I’m not normally one for keeping records but what does it matter anymore? I’m stuck back in a time when you had to jump at every shadow if you wanted to survive. The world has moved on without me and I’ve found that I really don’t care to be part of it. But I am. I honestly can’t believe I’m doing this. Writing about myself. Records. All they create is proof and leverage in the wrong hands. An elf back at Eldre’Thalas suggested I do this–writing down my thoughts and memories. After her insistence, I decided to give it a try, it’s not like I have much left to lose anyway, right? One of the younger elves today drew a picture. In her innocence, she made up a sun goddess to be Elune’s sister, so she would not be so lonely. But the sisters hated each other and always fought. That’s when she looked up at me from her table and asked why the others hated her so much. That little paper sun said so much and so little, alone in the sky, not creating any real light. Like the highborne, it had been pushed away into solitude, unaccepted, apart from the rest of the drawing. It was all fake, a lie, a made-up story. Something an innocent mind creates to feel better. That’s what I thought when I looked at the fake little sun. It’s not really there…light and hope. True, we could act more like them to fit in, but then we would be living a lie. For that matter, what is truth anyway? Are we placed apart so others don’t have to face our truths? So they can go on living in their little illusions of being right or that some day…there is something better waiting. Why should there be something better? Every time, the sun turns out to be only paper.
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Hello! I'm Ash, a type of mud faery. My maker said, as a rule, I usually deal with whatever is left behind after a forest fire, turning pieces of burnt wood and ashes into new soil. But since fires are rare, I also work with dried out things, and, on occasion, dead stuff. Saronai adopted me. I'm her more earthy muse!
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