This past month has been a whirlwind of dedication and transformation. I finally made the push to increase my mastery of the English language, a skill I had been nurturing as a sort of hobby for years. It’s become a necessity in the life of a contractor, and the ability to communicate fluently has already proven invaluable. The subtleties and nuances of the language now flow more naturally, adding a layer of sophistication to my interactions and negotiations.

In parallel, I vastly improved my proficiency with the blade and the bow. While I normally dedicate an hour each day to maintaining these skills, this month I threw myself into the knightly arts with both religious zeal and wild abandon. Each morning, after my run and initial training, I would spend hours perfecting my swordplay, feeling the rapier become an extension of my arm, each movement a precise and deadly dance. The afternoons were devoted to archery, where the focus and calm required to hit each target became a form of meditation.

By giving myself fully, heart and soul, to these practices, I have reached a new level of mastery. The physical demands and the intense concentration have paid off completely. I feel more confident and capable, my movements more fluid and my strikes more accurate. This period of intense training has not only honed my skills but also strengthened my resolve.

In the evenings, I continued my studies, balancing my time between the demands of the estate and my personal growth. The debt and financial struggles remain a constant burden, but with my improved language skills, I’ve been able to negotiate more effectively, slowly turning the tide in my favor.

Despite the relentless grind, there’s a sense of accomplishment that comes from this dedicated period. I can feel the transformation, not just in my abilities but in my mindset. The path ahead remains fraught with challenges, but with each step, I am better equipped to face them.

This past month has been a transformative period of intense training and self-improvement. After the grueling spider debacle from the previous contract, I knew I had to push my limits further. I dedicated myself to arduous study and practice, learning how to fence and shoot my bow using telekinesis. This skill, though still in its infancy, holds immense promise. The delicate balance required to control my weapons with my mind is a new frontier, and while not yet battle-ready, I am determined to master it.

In addition to developing my telekinetic abilities, I increased my workout regimen and nutritional control. Naturally lithe and elegant from a very early age, I have always been dexterous and steady-handed, traits that befit a champion markswoman. However, I am acutely aware that in the world of contracts, unrealized potential is a deadly liability. Each morning, I start with my usual full-body workout and 10-kilometer run. But now, I have intensified my routines, pushing my body to new limits.

Afternoons are dedicated to the knightly arts. I practice fencing with a renewed focus, integrating telekinetic control into each movement. The rapier feels like an extension of my will, and I can see glimpses of the formidable force this skill will become. My archery practice follows, where I work tirelessly to perfect shooting arrows with my mind. Each arrow shot through telekinesis is a test of precision and mental discipline, and I am gradually seeing progress.

My evenings are a blend of rest and further learning. I continue my studies, balancing the demands of maintaining Blackwood Manor and managing my debts. Despite the constant financial strain, I feel a growing sense of accomplishment and purpose. The discipline and rigor of my new training regimen are paying off, not just in skill but in mental fortitude. Reflecting on this month, I am reminded that true mastery comes from relentless dedication and that talent is a mind trap: talent is an unrecognized privilege that will never bloom without grueling, frequently painful and not immediately rewarding work.

The fall from grace wasn’t sudden; it was a slow, agonizing descent. When the rights to Blackwood Manor were finally taken by creditors, I found myself with nothing. No estate, no inheritance, no safety net. I went from heiress to a homeless squatter in the blink of an eye. The only shelter I could afford was an abandoned apartment—barely more than four walls and a roof, but it kept me out of the elements. How quickly fortunes turn.

I remember standing in that empty space, the cold seeping into my bones, and feeling a strange calm. This was my reality now—no more lavish balls or grand dinners, no more living in the shadow of the Blackwood name. It was just me and my will to survive. And I would survive. I didn’t come from nobility to be broken so easily. I had my skills—fencing, archery, gymnastics—and I would make them work for me.

I started with nothing but word of mouth, reaching out to contacts who might still remember the Blackwood name with some degree of respect. Slowly, clients began to trickle in. A young woman looking to learn the art of fencing, a corporate executive interested in archery as a stress relief, even a few children whose parents thought gymnastics would be a good discipline to instill early. I took whatever work I could find.

It was humbling, but also strangely empowering. Every lesson I gave, every hour spent instructing, was a step closer to regaining some semblance of control over my life. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. And from that start, I would build. Financial discipline would become my new mantra—no more indulgences, no more carelessness. I would make something of myself again, piece by piece. This is just the beginning.

This past month has been another period of grueling practice and relentless self-improvement. I dedicated myself fully to enhancing my body’s dexterity and precision with both the blade and the bow. The results have been tremendous. My movements have become more fluid, my strikes more accurate. Each day, I can feel myself becoming a stronger, more capable fighter.

