Entry 10
It is like wading through sticking, clinging fog; fog that is thicker than mud. Its tendrils cannot reach through the glass, but its mind probes as if it had tentacles inside my mind. It longs to devour my thoughts; I can feel its hunger. The mirror kin has taken its face, but I wonder how afraid he is of the illithid? My own mind resists, and I try to block its attempts to pierce my thoughts; it wants to be free, to feed. There are golems nearby, so they will prevent it, prevent me from freeing it. It knows I must kill it. She knows it too. When did I begin to serve her? Through the illithid, I see more of my memories as it reaches down, breeching the barriers; it seeks to corrupt, to twist, whisper and lie, but it begins to fear me. I don't know why.
I think of the tubes, and how easily we could copy it. Its hatred transcends the glass.
I wonder at her purpose. Has she spared me? What is she fashioning me into? A mirror kin, an illithid? Could she be making me into him? Or something like him? Am I a weapon of her design, her intent to slay him? Or am I something else?
She tells me more, now. There are less of Bhaal's spawn left. She told me a blue dragon and a fire giant mortally wounded one another, that the giant was witched, but the magic failed after the dragon tore his head off. That an elf maiden pierced the giant's heart after sneaking into his fortress.
I asked how she knew. She shook her head, and then I asked how many were left of her fifteen. Hers, not mine. Her lips drew into a line. Perhaps she doesn't tell me as much as I think. Rat doesn't report to me any more; he occasionally speaks, but he goes to her. When did that happen? She asked what progress I had made with the illithid. I didn't answer. Then she patted my arm, and smiled slightly, saying not to give up.
I asked Rat if the golems brought back only the dead. He looked uncomfortable. I told him that I knew the broken tubes had been repaired. He scurried off before I could make further inquiries. He must fear her more than me. Had she perfected the death ritual? Could she be using it to sustain herself? Once, I would have questioned; now, I would not be surprised.
She lets me see our child sometimes. Lets. Our girl is beautiful. She has her mother's hair and eyes mixed with my own. There is a playful steak to her; she reminds me of Imoen. But then she looks serious, and I am reminded of her mother, or perhaps myself. Did I lose my laughter? When did I last smile? She blows bubbles, and smiles at me, gripping my finger in her little hand. I could not imagine anyone hurting her, but how strong is she? Is she truly real? She feels real. If I am Bhaal's spawn… then I am nothing but a lesser copy, just as our child's mother is.
How does she feel about the drow, I wonder?