Alyxander Cowles-Blythe
• Student of Ioth Academy • Co-Founder of The Codex • Map drawing enthusiast
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When Despair Heralds
22nd of November, 6862
How did I get here?
A simple question. One that I’ve thought about many evenings as I wander the Great Hall half-aimlessly before bed, careful enough to have a destination in mind, but not quite careful enough for it to matter how I get there, save for dodging any caretaker's suspicious eyes.
No satisfactory answers strike me.
Even if I map out the journey in my head. The walk through the camp, the walk through the ruins, breaching the tear of Ioth academy with the help of The Messenger. Their ice cold eyes I can’t make sense of. Their wants and desires, I can’t make sense of any of it.
I’ve been running through my life these past few years on countless lies flimsy enough to unravel at the slightest pry of Untermauler.
It almost doesn’t feel like my own life anymore. And really, how could it? I didn’t ask to be here. I didn’t ask to feel like I was living a lie, dodging stares of those who perhaps cared because I was worried about what might happen if they stared too close.
I’ve made wrong decisions for years trying to figure out what the right ones might be, only to be left with feeling that I haven’t even ever had a choice. Not a real one anyway.
Maybe Ioth really isn’t real. Maybe none of this is. Maybe I’ll wake up back at home, shake it off as a bad dream, and run to hear Ol’ Ramona tell her stories in the camp square, and steal a few scraps of dinner with Naomi.
Wishful thinking I suppose.
If right now, this life doesn’t feel like my own, either I sit here and let despair consume me, or I make it my own again.
Or more likely even, a mix of both.
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