Every chapter of this fiction is in two parts: the part of Rafflesia (which is a minority) and the part of Artemis' journal. If you have no interest at all on my OC, please feel free to skip it and go directly to Artemis' journal entry which is italicized and in first person (obviously). But do give her a try, at least in this chapter.

*The events in Artemis' journal refers to the sneak-peek to The Last Guardian from USA Today and the TLG summary at goodreads(dot)com

1

One

The attic felt magical, and the black, leather-bound notebook she had just found felt even more so. This little adventure to the storage room felt a little like discovering the Wardrobe to Narnia. Her mother had always shaken her head at Raffles' alacrity to books and adventures and magic, which Rafflesia's two older brothers never possessed.

The notebook was worn. You could tell that fingers had thumbed through its filled pages a hundred times. Actual paper pages! Rafflesia had seen authentic paper only once, but it was only a single sheet and behind a glass display. This time, the pages weren't restricted in a glass cabinet; she was holding the wondrous thing in her hands. The paper felt velvety and smooth under her fingers, and she could feel the ridges where the writer had penned his letters too hard.

One look at the thick journal, Rafflesia immediately knew it was special. It was more than special, it was mud man. The beautiful lines and swirls were obviously not the rough polygons of Gnommish letters. She had always been fascinated with the human English alphabet. The words on the notebook were even more captivating because it was written in such an elegant, neat script. All the i's were carefully dotted and the loops of the g's and y's went all the way up.

Clutching the notebook and dragging her oxygen tank, the elf made her way towards the light of the small window. The sim-sun's rays, barely penetrating the dusty, moldy glass, was the only source of light in the attic and it struggled to illuminate the small, cramp room.

"May 27, 2008" she murmured to no one. More than fifty years ago, fifty-four to be exact.

The bare whisper was difficult for her suck-ish lungs. The dust in the storage room was not helping at all. Cancer cells are all over her body, but lately they insisted on making her lungs the headquarters. Adjusting her breathing tube, the elf squinted her eyes (which is, thankfully, still cancer free) and tried to read the first diary entry in the dim light.

May 27, 2008

It had been a week since the undead fairy warriors have left my brothers' bodies. It had been a week since young Opal Koboi have been restored to her respective time stream. The universe seems at right again. I am convinced life would be fairly quiet from now on. The last chain of events have a finality about it. This time, I am certain the fairy-adventure, save-the-world chapter in my life has come to a close.

Thus, it is time to open a new one. And while I am on this overused metaphor of chapters and life, I have no intentions of leaving out fairies in the new chapter. In fact, I intend that fairies would be part of my life until the very end of this book. They are such an immense part of my life that they are no longer my friends. They are my family. Sometimes I already feel more fairy than human.

Of course, I say fairies but really, there is only one fairy I can not even begin to fathom life without.

On the outside, it is quite strange that I am using a mundane – not to mention unsecure (like a digital diary can be safe with that blasted centaur) –handwritten journal. I must confess that my reasons why I am using an ordinary moleskin notebook and pen are entirely wistful and illogical. It's just, it feels right to see my thoughts in ink, especially thoughts so close to the heart.

Yes, it is uncharacteristic of me to do things by feel rather than precise calculation. Lately, I find myself more inclined to give in to emotional impulses and unproven instincts, especially when it comes to Holly Short.

Let my logical deductions and schemes be recorded on my digital diary and video journal. In this notebook, I intend to record all my thoughts about Holly and finally unravel its meanings. Now that the gun shots and the time tunnels have subsided, there is nothing to distract me to the obvious truth. I am in no denial or under any illusion, unlike most average teenage boys. I have accepted that I am attracted to Holly, at the very least.

Flinchingly, I know I have been caught up with her ever since the coin that changed everything. Before, I have always passed it off as blasted puberty which insists to be felt despite my efforts, but now it insults me to call my connection to Holly hormonal. Could this be an infatuation? An eight-year-long (or five, if I do not count my lost years) withstanding infatuation is unlikely.

It is certainly much more than a mundane teenage tendency. I'm just not sure how much more, exactly.

"Raffles!" The door opened, letting in more light from the hallway. Mum's silhouette cast a long shadow on the box-strewn floor. Mum, seeing Rafflesia huddled by the window, tatted in worry. "What this dust is doing to your lungs! What ever possessed you to hide out in this attic, I don't know."

Mum always called the storage room attic, even though fairy residences ceased to have attics since the Taillte Wars aboveground. Raffles and her two elder brothers picked up the habit, and the small cupboard on the second floor has been known and referred to as "attic" ever since time memoriam. Mum was an expert at calling things names that weren't their real names.

"Relax, mum. I put the filter in before going in here." The young elf stood up from her crouch.

"Dr. Canter is here. He's been waiting for an hour, Raffles. I've been looking for you everywhere! Worried sick. Don't you dare do that again to me, you–"

"What? He isn't due to come until next week!" Rafflesia dreaded the doctor and his examinations. She dreaded anything that would remind her of her worthless body which insists on being sick.

Raffles walked slowly towards the door, while her huffing mother rushed to help her with her tank. It was always a big deal when Dr. Canter came. They lived a few miles from Haven City, in a humbled village tucked away in one of the scattered cave pockets in the Earth's mantle. The nearest transportation to main civilization, the Lower Elements Shuttle, was a one hour hovercraft ride away. Then it was a one hour ride to the nearest platform of the Stick, which brings them to Haven Central in ten minutes. That's why the specialist doctor, paid for by her brother's LEP wages, comes only once a month from San D' Klass Hospital in Haven.

"I'll take the tank, mum. You go and fuss on Canter's mustache. I'll go grab something in my room and follow you down." Mummy frowned, familiar and disappointed with the way Raffles made fun of her specialist.

"Doctor Canter, dear" She gave the tank to Rafflesia, anyways, and departed down the stairs.

Once her mother disappeared, she reopened the journal and skimmed to where she had stopped reading. Apparently, she had already finished the first entry. All there was is the writer's name, written in the same graceful hand.

Artemis Fowl II

"Raffles!" Mum called from downstairs. This time, her voice was already a little shrill. "Dr. Canter is asking for you, dear."

She chucked the closed journal under the rug, finding no other place to put it. Raffles, with her tank, made her way down the stairs. As the heavy oxygen tank went tug tug tug at each step, her mind drifted faraway, dwelling on the strange mud boy who felt more fairy than human and the elfin girl that made him feel so.

xxxxxx

A/N: I think I should mention that I got this idea from the fanfiction Holly's Diary by einstinette. Why shouldn't Artemis have a diary too, especially when he already has one in cannon! I based the journals on Artemis' diaries in TEC. I really enjoyed Artemis' POVs in TEC, despite TEC being the weakest book in AF in my opinion. I'm also slightly worried that Artemis is a tiny bit OOC, but I'm passing that off as love…? Hahaha. If you think I should publish this just as the diary and cut off Rafflesia's part, do say so. But I have lots of plans for Rafflesia. You could always skip her parts.

Also, I want everyone to know that I got the idea of dying cancer survivors being dependent in old mysterious journals from various books, namely: The Prophecy of the Stones by Flavia Bujor, The Fault in our Stars by John Greene and Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by JK Rowling (Riddle's diary and Ginny)

Review on what you think!