipulative harpy let us to have a life together? If so, is contentment possible with that life? What options are before us? I find myself mulling using Immaculate to go to a dimension as similar as possible to our original one and simply having another go at it all with Micah at my side. How far will he go to spite Micah for spurning him? How much will that little wench let us have our space unmolested by her machinations? How long until Micah’s love turns into hate once again, or mine for that matter?
Another glass of wine and the letters swim before me. I must just let go. Zhazran the Clone, Zhazran the Unanchored, Zhazran Letting Go. Come what may. I will see Zalyre again to tell her goodbye. I have to. Then I will see where the winds of Prism take me. Why the fuck not? What the fuck else in life has been worth one damn thing?
((The journal started out with rushed writing very much against Zhazran’s typical standard of excellence in penmanship and writing, and it only got worse as the entry went on and he apparently got more and more sauced))
Moving forward, Prism using her lucky feat landed a 22 luck save. That’s decent.
She read the journal entry ooc, our next step is doing it IC vis a vis Dianizia and machinating the next move. As of now, Prism is beset by feels and ready to go crazy on fate, all in, to try to save THAT PARTICULAR AND SPECIFIC ZHAZRAN. … K.