Dear Journal,

Its been so long since I have written. I suppose I have been busy trying to fill my intellect with information about where I might find my parents, since signs are pointing to them not being dead at all, but perhaps they have simply passed into another dimension.

Tonight I write to you sweet journal, to try to discover my own secrets. Those of which I may not know that I am searching for at all until they are plundered before my face. Perhaps, I am speaking of those secrets of my heart, or perhaps its pure competitiveness that sits me here with quill in hand.

Whichever the reason, it is Sir Eric Von Strot that has lead me back to these weary pages. You would think it would be the tales of discovering a transported encampment, or helping to prevent a war, or getting an audience with the prince and in turn preparing for his arrival to our inn to stay a few nights. Or more stories of the Hags Kitchen and the strange phenomenon that I am apparently immune to certain types of cold spells disbursed of savvy mage orcs who apparently think I am to be dead. No, but of course my mind is turning to such things that in comparison seem trivial to my heart but not my logic.

He was a sight to see however dear journal. When I first met him in his expensive armor without a single dent, yes I do admit I thought him maybe to be one of the more ornate but less useful of Don Miguels companions. He soon proved my quick judgment to be false. He is not only useful but also charming and has such ambitions. Ambitions I realize now are not exactly in line with courting a freak of nature like myself. In fact, perhaps it is only my family name he may have been interested in when he asked me to accompany him to the games.

He fooled me you see. What I thought was real affection, the flowers, the invitation and he accepting my charm it has all seemed to wilt in the hot sun. For once he had won and as knighted, he didnt seem to seek me out in the sea of beautiful girls surrounding him.

I know, normally I wouldnt shy away. I could have easily flown above the crowd to see if he would catch my eye. But somehow, I didnt feel my heart could handle the disappointment, if I were to find he indeed wasnt looking to find me.

Bunny was there. She was indeed one of the many swooning for Erics attentions. She came over to me briefly to say hello, and give me her condolences for coming so close to capturing the brave now knighted Sir Erics heart, but to inform me that I simply was to lose with this type of numbers. I have to admit, smacking her intentionally with the back of my wing, was not very lady-like. Thank the heavens she is stupid enough to think me turning, and smacking her smack in the middle of here pretty block face was nothing more than a congenital twitch. Between you and me journal, I believe she only heard the word "genital" and thought I was making a pass at her.

Its not that Eric is a great catch either honestly. He is formal, and lawful. Which isnt bad, its just boring I suppose. I thought for a minute that there was some flame burning inside of him. I had a fun little time of it, fantasizing that flame was waiting to erupt just for me. Yes, it was indeed my imagination that turned this knightly gentleman into my personal roaring private fire of passion. And while inside of him, there is great athleticism, honor, courage and valor, there appears not to be the spark I thought at one time might be there. At least, not for me.

I can hear my mothers voice, telling me how young I am and I need not search for such things like love, especially with short-lived beings like humans. Shes right perhaps. Especially of looking for things like passion, lead to this feeling I have now. This feeling, I can only imagine is, heartache.

I can still hear the party going on from my window, and the sun is just about to go down and rise again in a few hours. Silly of me to be in my room and sulk, wondering. In fact, I think shall change into another of my favorite dresses and go out for a dance. Lia no doubt has a wide audience and perhaps a song to lift my spirits.

Goodnight dear Journal, I am off to cure a wounded heart. And for the first time, it appears to be mine.