Paranoia. It can do very strange things to a man. Dreams, the bad kind, are just another form of it. Only more haunting. And despite of being surreal they appear to be so damn close to reality that you believe to see small reflections of them in the oddest of places.

I can’t look at Jason anymore without thinking he will be the guy who will kill Dee one day. It’d take a lot to make him do that. He knows how important she is to me. Yet every man comes with a price. So does Jason. Hell, I’m probably not any different from that either. I dare anyone to guess mine though. And Duke Dooright isn’t easily figured out either. Part of me wants to rip him apart for having done what he did in my dream. How ridiculous is that?

I can’t look at Dee without thinking of her as the woman who murdered Jean. And for what, I ask you. Jealousy? When I’ve spent every year since I left puberty behind with her? When I dragged her into all of this, just so I wouldn’t have to let go? But I know better than that. She’s got my blood in her veins. Of course she would kill him, given enough reason and half a chance. Meaning that I made her a murderer. So who would be to blame but me.

I can’t look at the Prince without thinking of my own failure. I shouldn’t have given them as much freedom as I did. I should have had a closer eye on her rules of etiquette. I should have given her better council. Most certainly I should have prevented most of the damage that has her suffer these nights. And I did none of this. Instead I watch her knight fall, unable to do anything about it except for maybe buying him a few nights more.

My eye deceives me. I know nothing anymore.

Kill the boy and let the man be born.