Lucean likely thinks me insane with the way I carry on.  I am not a school girl, I am a woman who has had a troll for a lover.  I should be beyond the blushing and stammering when subjects such as sex and flirting are breached.  And yet I find myself shy around him; painfully, stupidly so.  I feel embarrassed to have him see me so without a word to say when I am educated and have a vocabulary that makes most orcs stare at me as if I were speaking something beyond their native tongue.

And yet, he tells me he has a crush on me.  Lucean likes me. 

I suppose I should be honest with myself here.  Though curiosity of anything new is always a driving force in my thoughts and actions, it's become clear that while Lucean being a Death Knight is what drove me to speak with him, it is not what keeps me speaking with him.

I'm still as fascinated as ever by these people who have touched the Lich King's power and are now returned to our fold, some more rehabilitated than others.  But my fascination with Lucean has gone beyond what he is and now focuses on who he is.

How is it possible that someone who, for all intents and purposes, has been made to be a living weapon, can care for another person?  I fear that my curiosity in just how deep his feelings can go is part of the reason I allowed myself to be pulled into his lap and cuddled the other night.

The biggest part of the reason I allowed him to touch me is that I do like him in return and it had been so very long since I'd been held by someone, anyone, that I was almost overwhelmed with the feeling of his strong, cool arms around me.

I did score a point against him in our battle to make one another blush, however, and it was quite by accident.  I told him that having him in my house, on my estate, made it feel like a home again.  It wasn't much of a blush and he was much better at covering it up than I was, but it was there all the same and once he had me in his arms, he admitted to it in a rushed whisper against my ear.

When it was time for sleep, both of us seeming tired, I asked if we were to sleep apart.  He was going to suggest we do so, but said that he was open to other arrangements if I were comfortable with it.  I almost said yes.  The temptation to rush into this is strong; this man, this undead, ethereally beautiful man, makes me giddy at times with just one simple kiss.  And yet I feel that to rush would be to ruin this tentative friendship we've established.

And so we parted ways with a kiss and went to our separate rooms.  And I stand by my assessment that he does indeed make this house a home for me once again.  Regardless of what happens with us, I will keep that room open for him so that he can always have a place to go if he needs it.

Before I retired, I slipped from my room and went across the hall to speak with Elisabeta.  She was finally awake. I believe she slept for almost two days straight, only waking to eat and the like.  When I entered after knocking I found her curled up on the floor, crying; her journal lay open to the last page next to her. 

I have never seen Elisabeta cry.  Not ever.  Not even when we were young and she would be hurt, physically or emotionally, she never shed a tear.  I didn't know she was capable of something so~  Normal.

Perhaps it was because she never had cried a tear in her life, but she seemed almost in pain.  She cried silently, shaking and hardly making a sound, but the tears that poured from her soaked her now short hair and the carpet she lay upon.

I began crying too, for what else could I do.  My best friend, the only woman who knows all of my secrets and has been there when I've needed her, was in pain.  I pulled her into my arms and we cried together for some time.

When we finally pulled ourselves together, she said that she didn't remember any of the things she'd written in the journal and that if that was the type of woman she had been, she didn't want to remember them.  It broke my heart to hear that.  For all of Elisabeta's faults, I still adored her as she was.  And she accepted me unconditionally.

She asked me about our time together and I told her of when we met and how long we've been friends.  I told her of all that I could think of and when I finished she smiled at me and said that she was lucky to still have a friend in me.  Then she drifted to sleep.  Luckily we'd moved to her bed or she'd have slept on the floor again.  She is, while now a bit thinner than she was, still much larger than I am.

I finally made my way back to my bed and fell into an exhausted sleep.  I took it easy yesterday, only leaving my room to see to Sabe's needs and to get food for myself.  I indulged in a rarely enjoyed pleasure of mine; romantic fantasy novels.

Lucean and I once spoke on that subject, speculating that perhaps we are in such a fairy tale, with a knight rescuing a fair maiden.  He said that it was more like a dark knight intent on capturing a fair, scholarly lady.  I reminded him that I could very well be the old crone in the story.  We eventually agreed to disagree on that point.  And then he said, "Just a fairy tale."  And I felt my heart deflate slightly.

When I feel my emotions threatening to overwhelm me, I tend to hide myself within my research.  Knowledge, when it is true, is more reliable than emotions, which are fickle and hard to figure out.  At least for me.

Perhaps it's time to head to Dalaran and face my past and my future.  Perhaps I won't feel so out of sorts once I have something to focus on; something beyond Lucean.  The poor man is likely sick of me already.

I almost forgot: I encountered Verletah in Warsong Hold the other night.  Apparently he's fled his wife and is now hiding out in Northrend.  I could see on his face how much his mistake has cost him.  I wish I could do something for him, but my love for him is no longer what it once was.  He still carries with him the pain of hurting me.  I told him I forgave him, but I'm not sure he'll ever get over it.

I enjoyed talking with him again.  I missed his soothing accent and his warm wit.  I felt relaxed in his presence.  At least until the end when he, out of the blue, asked about the Knights of the Ebon Blade.  I wasn't expecting it or I might have hidden my reaction better.  As it was I blushed the color of my hair and stammered an answer.  He shrewdly guessed my interest in Lucean was more than just friendly and academic in nature.

It wasn't until I heard the words from his mouth, "Ya gotta thing for one 'o dem deaders, eh?", that the truth of his words truly hit me.  Verletah headed to his bed to sleep before his next shift to heal the wounded.  And I returned home, his words still ringing in my ears.

Am I falling for a dead man?  And why does that thought only fill me with butterflies and a worry that he could never reciprocate?