Charles

~~~

It's late into the night. I've woken up from my sleep with a jerk, but I do not recall their being a dream to wake me up.

It seems so hot in here.

I feel like I'm burning from the inside, burning with lechery. It's been a long time since I've felt such pure desire, and it's almost scaring me with it's sudden appearance. But I suppose that is to be expected of a man that had resided in almost complete isolation.

I am writing all this in hopes to calm my racing mind, as it makes images resurface from my past, and creates new pictures, vulgar paintings of my desires.

A flash of a soft chest, a glimpse of pale, slim legs... cloudy, no, icy blue eyes, could it be? Hush, my heart. Some thoughts should remain hidden in the deepest parts of the mind.

And yet I am burning, just blazing, both with passion and embarrassment of my current state.

I must return to my bed before my mind presents an image to me that I do not wish to see. Not yet. Please.

~~~

I asked Arthur why he hated the painting he did a few days ago. He shrugged and tried to change the topic, but I wouldn't allow it. So, upon me insisting, he sighed heavily and sat me down by the kitchen table. It was sleeting outside, so we were cooped up in his house.

We sat just like we did yesterday, on opposite sides of the table. He was staring out the window again.

I was about to urge him to go on, but he cut me off.

In essence, he didn't like the painting because of what it portrayed. He said that the single rose in the fathomless darkness of the cold lake made him feel like he was alone, made him sad. For the last few months, he's been struggling - for the first time in his life - struggling with being alone.

And now that I have arrived, and he began to paint again, the first picture he created was that of loneliness. It made him feel uncomfortable in his own skin.

At about that point in his talk, he extended and took my palm into his own, squeezing it lightly. His skin was very tender.

As he smiled at me, his eyes warm, he said that he was glad that I showed up and ripped him out of the pool of depressive lonesome that he was drowning in. He said that I saved him.

It would appear that he has become quite dependent on me. Somehow, that's a nice feeling. It brings a warmth to my chest. It's a nice warmth, nothing like the flaming heat I felt within me last night. It's been some time since I last felt such pleasant warmth. All the way back when I was in love.

It's been eighteen days since my sin. It's also been six days since Arthur entered my life. It's odd how quickly we developed an almost brother-like bond.

~~~

Something on last night's writings: I'm not so sure if the feelings I hold for Arthur are truly as brotherly as I thought.

I realized this as Mark came to visit me this morning. He said he was dropping by just for a couple of minutes, as he was passing by when on his way to visit the capital and introduce himself to Her Majesty the Queen as the new Lord of this side of the Realm.

I was happy to see his face, which wasn't as exhausted as it had been the last time I saw him, and it felt good to hug him again, but it just wasn't the same feeling that I got when I was with Arthur.

This thought has pestered me for the majority of today. I simply can not comprehend what this unknown sense within my soul is, and what unheard thoughts it whispers to my mind. It's quite worrisome, as I'm used to having my feelings under control. But now it seems like my grip is slipping, and I'm losing my power over myself.

I found out that the reason for Mark's relaxed mood was the discovery of the rebellious plotters who burned down the mansion - or so he thought. Mark himself executed half of them, the rest were thrown in the dungeon.

My brother seems to have been relieved by the thought of revenge for our father's murder has been carried out. I never had even the slightest of an idea that he had such a violent side to him, and I fear what might happen to myself if he was to reveal the truth about the events of that wretched night.

It's past midday now. I haven't expected Mark to show up, so I didn't inform Arthur that I won't be coming to visit him. Not that I need to inform him - I'm not liable for him, and I am, after all, a free man. I shouldn't feel obliged to report to him like he's my overly attached wife. Our relationship is nowhere near to that of a married couple.

Why does it seem like I'm trying to convince myself?

Nevermind that.

I won't go visiting him today, mainly because I feel the need to prove to myself that I am not that reliant on him.

And it's also a chance to see how dependent he is on me. Just to assure myself and my confidence.

~~~

It's the evening now, and it's darkening quickly. The rest of the day had been somewhat of a flounder, staying alone now that I knew that a friendly soul was just a walk through the forest away. But my resolve stays strong, and I stand my ground, cooped up in my bedroom, reading and scribbling away at this journal.

It continued to snow throughout the rest of the day, quite heavily too. If it doesn't stop soon, we might get snowed in, and remain stuck in isolation until the melting begins.

I can hear howling outside. I knew there was plenty of wildlife in the woods, but I didn't expect wolves. That's silly, my hometown was named Howls for a reason. Of course there's wolves, but how many are there? A dozen? More? God knows.

Wolf attacks used to be a common event maybe five years back. They'd target our cattle, sometimes even lonely people. The biggest tragedy would be when children would wander out to the outskirts of the forest later in the evenings. Everyone would mourn the younglings.

As I wonder if Arthur is alright, I begin to greatly regret not visiting him today. Not only do I miss him, but I also can't help but worry. I know he's an adult man, but sometimes he seems so feminine that I feel like he'd be scared of the predators that are out there in the night. And he's alone right now. I just hope he doesn't get some silly thought and stroll out into the night, -  he has proven before to be quite keen on walking off into the forest. Sometimes I worry about him. A lot.

I can feel that tonight I won't be able to sleep easily. I fear the dreams that might haunt me. But I must rest, for I am quite enthusiastic about keeping my wits about me.

It's been nineteen days.