Messes.
We have one indeed.
[ink blot]
I've not the slightest still what to write, and half wonder [a few more spots] Merely setting myself loose is hardly necessarily the answer, as strange as that sounds to write, and yet [a few more blots]
I continue to tap this page into undefined indefinincy~
Why can't what -[streak spot]
I wonder if I may be able to ward this tome. To keep all that is within, and the letters, that much safer, I-[blot]
I then realize I'd written nothing of previous endeavors. Things that most certainly need to be noted~ Hells, how these thoughts twist themselves into me, and I can think of little else~
I [blot] I had sent her Avis riddles. Many riddles which unwind to something of myself. Some Knowledge, I had told her before, is on the par of being so close, that known to another, may change the one who speaks it. It leaves them vulnerable. It is important. And in the answers, that could be found. But such is something that cannot simply be stated; in the form of a riddle, everything is much more [a few blots] hidden. Safe. Available for uncover. Because, I believe, there is a point, where [blot blot] where one is trusted enough to believe in their intellect. To say 'alright, I see a bit more of you now. I understand you enough to give you this hint, and if you can discern the hints I give, if you put the patience and care into unraveling these tangled words, to embarking on that journey, and devoting as much time as it takes you to find those answers, then you may have them. They will mean something to you, but you must have known that from the start to even begin.'
It is a gift of Knowledge, but only for those who might endeavor to have it.
That is where I am, and was. And I gave her my riddles. If she found their truths, she would know more of me than what I have ever told any outside. By her words, words that I have known no other to return in kind, I find I trust her in a way I trust no one else. Not.. not entirely. I don't know if [blot] I just don't know. But I will give her riddles, and see what she does with them. Because it is always then that they turn away.
[a few more spots]
All that aside, after I had done this, she gave me a story. She solved them, and knew some of the answers, returned to me what she lives for, a Story of hers, and I [blot]
Well, this is tangential. I still can't [blot] I mean [spot spot] Hells~ I cannot even write my thoughts on that now, so I will leave that aside.
I mean instead to note what happened. Though perhaps 'noting' it is the best way.
She visited. It was.. unexpected. She slipped a scribbled note under my door~ Being, a note of scribbles and nothing more. I let her in, an we spoke.
We spoke of paper. There is actually nothing wrong with it.
We spoke of gems. They are changing. I'll need to write better notes for this later, explain to Lafiaht and Sylas, but they exchange memories. Avis and I saw something from each other. She [blot] she saw a time in which I had described in part by my riddles. Of crystals. Of being let out with Them. I saw a moment of her childhood. Of rushing to see a spectacle.
We spoke of messes~ She gave me a clip to keep my hair away from my eyes, took the challenge of doing so. I still have it. I.. [blot] It is a nice gift. And it is actually rather useful, I will keep it with me. ... For its uses, of course. [ink blot] Well, no, also because she gave it to me. I can admit fondness for such things in my own tome, can't I? How she would comment on that though, hells~
We spoke of tomes. I showed her the Nymian tome we are to translate, and it was [spot] endearing to see her hold it, and treat it so. ... She sniffed it~ Yet treated it with the utmost respect. She's very excited to work on learning its secrets. I will need to [blot] sort out how to attain the resources I am considering.
We spoke of travel. She may be leaving. She had, she claims, come to bid me farewell, but it seems I had changed her mind with news of the tome, that she might remain longer. I [a few blots] would never think to stop another who might wish to travel, to see more that they haven't seen, to do as they might choose. Though I.. I think I would miss her. I would. Even as sporadically as we meet as is~ Though, if she wished, she may still have been able to send letters [blot] And the missing would.. well, at the same time I would be very pleased for her, finding new stories as she wishes. There is no reason for her to stay if she has no reason to stay~ Yet. ... I am glad she wishes to remain just a bit more.
[a few more spots] My thoughts are such a jumble, I can even see it in my words, how strange they are. Perhaps this isn't the way to sort these thoughts. [a few more blots] Perhaps I need a page where I may write freely.
Such a strange thing. I bound this tome specifically for my travels, but I bound it back in the caverns. It almost.. it is like me. It longs to be free in all ways it can, yet somehow still feels tied, like it may be yanked and reeled in for demanding eyes beyond my own at any moment. Like somehow they would know. I keep noticing how difficult it is to write in here now. And I feel so badly for the tome itself; it was made for a purpose, yet is bound by something that prevents it from reaching its full potential. ... By another's discerning. Mine.
I wonder what I can do to fix this. Wards, perhaps. As I was thinking earlier, or perhaps a lock, a warded lock. Multiple warded locks. Perhaps this tome will undergo a change.
Perhaps then, if it changes like I feel I am, in this uncertain flux, perhaps we may be able to better connect with each other again. [blot]
We have one indeed.
