Whitestone City, Day…I don’t know, a month maybe? fuck it
So the artifissers and healers both say I need to keep a journal. I guess it’s because if I don’t I might lose track of who I am and what is me. And what isn’t me.
I never thought I’d have to write that.
They say it’ll help to write it to somebody if I can’t get the words out so fuck it, here we go…Dad.
I’m now…myself, but not? It’s like there’s another voice in my head, and it’s really, really loud. Every time I think of something it’s like there’s some royal THING judging me for what’s in my head. If it doesn’t like what it’s hearing, it yells at me and tries to take over. If I push it, it goes all weird and things stop working, like my legs and my hands. Until I stop pushing anyway. And it’s got its own stuff I have to say. Or maybe I’m forced to say them. And then I get to be “me” again. Like, check this out, I can even write it and it’s a problem.
I think the Lord of Whitestone is—~-~–~~-~–~
I think the Lord –~~-~–__`-~
THE LORD OF WHITESTONE IS A KIND AND JUST SOVEREIGN
I can’t even make my hands write anything that’s not approved. I can think plenty of things that don’t matter. I could curse the Dwarves all day long for my stupid name and working me like a rented merchants mule.
FUCK THE DWARVES
haha that’s all good, but anything against the Lord and it’s a problem. Oh, and if I think about illegal acts or stuff like that, too. That’s no good either.
I thought I’d come to the city and see humans and maybe meet somebody. But it’s just been stale bread and watery beer and sometimes a machine goes nuts and I have to shut it down WITH CHEAP GEAR THANKS A LOT FAUST!! HOPE YOU ROT IN PRISON
The city isn’t what I thought it would be and now I’m this THING. I can’t even piss without “navigating a menu” to find the “settings icon.” Whatever that is. What the hell’s a subroutine? Damned artifisser speak.
Dad…I’m scared.