I feel all empty inside.  There's no Farad, and Dad hates me, and
no one seems to understand that it wasn't even my idea to put Farad in my
head.  It's like Frankenstein, where he creates something, and the moment
it doesn't serve his purposes, he labels it a monster and wants to kill
it, and won't even take responsibility for doing what he did.

	Fuck that.  Fuck them.

	I don't like being an Amberite anymore.  They use you, then kill
you, then dance on your grave.  Or fight on your grave, depending on if
your name is Eric or not.

	And anyways, the only one who is ever consistently nice is Paris. 
Maybe Alastair, except it's hard to tell what's nice and what's just
stupid.  How many times can you get into trouble in a day?  And I don't
see his dad putting him in a pentagram.  Cripes.  I hate life.  I don't
want to be here.  Though I 'spect I'll go to Corwin's funeral, because,
after all, I was the one who found his dead head.