I've spent three weeks harvesting but I believe the widower is dry now, or at least I've tired of her. She's grown especially boring so I'm moving off in search of my next mark.

I took her husband and stranded him with the faeries and although I think he would have produced enough fear for me to feed from him, I was drawn towards his wife. I had stalked her previously and found her an incredibly unstable subject. Her four children, bad seeds, were caused her enough stress for a satisfying harvest when I first came across her, but I revelled in ecstatic curiosity of what would become of her without her husband and his much needed support both financially and emotionally. As expected the news of her husband's disappearance resulted in an almost immediate collapse of her mental state. I watched her neglect her children by locking herself away or going on midnight strolls into the forest to cry and scream at the heavens for this unjust fate thrust upon her. If only she knew that the perpetrator and puppet master of her downfall was lingering within the shadows, feeding on her delicious, rich emotions. Grief, guilt and anxiety emanated  from her as clear to me as a faerie, as sound would be to all others. In these three weeks, I ensured the death of her youngest child and fabricated a love letter to her late husband from another woman. The letter spark a paranoid frenzy of rage and misery. This was the highlight of my time spent with her. Crystal clear emotions poured from her freshly broken heart as believed that her adoring and innocent husband had been having an affair for years. This has been a successful harvest.

Tonight I am gathering my things to move again. I've tired of this remote place and I am seeking a city.

I often wonder if I will ever settle in one place. I don't understand how others do it. How can you find one place that holds your attention enough to keep you there? What on earth do these people possess that anchor them so firmly? I wonder if by chance I will find love and make a home together but I equally wonder whether I will become imprisoned or killed. I don't know which of these possibilities is more likely to happen. Perhaps if I knew with more certainty I would wait around one place long enough to find out. But as it happens, I do not. 

On my latest harvest I found a wealthy Halfling man, much less likeable than the Halfling I was already acquainted with. He owned a few meaderies, producing best mead for miles around, renowned and instantly recognisable from its bright colour and equally bright logo depicting a fisherman and a mermaid in a compromising position. He wore the finest silks whilst his workers wore rags. He also possessed a beautiful family yet there were many rumours that he beat his children. Many joked that he drank too much from his own supply but no one argued with him. His short stature did not diminish his powerful position and his commanding voice.

I saw this Halfling as an affront and yearned to leave him with nothing. I set to work tainting his stock, then setting his buildings on fire. It became a witch hunt in hours. It was outside of town, just far enough removed to escape strict, lawful and effective investigation regulated by professionals. Emotions were too high for reason within the meadery business. Staff were interrogated; people lost their jobs and their livelihoods. Their figures appeared to shrink underneath their rags submitting to starvation. It was a situation I could easily feed from. Many were miserable and burning red hot at the centre was the Halfling boss, his long red hair curling around his shoulders like flames, furious at the injustice of it all and lashing out at anyone who dared come near. 

I was due to leave when I was stopped by the Halfling's child. A button nosed girl adorned with jewellery that looked too heavy for her small frame. She confessed she knew what I was doing and that as I had been stalking them, she had managed to observe me also. Expecting to be pulled in for questioning, I was ready to teleport, dagger in hand, but what I heard was unusual. The child began thanking me. With her father distracted with the downfall of his precious business and hunting down those he believed wished him ill-will, he had not spoken to his family for days. The child told me how her mother and her siblings were leaving and how they would have never had this opportunity to be free from him if it wasn't for me. She assumed I was some sort of avenging angel, seeking out the wicked and striking them down. In truth I cared not whether he was good or bad, much as I did not care whether he was male or female, short or tall, white or black. She was lucky she did not love her father or she would be suffering along with him. Her gratitude was different to the strong taste of misery and rage I was accustomed. It served as a parfait, a dessert to conclude my time there. 

In the faery realm, power comes through family. I myself was one of three twin sisters, Lunatis and Fawnelle. In my culture, we believe that we are innately empty creatures and it is only through communion with siblings that we may be whole. By faery standards, travelling here to a moral realm, I was not only damning myself but my sisters also. I am not sure what I believe. Coming here, I was definitely weakened and in order to remain here, I had to eat from the fruit of this land. In this case, that means absorbing emotions which are characteristic of the inhabitants. Faeries do not possess the emotional range of most of the species here and through my harvests I never feel what they feel. I only feel relief that I will live another day.

The point of this journal entry is not for reminisce but to record something that I believe to be very significant. I have been diligently harvesting emotions since the day I arrived. It was a hunger I could never sate. These days I harvest by habit and enjoyment more than I do necessity which is a great achievement. Greater still is my confidence in my power. I am almost as strong as I was within the faery realm surrounded by my sisters. I feel this much proves that I don’t need them and possibly they don’t need me either.