Smoke and Mirrors

I've not been very diligent in keeping up with this journal.
There's no real reason for it, I suppose I've just been unmotivated. I've been unmotivated towards most things, honestly--and while it's not a wholly unfamiliar feeling to me, this may be the first time I've felt averse to indulging the insidious apathy that clings to every single thought I produce. This particular apathy, though, won't simply settle upon my shoulders like a heavy blanket. This apathy is a troubling breeze chilled by the despair that threatens to roll in like a deadly storm. I can sense it as well as I can sense any weather. I wholly intend to outpace it, so we'll see how that goes.
 
There's reason for this, beyond the usual dysphoria I've been feeling since my 'return'.
Rayasfield was...a nightmare.
The nightmarish thing that nested there had produced false memories spanning all the way back to when I first 'came to' at Pharos Shrine. One side of my memories remembers Azalea's death occurring as a result of my fiery revival. The other side of my memories recalls her travelling with us from the shrine all the way to Rayasfield. Where that thing then devoured her.
And then, Max...
Both memories feel equally real, and upon reading back through my journal entries to verify what had actually happened, I find that I had made no mention of her at all...Not her death explicitly nor her accompaniment. Not of my concern for Maxwell...
So...I'm not sure what IS real anymore. Perhaps I never did rise from the dead. Perhaps this is simply...limbo.
 
And so misery has turned into apathy which threatens me now with paralyzing despair as I grapple against the concept that none of this is real, that I'm not real. That the enduring kindness of my friends is...not real.
Nothing remains but illusions.
 
 
Speaking of illusions...
The last town we passed through saw us cross paths with Miguel, lending credence to the maddening notion that this has all just been some ongoing fever dream.
 
The last time I had even thought of him, I had wondered if I'd be able to resist the desire to return to simpler times by rejoining him. That was on the way to Ivorfall...or perhaps it was on the way from it. I can't remember, it feels like some long while ago. When we passed him by in this town, however, I wanted to ignore him.
It wasn't out of spite or any such thing...It's hard to explain. I didn't feel that sense of longing for 'simpler times', there was no nostalgia. I wanted there to be; I wanted to feel that thread of longing that could connect me to who I was before I died. I wanted to feel that internal "should I, shouldn't I" conflict that I had previously anticipated feeling if I were to ever come across him again. But it wasn't there.
 
Miguel, for his part, hasn't changed a bit. He was in prison to be hung the day after we arrived in town, and the path of least resistance was to help get him out. It wasn't hard, thanks mostly to the efforts of Variel and Amity. Unsurprisingly, they both seemed to like him quiet a bit. He'd have had it no other way. When it came to navigating me, however, he hit a wall. I didn't intend for it to be that way, but try as I might to force a more accommodating tone, it just presented poorly. I couldn't fake a warm familiarity with him. Despite being almost exactly the same person he was when I first left him, he didn't feel...familiar.
He parted ways fully aware of this by way of his own insightfulness.
 
Of course...that was *after* some ill-fated colleagues of his fire balled themselves to crispy pieces. *They* fire balled themselves, so we're clear. I didn't do that. It was strange.
Or, you know, maybe it WAS me. After the incident in Rayasfield, anything is fucking possible because nothing is real.
Them, me, whatever the cause it's probably some absolute awfulness that we'll find ourselves staring into before too long. I wished questions could stay questions these days, but the answers always manage to find us and they've so far all been terrible.
There is so much more to write about but
 
I'm very tired.
We are all very tired.