3 "Missandre"

I looked out the window of the stoney keep. In the distance I see hundreds of men, milling around like ants on the barren plain.

"Missandre." The voice from behind came as a shock, but I did not find myself surprised that she had come.

"Rosalind," I turned around, and there she was, a glowing astral projection floating in the middle of the room, long golden hair swimming around her. "Why have you come?"

My voice was gravelly, a stark contrast to her melodic voice that sounded like the hum of stars.

Her translucent blue eyes wavered and looked pained at the sound of my voice. "You look wretched. Why are you doing this to yourself? It is still not too late, please, turn yourself in, Missandre. I can negotiate with the Council on your behalf. Or just hide away and lay low. Stop researching and using magic anymore."

"What do you mean? The Council should not be interfering. All I asked, is that you all left me be."

"We can't. You are a threat to the world, Missandre. If you will not turn yourself in, we will have to kill you." Rosalind paused. "I am part of the subjugation army this time round."

"I will try not to kill you."

"It is your life I am worried about, not mine."

I felt a tinge of sadness at the ignorance of that sentence.

"Your army will die. But their deaths are not my fault, but the fault of the Council for sending them to their execution. You have been warned."

I turned my back to her again, staring out the window at the approaching army.

"Take care, Rosalind."

With an effortless wave, I cancelled her astral link and her projection zapped out. Astral projection was a very inefficient magic, the form difficult to maintain and the link very easily broken if discovered. She had expended a lot of effort to try to speak to me.

I didn't care much for anyone, but Rosalind..

The dream faded away and the next thing I knew, I was gradually waking up. Rosalind.. The name was vaguely familiar to me. She was definitely someone close to Missandre, and I had dreamt of her before. The memory was very distant, like it was from when I was still a very young child.

When I was young, my parents made me keep a diary to train my writing and I remembered I wrote a lot of my dreams in there.

Where did I keep that diary?