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It is raining heavily this morning, so much that in the 10 metre walk from the auto to the door of the camp building I became soaked and I am presently trying to dry myself inside. Today will be a frizzy hair day for sure now, but I do not know why my vanity causes that to be my next thought.

I like the rain a lot, and I always have, along with the snow. I never much liked being in the sun, something I share with my father and Víli, as if everyone of our line shunned it once like svártalfar of old legends, or the frost giants. We like it when it is cool and damp, when the sky is grey and the earth lies still and quiet. It is solemn and melancholy, and it clears my head from the day's damages. I like the feeling of the chill on the my skin and the heaviness of humid air. I cannot really explain it better than that, it is simply an affinity, as if I really was of a line of sun-shunning folk.

Even now the room in which I sit is dark, for I never turn on the lights. They cause heat and brightness on the white-painted walls of this schoolhouse.

I am depressed, I am subdued by it. But this is a feeling that comforts me. Maybe I am a svártalfkona after all.