I've been trying to put it to words for hours now; this feeling that I have.
Corkirk has been destroyed, and we stand in the fairly well preserved corpse of a long-forgotten city. A sizable force of rather violent and ingenious halfbreeds are making their way to complete their sacking of the region, and I've just spent the last couple of days overcoming the insidious obstacles lain down by an unnerving apparition from ages past.
I understand each part of this feeling. Each individual part makes sense. The exhaustion, fear, anxiety and dread. The elation of my preternatural gifts coursing through my veins like they never have before. What I can't explain is what all of those are when they are together. Ambivalence doesn't begin to describe it. It isn't explanation enough. The idea that there are aspects to this nightmare that I enjoy is understandable, but there is something else there.
I've been inquired about my family: they've remained cloistered at the estate ever since we learned of the first attack. Not only that, but the estate is firmly outside the reaches of this new city. "How are they doing?", or "Why haven't you checked in on them yet?" have been asked several times now.
They have all probably left. Mother's parents are most likely still there due to their inability to travel for long periods of time, but I imagine my sister and parents began packing the moment the city began to rise. There was a reason only one of us was sent. I knew what I was getting into. I do wish I had made more of my last visit with them, but I both understand and agree with our plan should the worst come to pass. We can't let the family line come to an end for any reason; especially not this little town and its little people.
To that end, I must admit that I don't know why I'm still here. I think it has something to do with that feeling. It's not loyalty; that much is for sure. These few have impressed me, but I still can only just tolerate most of them. It isn't as simple as a lust for power; this circlet may be a marvel, but the initial awe it instilled upon my person has long since worn off, and I certainly have no interest in this city.
No matter how many different reasons for my continued stay in this situation I think of, none of them ring true. Is it some form of acceptance? The idea of seeing something through to it's end? Masochism? Some sort of combination of two or more of these?
Perhaps I'll learn what this is if I get through it.