For the events that preceded this journal entry, please visit http://www.theailoa.com

I count backwards on the fingers of one hand:

‘High Priestess’, ‘Flamecaller’, ‘Magi’,

then on the other hand: ‘Potion Doc’, ‘slave’ ‘filthy zulfi’.

From one to the other, it hardly seems real that anyone should traverse that amount of appellations. But here I sit on the grandest and strangest of them all. ‘High Priestess.’

Grandest and strangest Zulfi, am I. A Grand Zulfi. Let me take one end and marry it to the other, because I am in no way suited for the task that my father and brethren believe I am worthy to inherit.

My head is a mess of emotions that induce nausea when I linger on them for too long. In the morning I have to press for answers from Zun’dra. I need new books. I need new robes. I need my father’s advice.

Papa.

I need to sleep.