Its not a big deal anyways. Not like I'm going to be remembered..


☬☬☬

Its been how long since my mother exiled me? Maybe a few months… or years? I can't remember anymore. They must've cleared my memory. I just woke up in a unfamiliar field with my trident and no memory of who I was. I only remember my mother and father. What were their names again…?

Rose… Magnolia.. something flower themed. I forget now.

And my father…? Did I even have a father?

Whatever. It doesn't matter. Not like I need them anyways. Its my world after all. Wait… where am I again?


☬☬☬

Apparently I'm in Revaliir. Huh. Thats weird. I thought this place only existed in Fairy tales my grandmother told me. Did I have a grandmother? What was the fairy tale about again…? Something about Baethorns and dragons. I think there were gods in the story, too. But not the ones I knew. These gods were way more powerful than ours. Did those gods banish my kind? Am I even a Baethorn? No, I'm not one. I would be a dragon if I was. When did I get this journal? How did I get a quill?


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Well I'm in a city called Adeluna. Luna means moon, right? How do I know this? This is strange. What does Ade mean then? I don't think it means anything. There are so many people here. No, humans. Thats what their called right? Hu-mans. Man. They aren't Baethorns. They would have horns and tails, and… why are their eyes such boring colors? Theres only brown, blue, and green. What color were my eyes again?

☬☬☬

Theres a large building full of books! I think their in English. How do I know English? I don't remember. The only language I remember is… what was it called again. Oh, right! Wing Dings! Such an interesting language to learn! Wait, how come I know English but can't speak my home language? What was the official language again?

☬☬☬ (The Following Passage Is In Wing Dings. I advise you to look up a translator to understand)

⚐︎♒︎📪︎ ⬧︎□︎❒︎❒︎⍓︎📬︎ ✋︎ ♐︎□︎❒︎♑︎♏︎⧫︎ ♒︎□︎⬥︎ ⧫︎□︎ ⬥︎❒︎♓︎⧫︎♏︎ ♓︎■︎ ☜︎■︎♑︎●︎♓︎⬧︎♒︎📬︎ 🕈︎♒︎♋︎⧫︎ ●︎♋︎■︎♑︎◆︎♋︎♑︎♏︎ ⬥︎♋︎⬧︎ ⧫︎♒︎♓︎⬧︎ ♋︎♑︎♋︎♓︎■︎✍︎ ✌︎♒︎📪︎ ❒︎♓︎♑︎♒︎⧫︎📬︎ 🕈︎♓︎■︎♑︎ 👎︎♓︎■︎♑︎⬧︎📬︎ 💣︎□︎⬧︎⧫︎ 👌︎♋︎♏︎⧫︎♒︎□︎❒︎■︎⬧︎ ⬧︎◻︎♏︎♋︎🙵 ♓︎⧫︎📬︎ ✋︎⧫︎⬧︎ ■︎□︎⧫︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ □︎♐︎♐︎♓︎♍︎♓︎♋︎●︎ ●︎♋︎■︎♑︎◆︎♋︎♑︎♏︎📪︎ ♌︎◆︎⧫︎ ⬥︎♏︎ ⬧︎⧫︎♓︎●︎●︎ ♒︎♋︎❖︎♏︎ ⧫︎□︎ ●︎♏︎♋︎❒︎■︎ ♓︎⧫︎ ♓︎■︎ ⬧︎♍︎♒︎□︎□︎●︎⬧︎📬︎

👎︎♓︎♎︎ ✋︎ ♏︎❖︎♏︎■︎ ♑︎□︎ ⧫︎□︎ ⬧︎♍︎♒︎□︎□︎●︎✍︎ ✋︎ ♍︎♋︎■︎🕯︎⧫︎ ❒︎♏︎❍︎♏︎❍︎♌︎♏︎❒︎📬︎ ✋︎♐︎ ✋︎ ♎︎♓︎♎︎📪︎ ⬥︎♒︎⍓︎ ♎︎□︎■︎🕯︎⧫︎ ✋︎ ❒︎♏︎❍︎♏︎❍︎♌︎♏︎❒︎ ❍︎⍓︎ ♐︎❒︎♓︎♏︎■︎♎︎⬧︎✍︎ 👎︎♓︎♎︎ ✋︎ ♏︎❖︎♏︎■︎ ♒︎♋︎❖︎♏︎ ♐︎❒︎♓︎♏︎■︎♎︎⬧︎✍︎ 🕈︎♒︎⍓︎ ♎︎□︎ ✋︎ ♒︎♋︎❖︎♏︎ ■︎□︎ ❍︎♋︎■︎⍓︎ ❑︎◆︎♏︎⬧︎⧫︎♓︎□︎■︎⬧︎ ♓︎■︎ ❍︎⍓︎ ♒︎♏︎♋︎♎︎✍︎

🕈︎♋︎♓︎⧫︎📪︎ ⬥︎♒︎♋︎⧫︎ ❒︎♋︎♍︎♏︎ ♋︎❍︎ ✋︎ ♋︎♑︎♋︎♓︎■︎✍︎

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The Sonnet 30 was a glorious piece written in the future that a fortune teller had written and given to my mother as a gift for the arrival of my birth.

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:
Then can I drown an eye, unus'd to flow,
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe,
And moan th' expense of many a vanish'd sight;
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restor'd, and sorrows end.

I have no idea what the words meant, but it was a piece of work my mother treasured, so dearly, and had given to me and I shall now hold it in the pocket of my jacket.

But theres this voice…

☬☬☬

Its cold, and it keeps replaying the same verse in my head while I try to sleep.

Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.

I could not place it, but its like the voice was telling my future. It kept me up many nights because of how familiar the voice had sounded, but the reason I could not recognize it drove me to the verge of insanity.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –

The words put a pain in my chest, and were as cold as ice yet as gentle as a mothers love.

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –

Was it reflecting on my life? How did we pass the setting sun? Does death know where the sun rests when its fallen into rest?

Or rather – He passed Us –
The Dews drew quivering and Chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –

This is driving me crazy. Who is the voice in my head? Why does he seem so familiar? Do I know him? Why does it sound more menacing every time I hear him?!

Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads
Were toward Eternity –

I need to know. I know I can't find out on my own, but yet I have no one to turn to. My life is a mystery that I need to figure out but I am being stopped by some unrecognizable force that is comforting yet menacing at the same time.

How can something be so close to me yet if I reach out I can't grasp it?

…

What was I trying to grasp again?