02-05-2026, 08:17 PM
What am I meant to say when I am told I am broken?
You and ████████ are distinct and separate.
How am I meant to process that there is something wrong with me, that few can relate to?
... a fractured soul explains ████████████████.
Any time that she stepped outside, it ran the risk of her health deteriorating, her psyche prying itself apart.
Undue stress, dredged from at-random visions of bygone eras, names and faces that are half-recollected, voices that she had just heard...
Normalcy was something that escaped her, and it was apparent day by day, each time these odd dreams flit into her purview, just to recede again.
Dreams were the best way she could have described them, but they had to have happened. They existed. Everything she saw had to be real.
Even then, her mind couldn't handle it-- even as her voice barely returned, even as magic wove itself into her circuits.
Only then did she get answers as to why she was like this. Why she was wrong. Why any of this happened to her, and her alone.
The answer rattled her. It brought along an existential dread, a fear unfounded-- but not unprecedented. She needed another answer.
Her father reassured her. That she would be okay. It wasn't too distressing, the reality of it-- it just meant that she was different.
██████? █████, █████████.
I feel weak, still. I'm not fully recovered, and yet... what will happen to me?
... you just have a big inheritance.
All I can do is trust what I'm told, but will it truly matter?
Soreness followed her everywhere, haunting her like an invisible spectre; it haunted her in her calm moments, it haunted her in the words others spoke to her.
Everyone, without realizing it, had simply worn her heart out by bringing up her grief, her pain, her woes, her sorrows, all of it.
Reminders followed her in the faces of those she trusted, those she loved, those she cared for still-- that she was never going to be free of her sufferings.
Various things happen in her sleep-- not dreams, but things she merely missed-- that upheave her life and show the true colors of those she cared for.
All of it is an ugly truth. A world that was undivided in its care for her was cloven apart by the actions of those she trusted, and those she loved.
Nothing would ever be the same again. Nothing could ever be the same again. How could it, when everyone turns against each other?
There were fewer and fewer places for her to turn to, less people she can talk with-- but at least, she has answers.
Having reclaimed her voice, now, and knowing what is wrong,
the once-mute girl holds onto the ring made in remembrance,
and pushes onwards, as best as she can.
She is growing quickly, it seems.
Do not worry; I will still watch over her.
In all of those mortal hues of heartfulness... it is beautiful, no?
You and ████████ are distinct and separate.
How am I meant to process that there is something wrong with me, that few can relate to?
... a fractured soul explains ████████████████.
Any time that she stepped outside, it ran the risk of her health deteriorating, her psyche prying itself apart.
Undue stress, dredged from at-random visions of bygone eras, names and faces that are half-recollected, voices that she had just heard...
Normalcy was something that escaped her, and it was apparent day by day, each time these odd dreams flit into her purview, just to recede again.
Dreams were the best way she could have described them, but they had to have happened. They existed. Everything she saw had to be real.
Even then, her mind couldn't handle it-- even as her voice barely returned, even as magic wove itself into her circuits.
Only then did she get answers as to why she was like this. Why she was wrong. Why any of this happened to her, and her alone.
The answer rattled her. It brought along an existential dread, a fear unfounded-- but not unprecedented. She needed another answer.
Her father reassured her. That she would be okay. It wasn't too distressing, the reality of it-- it just meant that she was different.
██████? █████, █████████.
I feel weak, still. I'm not fully recovered, and yet... what will happen to me?
... you just have a big inheritance.
All I can do is trust what I'm told, but will it truly matter?
Soreness followed her everywhere, haunting her like an invisible spectre; it haunted her in her calm moments, it haunted her in the words others spoke to her.
Everyone, without realizing it, had simply worn her heart out by bringing up her grief, her pain, her woes, her sorrows, all of it.
Reminders followed her in the faces of those she trusted, those she loved, those she cared for still-- that she was never going to be free of her sufferings.
Various things happen in her sleep-- not dreams, but things she merely missed-- that upheave her life and show the true colors of those she cared for.
All of it is an ugly truth. A world that was undivided in its care for her was cloven apart by the actions of those she trusted, and those she loved.
Nothing would ever be the same again. Nothing could ever be the same again. How could it, when everyone turns against each other?
There were fewer and fewer places for her to turn to, less people she can talk with-- but at least, she has answers.
Having reclaimed her voice, now, and knowing what is wrong,
the once-mute girl holds onto the ring made in remembrance,
and pushes onwards, as best as she can.
She is growing quickly, it seems.
Do not worry; I will still watch over her.
In all of those mortal hues of heartfulness... it is beautiful, no?