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“I'm sorry, my boy.”

Then she started to cry and took me in her arms. I looked at my fingertips. They were crimson.

When I look in the mirror in Amanda's room, I can still see that little scratch, even though it's been two years.

Ever since I have these powers, my wounds heal more slowly. Scars form and remain. Just like the memories.

The only thing that slowly fades is my hope.

Wednesday, June 4, 1997

Entry 4

“What will the Councils say when they find out I failed so badly with you?!”

They would stare at you just like Amanda was doing right now.

As always, my sister sipped her cup of coffee, without which she never left the house.

I wished I had something like her that I could take to make myself feel better. The pills the psychiatrist had prescribed me had only a slight effect. And Mother had thrown away the last of them.

“It's damaging your powers, Alaister,” she had said.

“You're ruining me, Alaister,” she said now, and I couldn't help but look into her glassy eyes. The same ones I had. Except that mine were aventurine and I hadn't cried in weeks, unlike her, who cried every night.

“They're going to take you away from me!” she now raved hysterically and began to spin around in circles.

All because of me, because I had failed. I was driving my own mother crazy.

Suddenly, she turned to Amanda. Her eyes full of panic, close to tears. “And then maybe you too.”

“Don't talk nonsense, Mother,” Amanda sighed, placing the empty cup on the white kitchen counter. “And let Alaister finally...”

“Shut up!” Mother snapped at her, and, as always when she was about to escalate, I pressed my fingernails into my palms. “I have to concentrate...” Completely agitated, she turned back to me. “There must be a way for you to control your powers.” She came closer and put her hand on my cheek. “You have to try harder, sweetie.”

Then she disappeared upstairs, her footsteps a hurried rumbling.

Manda poured herself another cup of black coffee before turning to me, shaking her head.

“She's lost her mind.”

“Amanda,” I admonished her calmly.

This woman was still our mother.

“Do you want to argue with me?” she asked snappishly, even though she knew I didn’t.

Amanda tended to argue on an emotional level, and she had always had a strong sense of justice. But she had changed too. Ever since my outbursts had started.

Everyone who had anything to do with me had been more distant since then, different... Almost everyone.

“She's right,” I said, breaking out of my stupor. I looked down at my hands, which were already covered with ice crystals again. “I should have been able to control my powers long ago.”

“I don't even have mine yet,” she laughed.

“You're not like me,” I replied seriously.

She was sixteen, like me, and soon she would receive her element too. Either she would carry the gift of water, like our father, or the gift of air, like our mother.