I often don't often understand her, Sara I mea. My little masochist. She's literally drowning in this wealth of knowledge before her, yet she's too stubborn to accept the life saver offered. Shes pushing herself too far and too hard and is begining to refuse the solitude of sleep in order to avoid the nightmares that infest it. I understand this mode of thinking, truely I do, I share many of the same incubi, but isn't a bit of terror worth escaping the possibility of putting one's life in jepardy because you're too tired to run fast enough? The Witchblade is useless to it's host if she isn't moving, and using the weapon is draining in and of it's self. I should probably speak to her of this, but how would I phrase it?

'Sara, not only do I break into your home, I know your sleeping habits and by the way the tapes you rented from Blockbuster are a day late' She'd be upset to say the least. I understand this too, Mr. Irons exercises the same prying tactics on me. Only I would never strike Sara, I have too many fond memories of our past lives to allow that possibility. It's this same knowlegde of what our past incarnations were to each other that evoke these possessive and protective tendencies in me. After all I am the Guardian of the Wielder.

It was the same when the Witchblade's host was Nefertiri and her protector was Annan of the Med-Jai royal guard. A rather fond borrowed memory of mine. It amazes me to silence that my Sara is so akin to that long dead woman, how alike I myself am to her guardian. Both women possess an unconventional mien, daring all who would say 'no' to do so to her face. I suppose the Blade seeks out the same qualities in modern New York as it did in ancient Egypt. I only wish Sara remembered these things more readily than she does, but then again I've had much more practice at regression under Mr. Irons' tutelage. In time she'll know. She already recognizes me as someone other than Irons' lackey (as she has termed me), which I believe is my only saving grace that has kept her from shooting me on sight.

If she remembered perhaps she would allow me to abate the extreme loneliness she feels, sedate much of my own as well. We are both being held in a purdah, both by our destinies, more specifically, her by the Weapon and me by Irons. The thought makes me sour. Once she remembers everything as I do, things will change.

Maybe I should help her along.