I have returned to work, with no visible signs of what I have suffered either at the hands of my Lord or at the hands of the unmerciful deity who created my body to be so frail. I continue to search out possibilities for the ideas Alecto and I considered. The results are promising.
I cannot heal myself by will. I cannot outthink, outwit, or otherwise conquer my illness. One temporary cure as always remains and so as to remain capable of doing what I must, I must take that temporary cure.
One day this will stop being a problem.
I suspect James Potter will be dead within a few months if I know anything about the Dark Lord at all.
Things at home go well as they always have, though Lille appears to be suffering some sort of melancholy. I can fix that. Easily.