My Time of Visiting The Frale District of Maincity.56.9 (Ditchview)
Foreword:
I wasn't sure the welcome I was about to receive upon arrival. I had worked for
DEPART for quite some time, writing very biased textbooks in their favor. I had little experience with the Frale, all gathered from "historians" that couldn't exactly answer my questions when I penned
Frale Analysis and Verity. I still feel that my writing was tampered with; I was young and excited to be working for DEPART and to be traveling and eating new foods. All paid for!
But it was hectic, and I was dazzled with so much paperwork and studies, and those historians that tried to stuff my brain with their known truth, it was overwhelming. As I wrote my first draft in the
Bridge Carriages between
Maincities, pages that weren't mine started to fall between my own. It was similar to mine, even identical, but the strokes were wrong, the words were fabricated; I would not have written them.
At first I thought it was a joke from one of the
Agentform that escorted me, Rharit was his name. I laughed and held the paper for him to grab, the first time I noticed it happened. But Rharit simple shrugged it off, and when I pressed him that this wasn't what I wrote, he grew uncharacteristically serious, and shared a quick glance with the agentform that drove the carriage. Something was wrong, but I decided it was best I kept quiet. My first fearof doubt in my work starting to plant in my soul. It wasn't until years later I realize that was perhaps the only agentform carraige driver that drove someone as unimportant as me. I was blinded by the opportunity I thought I had to realize how guided it all was.
As the ghost writer kept slipping pages in between my work, I grew fearful into who I could tell this about. In fact, it was only Rharit who I had told, and the next historian I spoke with three towns over sealed in me that my work was never going to be true for DEPART. I had started asking my questions of the history they had told me, and just like the others they had little to tell me. They grew frustrated, and masked it badly.
As I was packing up they made a small joke about getting an assistant to help me write the pages who wouldn't ask all my questions. For a single moment I saw a flicker of realization of what they had said, but they quickly laughed it away with a wave of their hands, and my escorts managed polite chuckles. I forced a smile.
For the rest of the four months it took to get the research DEPART wanted me think I curated myself, the pages were getting bold. Replacing some pages I wrote, rewriting whole pages to chance a sentence. I was started to think my mind was lost, and I had created my conspiracy up. Driven crazy alongside the silent bridges I sat in writing. But I knew I wasn't.
** The letter is old, and the word "ARRIVAL" can be made out, mostly torn. The portion of the small notebook has been lost, and only an ominous afterword remains.**
Afterword:
I'm writing another book. I've made connections now, my goal is to let DEPART know it was written by me as well as Verity. Let the world know there's more than the one "truth" they tried to push me to create.
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