When I found out that my aunt's child existed, I had to see her. I had to know what she looked like. Did she smell like her? Did she smile like her? I watched from the shadows as she danced, Aunt Geneva's picture clutched in my fist. If I didnt know better, this was Aunt Geneva. No doubt who she was.
I admit, I felt hatred for her. Taking my beloved aunt away from the privlidge that she was born into. But then, I met with her. And we talked. She was just like her mother. But sadder. Blue eyes darker with hints of green. She had scars on her arms and chest where her shirt wasnt covering. She was like a broken doll. And I felt that instance that I had to save her.
Last night, I felt helpless. Just as helpless as the day the migranes started. Two weeks to the day of her boarding the Golden Dawn. I never paid attention to her eyes. Maybe they started changing then. I feel horrible for not catching it, not paying attention.
She hated taking pills, but she forced herself to take the meds to take care of the migraines. Grumbling and complaining the whole time. It is true what they say about doctors making the worse patients.
I went into her room to give her breakfast this morning. She was staring at the wall. She had already taken down the pictures so I dont know what she was staring at. Her face was blank, void of expression. And it stayed that way when she turned her head to look at me. She smiled, as if it was an afterthought that she should do such a thing and she looked at me. The smile not reaching her eyes. I asked her if she needed more meds. She said no. She got rid of what she had. And she said the weirdest thing. She said she was in no pain.
I have to talk to the Captain about getting that neuro-analyzer. I dont think it can wait.
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