[~Aoria-sama~]

So Cold

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? ♪ Crowded streets all cleared away, one by one

Hollow heroes separate as they run ♭

·˚ ༘ You're so cold, keep your hand in mine

↻ Wise men wonder while strong men die ♬

‿‿ Show me how it ends, it's alright ♫ ♩

 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟShow me how defenseless you really are

♯ Satisfied and empty inside

⟿ Well, that's alright, let's give this another try ♮

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There was a time in my life when my family was whole. I remember those days fondly, as I sit here and write my thoughts into this stupid fucking journal. I know, right? Who actually writes about their feelings. But as I sit here at the waters edge, upon the beach of New Mavethkar - I can’t help but feel that emptiness crawling back up my spine. And it makes me feel such guilt, because truly, what do I have to be so sad about?

Life changes too fast, you know? 

When I was a child, I thought I would stay in Kindlehelm forever. I even went as far as to think myself some sort of hero. But, when the blur of expectations put upon you fade away into the shadows, you begin to see yourself for exactly what you are. It probably took me waaaaaay longer than your average Joe, hah, but I think I have a better idea of it now.

I am Baylor Grey Equisol.

I am going to be the best scientist of my generation.

I am a man who loves his family to no end, no matter what.

I am no hero. But I am not a villain either.

I am peculiar, unique, and strange.

Some would call me insane.

But who cares what they think? Not me.

Love, I’ve learned, is a kind of gravity - inescapable, anchoring, and inconvenient when one has trajectories to calculate.  It has been too quiet for a world built for more than one heartbeat. I used to find comfort in that - silence is a sign of control - but tonight it only reminds me of absence. I love my family. I know that with certainty. But we are all, so terribly broken.

People assume creation is an act of hope. They’re wrong. Creation is an act of dissatisfaction. You don’t build something unless what already exists has failed you in some essential way.

I tell myself the drones are tools. Neutral. Extensions of will. But that’s the lie that makes this bearable. The truth is colder: they are obedient because they cannot suffer. And I envy them for it.

But Golems, they have souls. My Great Grandfather, a God of Shadows - he tells me that they are to be treated like family. And nothing would make me more happy, and maybe, finally - I can find some sort of normalcy in this brokenness.

I feel sad in a way that has no sharp edges left. Not grief - grief implies something was taken. This is erosion. A long wearing-down of urgency, of outrage, of the instinct to object. I still know right from wrong. I simply no longer feel compelled to stop when the line begins to blur. Apathy is not emptiness; it is weight. It presses down until motion feels impossible.

My partner asked tonight if the demonstration of my experiment coming up scares me. I said no. That was honest. What frightens me is how little I care whether it should. 

If this work succeeds, the world will gain something tireless, loyal, and unburdened by mortality. I once believed that was a flaw to be corrected. Now I see it as a design improvement.

I will go to bed soon. Tomorrow I will refine the binding sequence again, make the movements smoother, more convincing. I will do this carefully. Gently. As if that matters.

As if any of this does.

We all die.

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⚶ If you find your family, don't you cry ☄︎

*. * · In this land of make believe, dead and dry  ❃

? You're so cold but you feel alive ✺

ϟ Lay your hands on me one last time ⋆ˊˎ-•̩̩͙-

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

⍭ Show me how it ends, it's alright ⌁

♩ Show me how defenseless you really are

₊˚ Satisfied and empty inside * ˚ ✦

✮♱✮ Well, that's alright, let's give this another try ♫

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It's alright, it's alright

It's alright, it's alright

It's alright, it's alright

It's alright, it's alright