"At the innermost core of all loneliness is a deep and powerful yearning for union with one's lost self."
-Brendan Francis

I profess to be the man who owns the world; the man to whom nothing is denied, nor questioned, nor lost. The man of a thousand acts, forever dancing for the crowd that populates this tattered earth in the knowledge that they envy of me that which they cannot have. They cannot have my freedom, my unclipped wings, the assurance in all that I have is right by me.

I have the looks to woo whomsoever I choose, to coerce those into doing what I desire, be it politics or pleasure, and for those who are swayed by the less material things of our world I have my wit. I have my sharp tongue, my elegant and flourishing words that each paint a thousand intricate pictures, my never sated insistence on my own apparent surety.

Yet, I do not have it all. I do envy others their possessions; I do not covet, merely long for the day when I may be
able to profess as such.

I envy them their solitude.

What it must be, to sit in the darkness alone and relish the precious moments. To be content with oneself, and to be at ease with time in all senses. I do not intend to suggest that they are without their troubles, but I am sure that they do not fear the silence. They do not do everything in their scope to hide themselves from their regrets, do they? They do not play the fool for their own benefit, an actor who never rests, never slips out of the role that he has adopted.

I fear loneliness. I fear finding myself with nobody by my side, nobody to support me in my fruitless endeavour to run from an implacable foe. I fear days spent as in my youth, locked behind a wall of cold armour, surrounded by nothing but the ramblings of insanity from a once-warm father, and with only my thoughts of turmoil to turn to.

If I am left alone these days, I am filled with such thoughts once more. I reflect a lot upon my decisions, both ill and not, and find it a long trek to remember times without loneliness as my sole acquaintance. Was it myself who turned from companionship, or was the choice never mine to make? Had I stuck through and never left my father, maybe I would have found my true place. Perhaps I would have come to see the way of the Empire, felt safer in my role as a dispenser of justice, and been content to live within the family of suspicion.

I sought to lose this icy sensation with the regulation of the soul. I journeyed for some weeks, detaching my mind from my body of the Empire, and contemplated the higher powers that my father insisted could not exist, all in the name of science.

I can create power, therefore the gods have no power over me.

I found some followers of the Light of Kiltia, listening to them preach and seeking comfort in their words, of the gods that could and would see an end to all suffering, no matter how insignificant or how painful it was, no matter the standing or wealth of the victim under Their watch.

What little comfort I found was of no use to me. Cynicism runs thick in the Bunansa blood.

After this I took my opportunity and fled my old life, my old name, becoming the man with whom women wished to be, and men wished only to be. I distracted myself this time with the pleasure of the body and of the flesh, pickling my insides with various spirits and liquids that would be fit only for cleaning floors, and I charmed my way into the beds of many a young lady. I am not proud of what I was, and I wish I could say that I have fully changed my ways, but some weaknesses and fail-safes can never be overcome.

At least this way, I was never alone. I would wake with a woman beside me before I slipped away into the night, someone with whom I could distract myself for at least a few hours before I stalked off to ingratiate myself with another easy soul. When no woman was to be had, alcohol came to my aid. I daresay now that my drinking only depressed me further, allowing me to mull on my thoughts, although it also made me bolder and more arrogant, traits that I eventually wove into the fabric of the leading man as a far cry from my old persona.

It was at around this period in my existence that the one remedy for my loneliness stepped into my life. The lovely
Viera who by chance ended up at my side and, unlike everyone else who deafened me with empty promises that they would forever be there for me, she has yet to leave. She is silent, although her silence is not filled with awkwardness - it speaks volumes more than my constant banter ever could. She reads me, knows how to compliment my phrase before even I know what I aim to say, and she is loyal. With her beside me, I no longer feel alone.

Sometimes we both brood over matters out of our present control, nightmares of our past, although since we passed through Eruyt Village and Golmore Fran seems more at ease with herself. We have had little time to discuss the recent events, still attempting to adjust from the partnership we had grown so used to to accommodate four more persons into our midst, but I sense that having visited that which haunted her, she has confronted her demons.

I had hoped that I may feel the same with our journey fast approaching Archades, but now I fear 'tis not the solution to my personal dilemma. I grow tetchy and restless, snapping with inconsistency over the simplest of things, and I can see that the others know not how to react to my unpredictable temper.

I am the only one of us to still possess his father, yet I resent the thought of seeing him once more. Surely they must scorn me for the lack of affection I feel for the man. Surely they must envy me my father as I envy the rest of the populace their solitude. Or, mayhaps, is this how it would feel? Is solitude an aspect that feels so much like a burden, as my father feels to me? A responsibility that weighs heavy on the soul, draining the last few dregs with which we may fight.

We arrive in the Imperial City tomorrow, and I wish only to turn and flee. Fran has noticed my discomfort, I am aware, and I see her often surveying me with her eyes attempting to comfort me. You are not alone.

I pray now to whatever fates may hear, that whatever transpires tomorrow shall guide me my new path. Let me find myself once more, lost and running pirate no more. Let Ffamran forgive that which he most resents, and forget the troubles of the past. Let my father find himself a few moments of lucidity with which to recognise me, and perhaps feel pity for me, ache to aid me as a father should.

Should none of this occur in the coming future then, Faram be swift, and give me my penance. Help me find redemption, break down this wall that isolates me and, no matter what, save Fran from the inevitable darkness. If she relies on me at least half as much as I do her, my eventual passing shall be like the death of a thousand summers.

And should I lose her, my one salvation shall be out of my grasp forever.

Solitude is a bittersweet desire.