Incomplete
He returned once more; I believed he had departed for good, but I was mistaken. It seeps through my entire existence, the fragile construct I have assembled over these past three years, and now I am losing the battle anew. I wonder what surrendering to the Phaedrus will be like this time. I no longer possess the strength to resist him; my arsenal has been depleted, my hands are empty. Perhaps I could grapple with him and stage one final, grand struggle, but what then? I do not wish to battle any longer; I desire freedom from the constant fear of the next confrontation. She abandoned me, and once again, I was too quick to trust. I have developed the ability to detect the false joy on people's faces over the years – not a particularly useful skill. I can perceive their silent cries for love, the terrifying loneliness brewing within their weary souls. Perhaps I am drawn to that fear. I subconsciously believe that I can remedy it, that I can bend it to my will – though I have never s