The Grisha Diaries (A Darklina Fanfic)

Chapter 3: human

Dear Diary,

The weeks since we moved in have turned into months. Mal and I have started receiving quite a few visitors. It seems the news of Santa Alina living in Keramzin has spread and that we are now permanently situated in a very findable place. Despite telling these visitors over and over again that I am not a Grisha and that I can no longer summon, they continue to be persistent. I can't help but feel like a fraud even so. I can't be their Sankta, but it doesn't mean I can't help. I never exactly went through "Sankta" training, but sometimes I wish the Apparat had been kind enough to run me through the basics. Other than sacrifice and martyring of course, the only Sainthood requirements I am intimately familiar with.

Most of the persistent visitors are desperate otkazat'sya that believe me to be more than I am and hope for a blessing of some sort. Although I refuse to bless them, I do listen to them and whatever issue brought them to me. It is the only way I could help these people without being a Sun Summoner and without giving people false advice or hope I am not worthy of giving. Sometimes, I respond, but mostly I just sit down with them and a pot of tea and listen. Sometimes, I paint their portraits as they tell me their stories. Sometimes, they paint with me.

I'm sure the staff think I'm mad. Painting all over the place. Inviting all sorts of random people. But, isn't any woman who achieved her life's purpose before 20 years old at least a little mad? These visitors give me something to do with my days and a lingering reminder of my purpose in my past life.

Sweet Dreams,

"Are you coming to bed my angel?" Mal half groans. Using 'angel' to balance his tone.

"Why are you groaning?"

"I can't sleep, your light is too distracting"

"We've slept by fires, in caves, while thunderstorms boom around us and my measly light is too distracting?"

"Alina, no need to be dramatic, just turn off the light if you no longer need it."

It was a simple conversation. One that shouldn't have hurt the way it did. "One second Mal. One more thing and I'll come to bed"

I toy with the ring on my finger, a habit I've gotten too accustomed with, as I think of how to best describe my current feelings.

P.S. Sometimes I'd swear I can feel it. A pulse of warmth. Like a phantom limb. And then heartbreak takes over when I'm forced to relive the pain of realizing it's not there anymore.

I've been trying to write more. Collecting my thoughts and stories. It feels healthy. I was inspired by the diary we found in the apple orchard farm outside of Novo-Kribirsk. And, the day after Mal and I left Os Alta we stopped at a market in a small village outside of Ryevost, where we had stayed that first night of our freedom. This notebook, with it's slick black leather casing adorned with gold metal accents on the corners, was too beautiful to not buy. It cost a pretty hair clip, which by no surprise had also been gifted by Nikolai, but I didn't believe I would find any other book worthy of holding all of my secrets.

I close my diary abruptly, shoving away my brief depression, and hiding it away in its compartment within the wooden desk. I subsequently put my pen back in its cup and turn off the sconce on the wall beside the desk. In the dark I slowly make my way to the bed, walking carefully and cautiously as one does when they suddenly get thrown into the pitch black no matter how familiar the terrain.

As I climb into the bed and slip under the covers, Mal wraps his arms around me in his characteristically suffocating bear hold. His body curves around mine, the familiarity of him comforting me. His chest fully covers my back and his lower torso perfectly forms around my butt. As his body relaxes more and more I simultaneously feel his pelvis start to ever so slightly thrust into my back. For a second I wonder if he wants to make love or just fall asleep suffocating me.