I have little time for writing my diary tonight. My attention has to be with my beloved Gwyn in her hour of need, in her hour of loss.

We were walking by the river, talking about nothing very much, mostly speculating why we both felt the need to be near water when we were stressed, or in need of calm. Suddenly, she doubled over, as though in pain, falling to her knees. As I bent to help her, all she could say was that Rachel had died, before breaking down in sobs. I felt so helpless. All I could do, and all I can do now, was to hold her, comfort her, and tell her how sorry I was.

And that was, and is, true. Heaven knows we butted heads enough, over the business with the Unseelie Raven, over her insatiable need to tell me how to be a demon, but I don’t think she was, underneath, a bad person She did as well as could be expected from one who had been a human artist, a vampire, had been sent to hell, and recalled as a demon. I thought she had cooked her own goose by her actions with the Cait kittens, but we never did find out what that was about.

As yet, we don’t know how she died, but I am sure that it wasn’t Valene. She has too much regard for Gwyn to do that. All I know is that Gwyn is heartbroken and will miss her. And, so, in a strange way, will I, since I never got to meet the person she was underneath, the artist that she had been and could have been. For now, all I can do is be there for Gwyn, to give what comfort I can.



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