Asher Daemon – A.D., another little joke – grows well. I am surprised by it, although one would have thought by now my children would not surprise me. It was always said that they grow on love.
Perhaps it is merely that there is enough love here. One would think Lyria could sustain hundreds, and even the warrior queen surprises from time to time.
Anala has taken to him as though he were a pet, or a doll. She hangs over him and says “my lovely.” She seems impervious, my Anala. We do not speak of San as much. At the beginning I thought it important to say “as your father would like,” and such things. But now I realize I might as well encourage her to think of Shiva. Either she will or won’t, and it has little to do with me.
It does not bother her.
Avalon still puzzles and concerns. In many ways she does well, my heir. And yet the nightmares come, where she sobs of blood on the hands. Jeanne says perhaps what she did in ritual is at odds with her values. I hear the words and I can understand a little, but not very well. To destroy is only the other side of creation. I think the blood a little more literal.
No one understands why she is so much more affected by this separation than the rest, in that it is unclear whether it is her own fear which separates her, or whether there is more rejection. It would be the first question, I think, beyond “tell me.”
Ahren is becoming a man more and more daily. He comes to me each day. At first I thought out of duty, but then I realized no, it is the love of an older son for his mother, the habitual patterns of the young adult. And ah, he has my love. He suffers less, I think, or hides it better.
As I have said, it is such a blindness, even having arrived at the light. I used old ritual for new purpose, but I never considered the ritual itself overmuch. It is so familiar to me that I cannot see it.
Our family is wounded, yet such a family. I am rich indeed.