Despite the progress with my physical training, my efforts to control the knightly arms with pure telekinesis have stalled. It's frustrating, but I remain determined. Practice continues daily, and I know that mastery will come with time and persistence. The ability to wield these weapons with my mind remains a tantalizing goal just out of reach.

On a brighter note, I came into some money recently. This windfall has provided a brief respite from the constant financial strain. However, the estate still needs renovations, and there are pressing debts that need settling. I'm considering lending myself to another job to make faster cash. The demands of maintaining Blackwood Manor are unending, and any opportunity to ease this burden is worth exploring.

Emotionally, it's a mixed bag. I'm happy with the strength and skill I've gained, yet I can't shake the concern that it might not be enough for the increasingly dangerous contracts. The stakes are high, and the challenges grow more daunting with each mission.

Amidst all this, I've made time for a bit of social respite. I've scheduled coffee and a night out with friends. While my focus remains on my training and obligations, these moments of normalcy are essential. They remind me that life is not just about surviving, but also about living. You never know what could be waiting for you just around the corner, and maintaining these connections is as vital as any skill I hone.

This month has been a period of remarkable progress and transformation. After the intensity of the last contract, I dedicated myself to refining my telekinetic mastery over the rapier and bow. While it's not the same as using my hands—the tactile sensation of the fletchings and the weight of the sword are difficult to replicate—the results are unmistakably impressive. My control has advanced significantly, as evidenced by my performance in the recent combat.

The agility and grace of my body have also opened new avenues for enhancing my mind's precision. The old adage "mens sana in corpore sano" rings true; a sound mind in a sound body. My physical training has contributed to a sharper, more focused telekinetic ability. The imbalance between potency and speed in my psionic projections had previously hindered me from creating sophisticated defensive options. However, with the latest improvements, I can now maintain a discreet yet highly effective deflective barrier around myself, mitigating most harms.

Overall, this downtime has been exceptionally productive. The ability to wield my weapons telekinetically with such precision and grace feels like a significant breakthrough. It's not perfect yet, but I am getting closer with each practice session. My daily routines have become a blend of physical conditioning and mental honing, each complementing the other in a harmonious balance.

With the possibility of more work on the horizon and the gains from the last contract, I am hopeful that the coming months will be even better. The progress I've made has bolstered my confidence, and I feel more prepared than ever to face the challenges ahead. 

After the fisco of the last contract I discoverd my mastery of the rapiers could use some improvement, to include non-lethal alternatives. While I wasn't single-handedly responsible for the difficulties in the contract, the situation would have been different if I had taken control of the situation without deadly force. I'm also preparing for a rather complex side gig: Ains and I worked well together on a previous contract, and he mentioned his organization, Maul, could help me achieve my ambitions. I'm cautious about joining, but I agreed to a trial run to see if we're a good fit.

Ains tasked me with capturing a few live ghouls. He provided all the necessary info and warned me about the dangers—ghouls hunt in packs and can be deadly in large groups. The mission: capture 1 to 3 ghouls. Once they're ready for retrieval, he'll send a team to collect them. We found ghoul sightings near Batajnica, infamous for the Batajnica mass graves. It's no wonder ghouls are drawn there, given the unresolved horrors of the past. I geared up with my bow, rapiers, and the capture tools Ains provided. This thing will take a lot of studying, recon and it will take flawless execution.

Driving the 70 miles through the Serbian heartland will give me plenty of time to focus: the mission is risky, but it's a chance to prove myself and see if Maul is the right path for me. The history and danger of Batajnica weigh on my mind, but I'm ready to face the ghouls and any challenges that come my way. This trial run is crucial. If successful, it could bring me closer to restoring my family's legacy and finding my place within Maul. The anticipation is palpable, but I'm determined and resolute. I'm ready for this.

I’ve always believed that power—true power—begins with discipline. As my skills grew, so did the results of my efforts. My students began to outshine their peers, a reflection of both their dedication and my own. Word spread, and soon, I found myself with more students than I had ever expected. I started using the university campus in Topola as a training ground, expanding my reach and influence.

The income wasn’t extravagant, but it was steady. And with that income, I began buying back pieces of the Blackwood debts, bit by bit. I could have used that money to live in more comfortable surroundings, but I refused to give up on the dream of restoring Blackwood Manor. So, I continued to live in that ramshackled ruin, all while slowly chipping away at the mountain of debt that overshadowed my family’s legacy.

