The Memoirs of Theolon

Entry 8

You can probably imagine how I felt after that. Kicked out of my own house, by my own bloodline, my family, when I was at my most vulnerable.

At first, I wanted to kill. Murderous intent. I had lived on the streets, and I imagined, what it would be like, to just up and stab this man walking by me, that woman at the dressmaker's. How their blood would pour like mine once did.

Then I realized that the problem was with me. I tried to kill myself about then.

I can still remember how I felt, like I was getting crushed. Of course, it was all in my head. Fucking depression.

I still feel that way. Granted, not as often. But I still feel the need to get over it. To release myself from the pain. The hurt. Death.

I was about twenty of your human years when I had walked over to the bridge that spanned the river in front of the royal palace. T'was the highest bridge in the town; it would suit my purposes. The water was icy, massive chunks breaking apart in the rapids.

The guards had noticed me about then. They were confused, I think, wondering what I was doing, leaning so close to the edge of the wooden bridge. The two that were stationed outside pulled their decorative swords out and starting advancing towards me.

I remember one of them yelling at me, telling me to do something or the other. I didn't pay much attention to them. I was focusing on the water that would take my life.

That was the only time I've felt at peace.

When I was about to die.