First friend

After that emotional night, it seemed that an invisible wall of uneasy tension between Vanessa and I collapsed. This seemingly obvious barrier was something that I had failed to realize even existed; my ineptitude on this front was most likely due to my lack of social experience.

Regardless, the more I thought about our actions until now, I realized the difference between that and our current actions. This only made the origins and the make up of this now pulverized barrier abundantly clear. Before, there had always been this distance between the two of us. So even though we traveled together, ate together, and even killed together, there was something that separated us. Something that was a gaping ravine that inhibited our interactions. Something that stopped us from being able to truly speak to one another. This thing was a lack of trust.

It rightfully made sense though. To Vanessa, I don't really know what kind of existence she views me as. While I would really like to ask her that, a question of that sort isn't something I'm really prepared to ask. I mean I'm kind of afraid what her response would be. Though I can imagine that there wouldn't be much trust between someone who (somewhat…) forced someone into an unbreakable contract, despite the person in question pledging undying loyalty. The contract only states that she only can't kill me intentionally, no where did it say she had to trust me.

Getting off topic again, oh well. To me, Vanessa had been a bloodthirsty individual who only was following me for an undetermined reason, and was rather suspicious. But the more I got to know her, the more her antics became….endearing. She became less suspicious and as I got to know her warped personality bit by bit, my suspicions completely disappeared (though some doubts appeared). Should I say her intentions became clear? She really was following what her clan's rule was.

Regardless, after that night, a bridge of solid, but tentative unconditional trust had been established between us, flimsy as that bridge may be, I felt I could trust her to have my back when it mattered.

Now our actions were more in sync, more relaxed (well as relaxed as they can in a bandit and monster filled forest), we laughed together more, shared a few crazy stories about our exploits, and even sang together around the campfire (Vanessa's voice wasn't bad, but wasn't admittingly great either). It was fun, and I started experiencing a warm emotion I hadn't felt since I was a kid.

This feeling….it gave the impression that we were comrades-in-arms; maybe even friends? Though maybe this impression was entirely one-sided from me, I didn't really think that to be the case. All I could think at this point was something along the lines of, 'So my first friend after this long is this bloodthirsty lunatic, huh. I can't really say she's crazy though, otherwise I'd be a hypocrite. Hahaha..ha..ha..ha? Great, now I'm depressed'.

Besides what was unseen a more visible change occurred to. Every night after eating our dinner, I would fully devote myself to teaching Vanessa. The curriculum was reading, writing, and mathematics. Vanessa tried her best to learn what I was teaching her, but I admit that I'm probably not the best teacher.

In order to supplement her learning, I gave her one of my empty journals and a few writing utensils to utilize. I had picked up the habit a few years ago as a way of holding together my sanity, and I hoped it would rub off on her. Writing large amounts of text of course, not the sanity part. After all, repetitive and creative practice is the best to learn how to write (In my opinion).

There were dozens of filled journals in the bottom of my bag, proof of my constant daily habit. However, there were some journals that I kept under literal lock and key. In a safe.

Those were journals that I did not dare ever open. They were not cursed Arcane devices, like the bone-white sword. No, in that box were the first ten to twelve journals I had written, and I would rather not so much as think about that time in my life.

Let's just say I haven't always been as well mannered, well spoken, and (most importantly) sane, as I am now. Cursed those stories may not be, but one could say their contents were like looking into a scene from the deepest and darkest depths of hell. It certainly was a rather dark time….a time best left forgotten.

-Callahan Nyx: New Year: 861-