(The page is streaked with a coppery hue, darker in some places than others.  No efforts have been made to clean it, and at the bottom of the page, a rough outline of a feather has been inked; a mere doodle in the extra space on the page.)

I am who I am.

I have gone back.

Leave it to him of all people to remind me that I… I am far more primal than my polished facade lets on.  Is this why I have felt so despondent of late?  So willing to bury myself in the pettiness of things?

Poor Martha… but no,  she should know to keep a respectful distance, by now… I am a predator and she displays her weaknesses too readily.  It is far, far too easy to watch her bleed… oh no, not really.  Even now  I am not quite that far gone, but she cowers and falters with every scornful look, every derisive comment and it satisfies me so.

Perhaps when the whiskey is gone, I’ll pity her.  Perhaps.
No.  She should have known better than to try and push her way into my world, my territory without invitation.  The day was there when I tried to befriend her, but she had to take what was not hers.  Has she learned, yet?  I doubt it.  She will and she’s not the only one.  Oh no.  The others… simpering, stupid little girls that think they can push their way into my life, take my place?  They will learn too… it would be wise if they learned from her, but they will not, will they?

A pity.

But it ought to be fun.

Tonight, something broke free when those words sunk in.  I don’t remember… what brought me out or how long I was out but when I focused…  How long has it been, since I’ve been in the fields, up to my waist in corpses and covered head to toe in blood?

I cannot recall the last time I felt so alive, so determined, so… at peace.
Raven; angel of death…

I have returned… with or without Her, I know my place in this world once more.

If only my beloved were still here.