A Pair of Problems

Of the myriad of things that have been troubling me lately, from the plague to the Cloaks to the dwindling funds, there are two that have been playing in my mind most pressingly.

Two men, both of whom seem to want me destroyed but for entirely different reasons. Well, that is not entirely true, both have very little reason for their threats and condescending attitudes. Not as I see the situation, anyway. But that is somewhat beside the point, in the end.

The first of them wishes me out of business because of one conversation in which my bad mood, brought on by this lingering illness and the tiredness that comes with it, combined with my unfortunate opinions of the man in question and I was a little rude to him. Now, it seems, a groveling apology and a public humiliation of myself is not enough to make him change his mind, and I can only see him becoming an increasing thorn in my side. The fact of his nobility only serves to make the situation more dangerous and difficult to deal with.

The second I am more worried about, as he has a greater ability to directly ruin me, though I don't know if he realises it. His reasons for being so hateful are rather more simple: blind prejudice along with information that he should not be in possession of (and indeed, I have no idea how he got a hold on it). It is that information I don't want anyone to have, and I will do almost anything to ensure it doesn't spread. However, of the two he should be the one more easy to deal with, and in fact I have already begun the process of making sure he does not develop into a larger issue; he lacked credibility even before I made a few carefully placed statements about him to various individuals.

I am hoping both, in time, can be dealt with delicately, or at least finally. I do not like being threatened. I haven't fought to be where I am now to lose it all to either of these petty men.

Halmer's Disappointing Things

I used to run a shop. I used to run a shop well. It made a decent amount of money; I was successful. When did that change? When did I become the woman that has to scrape together all her savings for the deposit on a stall? When did I become the woman who stands at the side of the road in a storm, trying to ignore the cold and wet that bites through her cloak and puts on a smile, attempting to convince passers-by that they even want to look, never mind buy?

I don't know, but I have. It's so much less than I deserve but it's got to work; it's got to. I don't have the savings for a second chance.

Of course, it might not matter. Halmer's Prettiest Things could become the most successful thing Seahaven has ever seen or burn to the ground tomorrow and I'd still be dying. The plague's grip on me seems to be getting ever tighter; I drink anything anyone gives me to relieve the symptoms for a little while, but they're back again sooner every time. I have never felt this ill before; I am just praying to the Six for the strength to do better than my father, to keep fighting it.

All the talk of a cure being here soon doesn't help. For everything everyone has been saying, I've not seen anything come of it. Not myself. But I suppose I just have to hope that their searches are on the right path, that it really is to come as soon as they suggests, because I really, really don't want to die. Not like this, at least.

It's not the death that's meant for me, I'm sure of it.