Living beneath my means was a necessary humiliation. I’ve never been one to indulge in self-pity, though. Baby steps, I reminded myself. I can’t reach my intended heights by whining about the state of things. No, I must endure. And now, at least, I’m not enduring alone.

I managed to rehire Mila—an accomplishment that brings a measure of comfort I hadn’t realized I missed so much. With Mila back by my side, I’ve also reconnected with Elena. Together, we are beginning to rebuild what was lost, brick by brick. It’s embarrassing at times, making the money and still living like a beggar, but that’s the price of ambition. The path to restoring the Blackwood name was never going to be easy, but I’ve never been afraid of hard work.

Endurance. Patience. Strength. That’s what it takes to survive, and I have all three in abundance.

This past month has been a test of my patience and resolve. The sting of betrayal from Burns, Douglas Edwards and Remus still lingers. It's not just the betrayal that fuels my anger, but the realization that I wasn't strong enough to face the opposition and secure the Rod of Estehdar.

My training has intensified, each session sharper and more focused than the last. I spend hours honing my skills, determined to grow stronger and more capable. The memory of our failure drives me, pushing me to the limits of my endurance. My muscles burn, my mind sharpens, and my resolve hardens.

I know I must bide my time, waiting for the right moment to clear the opposition and eliminate my enemies. This is not a path for the weak, and I must survive and grow stronger with each passing day. My goals remain clear: restore my family's legacy and carve out my place in this relentless world.

Though I didn't accomplish much in terms of missions or contracts this month, the seething anger within me has become a powerful motivator. I channel it into every arrow I shoot, every swing of the rapier, and every mental exercise. In time, things will make sense. For now, I focus on becoming the warrior I need to be to ensure my survival and ultimate success.

As I continue on this path, I know that strength and resilience are my greatest allies. The betrayal may have set me back, but it has also ignited a fire within me that will not be extinguished. I will be ready for the next challenge, and when the time comes, I will make sure my enemies know the full extent of my wrath.

This month has been one of sharpening—literally and figuratively. I've spent hours training my senses, pushing myself to make the transition from a sports shooter to a huntress. It's a strange, uncomfortable shift. I always took pride in my skills, seeing them as part of the nobility in my bloodline. But now, these same skills have darker uses. Becoming a hunter and, by extension, an assassin feels tarnishing in a way I didn’t anticipate. Yet, here I am.

I can't afford to have qualms about this, not when my fortune turned on my ability to enter contracts. At this point, survival means embracing every skill I can develop, no matter how distasteful it may feel. Besides, the free meat in the freezer is a tangible reward, one that finally gave me a reason to invite Mila and Elena over for a cookout.

It’s moments like that—sitting around a fire, sharing a meal with the few people who still matter to me—that remind me why I keep doing this. I don't have the luxury of turning away from what needs to be done. I’ll keep training, keep hunting, and keep sharpening myself into the weapon I need to be.

This month has been all about survival. After the success of the last contract, I turned my attention inward, sharpening my powers and honing my abilities. I've spent countless hours pushing the limits of Psionic Patchwork. What started as a way to speed up recovery from injuries and fatigue has now evolved into something far more powerful. It allows for explosive regeneration, not immortality by any means, but enough to tip the scales between life and death. The mental toll is significant, though, and I’m learning to balance when and how to use it.

I’ve also refined my mythic dexterity, taking it beyond its previous limits. Now, I can predict and counter more attackers than before, reading their movements almost before they make them. It’s not just about speed anymore; it’s about foresight and control.

All in all, this month has been dedicated to one thing: staying in the game. The contracts keep getting deadlier, and I can’t afford to fall behind. By focusing on my survivability, I’m ensuring that I’ll be able to face whatever comes next with confidence. If nothing else, this life has taught me that strength is not just about power—it's about knowing how to keep going when everything around you is trying to tear you apart.

It's strange how things can come together so slowly, and yet all at once. I’ve managed to purchase and regularize the bureaucratic situation of the abandoned building I’d been living in. What was once a ramshackled ruin has slowly transformed into a cozy home. It’s still far from the grandeur of Blackwood Estate, but at least now, I can welcome Mila and Elena without feeling ashamed of my surroundings. The apartment is comfortable, warm even—something I didn’t think I’d have again so soon.

The other tenants are paying rent now, too. It’s nothing grand, but it gives me a modest real estate profile. Every bit counts when you’re rebuilding from the ground up.

Perhaps the greatest victory, though, is reclaiming the Blackwood Winery. I bought back the rights and restarted the operation. It’s small—very modest, compared to what it once was—but it’s profitable, and that’s what matters. I brought back Emil Popović to oversee the production. Emil was always a positive figure in my childhood, a friend of my father’s and a winemaker with unmatched skill. He was there when the winery was at its peak, and it feels right to have him back as the taste master.