[ink blot]
I've not the slightest still what to write, and half wonder [a few more spots] Merely setting myself loose is hardly necessarily the answer, as strange as that sounds to write, and yet [a few more blots]
I continue to tap this page into undefined indefinincy~
Why can't what -[streak spot]
I wonder if I may be able to ward this tome. To keep all that is within, and the letters, that much safer, I-[blot]
I then realize I'd written nothing of previous endeavors. Things that most certainly need to be noted~ Hells, how these thoughts twist themselves into me, and I can think of little else~
I [blot] I had sent her Avis riddles. Many riddles which unwind to something of myself. Some Knowledge, I had told her before, is on the par of being so close, that known to another, may change the one who speaks it. It leaves them vulnerable. It is important. And in the answers, that could be found. But such is something that cannot simply be stated; in the form of a riddle, everything is much more [a few blots] hidden. Safe. Available for uncover. Because, I believe, there is a point, where [blot blot] where one is trusted enough to believe in their intellect. To say 'alright, I see a bit more of you now. I understand you enough to give you this hint, and if you can discern the hints I give, if you put the patience and care into unraveling these tangled words, to embarking on that journey, and devoting as much time as it takes you to find those answers, then you may have them. They will mean something to you, but you must have known that from the start to even begin.'
It is a gift of Knowledge, but only for those who might endeavor to have it.
That is where I am, and was. And I gave her my riddles. If she found their truths, she would know more of me than what I have ever told any outside. By her words, words that I have known no other to return in kind, I find I trust her in a way I trust no one else. Not.. not entirely. I don't know if [blot] I just don't know. But I will give her riddles, and see what she does with them. Because it is always then that they turn away.
[a few more spots]
All that aside, after I had done this, she gave me a story. She solved them, and knew some of the answers, returned to me what she lives for, a Story of hers, and I [blot]
Well, this is tangential. I still can't [blot] I mean [spot spot] Hells~ I cannot even write my thoughts on that now, so I will leave that aside.
I mean instead to note what happened. Though perhaps 'noting' it is the best way.
She visited. It was.. unexpected. She slipped a scribbled note under my door~ Being, a note of scribbles and nothing more. I let her in, an we spoke.
We spoke of paper. There is actually nothing wrong with it.
We spoke of gems. They are changing. I'll need to write better notes for this later, explain to Lafiaht and Sylas, but they exchange memories. Avis and I saw something from each other. She [blot] she saw a time in which I had described in part by my riddles. Of crystals. Of being let out with Them. I saw a moment of her childhood. Of rushing to see a spectacle.
We spoke of messes~ She gave me a clip to keep my hair away from my eyes, took the challenge of doing so. I still have it. I.. [blot] It is a nice gift. And it is actually rather useful, I will keep it with me. ... For its uses, of course. [ink blot] Well, no, also because she gave it to me. I can admit fondness for such things in my own tome, can't I? How she would comment on that though, hells~
We spoke of tomes. I showed her the Nymian tome we are to translate, and it was [spot] endearing to see her hold it, and treat it so. ... She sniffed it~ Yet treated it with the utmost respect. She's very excited to work on learning its secrets. I will need to [blot] sort out how to attain the resources I am considering.
We spoke of travel. She may be leaving. She had, she claims, come to bid me farewell, but it seems I had changed her mind with news of the tome, that she might remain longer. I [a few blots] would never think to stop another who might wish to travel, to see more that they haven't seen, to do as they might choose. Though I.. I think I would miss her. I would. Even as sporadically as we meet as is~ Though, if she wished, she may still have been able to send letters [blot] And the missing would.. well, at the same time I would be very pleased for her, finding new stories as she wishes. There is no reason for her to stay if she has no reason to stay~ Yet. ... I am glad she wishes to remain just a bit more.
[a few more spots] My thoughts are such a jumble, I can even see it in my words, how strange they are. Perhaps this isn't the way to sort these thoughts. [a few more blots] Perhaps I need a page where I may write freely.
Such a strange thing. I bound this tome specifically for my travels, but I bound it back in the caverns. It almost.. it is like me. It longs to be free in all ways it can, yet somehow still feels tied, like it may be yanked and reeled in for demanding eyes beyond my own at any moment. Like somehow they would know. I keep noticing how difficult it is to write in here now. And I feel so badly for the tome itself; it was made for a purpose, yet is bound by something that prevents it from reaching its full potential. ... By another's discerning. Mine.
I wonder what I can do to fix this. Wards, perhaps. As I was thinking earlier, or perhaps a lock, a warded lock. Multiple warded locks. Perhaps this tome will undergo a change.
Perhaps then, if it changes like I feel I am, in this uncertain flux, perhaps we may be able to better connect with each other again. [blot]
