First, I apologize for that pretentious title – I heard it in a strange dream I had this morning. The woman who said it sounded exactly like Madam Hooch from the Harry Potter movies and the Lady Cassandra from Doctor Who. Weird. She also asked me if I was male or female, which was even weirder since I’m 100%, undoubtedly male. I mean, I’m still a boy, but I’m pretty sure there are no girl parts here.
Anyway, I thought the title was quite appropriate, given that this is my first ever diary entry and all. Oh, my dear diary, you simply would not believe how shitty today was. Well, every day is pretty much a giant heap of shit for me, since I’m an orphan living on the streets, but today just took the cake. Where to begin? Hmm, I guess a fucking bird SHITTING ON MY HEAD is a good place to start. Seriously — there I was, hanging out with my big sister in the downtrodden, snow-covered slum we call home, when a robin suddenly decided my forehead was the perfect place to empty its bowels. As I regurgitated the crust of moldy bread I’d eaten for breakfast, Rose tried to tell me that having a bird crap on you is a sign of luck, like finding a four-leaf clover. Somehow I doubt she’d be saying that if she’d been on the receiving end of the aforementioned piece of crap. And, hard as it is to believe, the day only got worse from there.
While I tried to scrape the worst of the bird muck out of my hair, Rose stared at the majestic Castle Fairfax in the distance and started to talk longingly about what it would be like to live there, as she always did when we were cold and hungry. That is to say, all the fucking time. She tried to tell me all about the castle’s owner, Lord Lucien, and how lonely he must be since his wife and kid died. Like I care about any of that, I wanted to say. He’s not the one out here freezing his balls off while scrabbling around in the dirt for food, begging for gold and fending off drunken tramps. I’m sure he’ll understand if I don’t send him a freaking sympathy card.
Now, Rose and I have had to grow up more quickly than most — living in poverty kind of does that to you. This is the only life I can remember, and our parents died so long ago that I can’t even remember them (not that they were anyone important anyway). The reason I’m telling you all this is so you understand why the two of us were so eager to listen to the weird old guy who claimed to be peddling “magical” items from his run-down trader’s caravan in the square. Actually, Rose told me he was bullshitting us at first, but I knew she secretly wanted to believe, too — after all, magic has been gone from Albion for hundreds of years. Our curiosity only increased when a mysterious old lady in a hooded robe appeared out of nowhere and declared “We live in grim times indeed if the young are too world-weary to believe in magic”. Strangely, her voice was the one I’d heard in my dream, but I dismissed it as a coincidence. My first mistake of the day.