Emil is older now, but still sharp and full of life. I’ve given him the position for as long as he wants it. He deserves that respect, and it brings me some peace knowing that a part of my father’s legacy is in good hands. Reclaiming the winery feels like a step toward restoring the Blackwood name—one small piece of what was lost, now returned to where it belongs.

It’s not perfect, but it’s progress. And I’ll keep pushing forward until everything is back where it should be.

These last 30 days have been exciting and filled with a sense of progress. I’ve made a significant breakthrough in my psionic research—something I’ve been chasing for what feels like forever. The Mind Barrier is still in its infancy, but it’s a first step toward something much greater: control over my powers. For so long, I’ve felt like I was treading water, struggling to maintain balance while my abilities constantly threatened to overwhelm me. But now, I have a tangible starting point, something to build on.

It’s still quite deficient, far from fully developed, but I’m thrilled by the possibilities. The full potential of this power is probably out of reach for now, maybe even forever. But even so, these first beginnings feel like a major victory. I’ve always dreamed of gaining mastery over my abilities, and this feels like the start of that journey. It gives me hope that one day, I might actually achieve that balance between power and control.

Beyond that, I’ve spent a lot of time sharpening my perception and intellect. The clarity I’ve gained in the past month has made me more focused, more precise in my actions. Every small improvement feels like another step toward becoming the person I need to be, the person I want to be.

For the first time in a while, I feel like I’m truly moving forward. There’s still a long road ahead, but I’m excited to see where it leads.

In the days following the last contract, I've turned my attention to resilience—both mental and physical. After discovering how to shield my mind from the influence of my own powers, I realized that was only the first step. Now, it’s about protecting myself from the wear and tear of combat, the constant strain that this life puts on both mind and body. Esper's Resilience is my focus—a way to endure the unendurable.

Training has been relentless. Every hour spent sharpening my mind’s defenses feels like another layer of armor. But it's not just about survival; it's about control. Control over my powers, control over my fate. And this isn’t just about my mind—I’ve continued my work with the sword and bow, refining the telekinetic control over my weapons. The process is slow, incremental, but every improvement feels like another step toward mastery.

I know I'm getting closer to putting all of this under control. It's been a long road, but every day I feel like I'm more prepared for whatever comes next. This is about more than just survival; it's about thriving in a world that would rather see me fall.

This month, everything has revolved around pushing my powers to their limits. Power isn’t just something I desire—it’s essential. I’ve seen what happens to those who lose control, who let their gifts slip through their fingers. My father’s madness is a constant reminder of what’s at stake. Losing my mind isn’t an option. Not for me.

I’ve been sharpening my esper abilities with single-minded focus. Everything else—the debts, the estate, even my own physical training—has taken a backseat. I’ve had to remind myself that power isn’t about brute strength; it’s about control. Control over the mind, over my abilities, over every piece of my life that I refuse to let unravel. My telekinetic control is better than ever. The sword, the bow—they move with me, almost as if they were extensions of my will, not just tools.

It’s exhilarating to feel that power grow, but also sobering. I can’t afford to let it go to my head. I’m not seeking power for the sake of it—I need it. I need to survive, to rebuild what was lost, to hold on to what little remains of the Blackwood name. That name still carries weight, even if only in memory.

I’ve come too far to fall into the same traps that have claimed others. This isn’t about showing off or proving a point; it’s about being prepared for what’s coming. The world of contractors doesn’t tolerate weakness, and I’ve already seen too much betrayal to believe in anyone but myself. But I know where I’m going, and with every contract, every victory, I get a little closer.

Still in jail, but I’ve had worse. At least this time, I have a direction—something to focus on. I've been developing a new power, something I’ve come to call Psionic Jump. It’s still half-baked, much like my other abilities were in their early stages, but I’m confident it’ll get better. Right now, it takes a lot out of me—nearly a minute of painful concentration and the effort leaves me with nosebleeds and brutal headaches. But I know it will evolve, just like everything else has.

In the meantime, I’ve been practicing in my cell, turning it into something more manageable, even cozy. Some blankets, small touches here and there, anything to make the confinement a little less cold. I’m also learning the rhythm of this place, getting to know a few inmates who might be of assistance later. You never know what might come in handy, and I refuse to waste my time here.

This is temporary. Just another phase. I’ve always adapted, always found a way to move forward. This is no different. With patience and discipline, I’ll get out stronger than before, and Psionic Jump will become another tool to ensure that.

The past month has been all about rebuilding my body. After the chaos of the last contract, it became painfully clear that my physical form had been neglected—especially considering the sorry state of prison nutrition. The food here can hardly be called "sports nutrition," but I’ve dealt with worse, and years of coaching athletes taught me how to make the best of poor circumstances. Portion control and knowing what to trade for have made all the difference. Desserts, ironically, have become a kind of currency among the inmates. I’ve traded my dry cake slices for rubs, painkillers, and bandages—anything that helps me push through the grueling workouts I’ve put myself through.

Beyond just physical conditioning, my mind has been fixated on something else—flight. I’ve always had the capability to fly, in a sense, using telekinesis to move myself around since I was a child. But it’s always been clumsy and inefficient, a slow float that could hardly be called "free flight." These past 30 days, trapped in a cell, I’ve yearned for true freedom more than ever, and that desire has fueled my training.

Every day, I focused on perfecting my ability to fly, not just as a form of movement but as a way of experiencing true liberation. The progress has been immense. Through near-constant concentration, I’ve begun to master real flight—not the awkward, slow-floating of my childhood, but swift, controlled movement. It's still a work in progress, but I feel closer to true freedom now, both in body and in mind. My form is stronger, and my powers are more refined. The next time I step into a contract, I’ll be even harder to catch.

At long last, I’m free. Almost an year — this circus took an entire year of my life, a year of scraping and maneuvering to keep what I could from the wreckage they made of my name and my reputation; the vultures even called my mother. It took every ounce of leverage and wit to hang on to my influence, to my contacts, to my money. But now, they’re behind me, and I’m finally heading home.

I can’t wait to see Mila. I’m going to sweep her up, take her to every place in Belgrade she’s ever wanted to eat, drink, and enjoy. After so much time isolated, a warm table and her laugh are everything. Blackwood Manor will soon be complete; the renovations have come along well, thanks to Vik’s designs. I know he’ll have some choice words for me—he’s always been my honest one, my ever-present voice of reason—but he’ll be just as relieved. Finishing the estate renovations is a milestone. I no longer owe any of my fathers creditors, nor my own: my fortune is almost entirely back to where it was supposed to be, with the exception of the russian oil and gas, due to the war.

These past months were brutal, and captivity’s irony for one who learned to fly in jail isn’t lost on me. I trained until my wrists and shoulders screamed; mentally, it felt endless. But now, I can train on my own terms, take the skies if I please - for a little hiatus, rest. For now, though, it’s enough to be heading home, to enjoy my people, my home, my work.

It’s an interesting thing—spending thirty days honing my mind’s reach, only to discover the same stubborn barriers that have always plagued me. Frustration gnaws, as it did in childhood, when even pulling objects into my hand required a herculean effort. Imagine, me, the strongest Esper to ever carry the Blackwood name, struggling to reach an object mere inches away. How laughable that seems now, but here I am, facing the same familiar resistance. Today, I wield half a dozen swords in combat, each gliding effortlessly through the air within a radius of seventy feet, even as I dodge fire and unleash bolts of energy from my hands. Yet, somehow, seventy feet is small, so painfully limited. Expanding that range—extending my grasp to where my eyes do not travel—that is the next frontier. And I will conquer it. I must.

Yet as I push my mind further, I’m aware of another gnawing sensation—this one closer to the heart. In my quieter moments, between bouts of exertion and mental strain, I think of revenge. Revenge. What a tempting, intoxicating idea. My blood boils with the names and faces of those who have wronged me, who thought themselves beyond my reach. They are filth, hardly worthy of my consideration, and yet... it’s as though I carry them like shadows behind my own back.

There is a part of me that thirsts to make them pay. It would be so simple to tear through their lives, to show them the weight of their offenses, to let them tremble beneath the reality of what I have become. My heart cries for the price of blood at every opportunity, a tally kept in dark corners of my mind. Yet another part of me resists. These people… they are small, vile, base. Their very existence feels beneath me, and the thought of reducing myself to their level by seeking retribution almost seems vulgar, a blemish on my dignity.

Is it demeaning to strike back at those so wretched? Perhaps it is. Perhaps to forgive—or rather, to forget—is an act of nobility, and it would bring me a deeper peace than any bloody reckoning could. It isn’t an easy thing, to let go of wrongs, to set them aside as though they never happened. But then, I am not simply a hunter—I am something far greater, far more refined. Why should I dirty myself with the grievances of creatures so far beneath my stature?

And yet… there remains that flame. Quiet, smoldering. Maybe, for now, I will keep it banked. For now.