Written By Avita
Dec. 3, 2023, 7:58 p.m.(4/21/1021 AR)
Dearest Diary,
Did you know that there is a tale once told in the dunes of Eurus that is the very epitome of the concept of immortality at any cost?
The theory, really, is that so long as something you have done is remembered, you shall live eternal, and that each of these tales -- those which are worthy -- become the very stars in the sky?
At least, that is what I was told, once upon a time.
... Once upon a time...
Have you ever stopped to think of just how significant those four words are?
The suggestion of the importance of what you are about to hear: That once, long ago, far away, some soul did something that would echo through time like some haunting melody seeking to find your ear.
That once, in a time that so many have forgotten in its entirety, there was one thing worth remembering.
It's like being told a secret that no other will ever know, in a language that you didn't know you could speak.
... once upon a time...
Once upon a time, there was a voice...
This voice spoke a million words, each of which was a journey, and every one of them lead back to...
...
Did you know that there is a tale once told in the dunes of Eurus that is the very epitome of the concept of immortality at any cost?
The theory, really, is that so long as something you have done is remembered, you shall live eternal, and that each of these tales -- those which are worthy -- become the very stars in the sky?
At least, that is what I was told, once upon a time.
... Once upon a time...
Have you ever stopped to think of just how significant those four words are?
The suggestion of the importance of what you are about to hear: That once, long ago, far away, some soul did something that would echo through time like some haunting melody seeking to find your ear.
That once, in a time that so many have forgotten in its entirety, there was one thing worth remembering.
It's like being told a secret that no other will ever know, in a language that you didn't know you could speak.
... once upon a time...
Once upon a time, there was a voice...
This voice spoke a million words, each of which was a journey, and every one of them lead back to...
...
Written By Avita
Dec. 3, 2023, 7:48 p.m.(4/21/1021 AR)
Dearest Diary,
I feel as though I have asked this question a million times, yet not once have I received an answer that entertained, let alone satisfied me:
If you could tell but one story, one tale by which this weary world might remember you -- one caution to grant those that came after, one memory to remind the coming era of who you were, and what you stood for -- what would it be?
Go on.
I'll wait.
I feel as though I have asked this question a million times, yet not once have I received an answer that entertained, let alone satisfied me:
If you could tell but one story, one tale by which this weary world might remember you -- one caution to grant those that came after, one memory to remind the coming era of who you were, and what you stood for -- what would it be?
Go on.
I'll wait.
Written By Avita
Dec. 3, 2023, 7:45 p.m.(4/21/1021 AR)
Dear Diary,
Did you know?
I have never understood friendship.
People speak of love, and of comradery -- they speak of how their lives have been enriched by the people that they have met along the way, how they could never have gotten through their trials and tribulation without the love and support of all these people...
Did you know, diary, that support is simply another word for 'crutch'?
Where would I be now, had I waited for a friend to find me?
If I had waited for another to elevate me, rather than rising upon the horizon of my own volition?
Oh, don't look at me like that.
I can practically smell the pity on you.
I can see the 'what a shame', 'everyone needs friends' written plain upon your even plainer features.
Spare me.
We'll see if I return the favour.
Did you know?
I have never understood friendship.
People speak of love, and of comradery -- they speak of how their lives have been enriched by the people that they have met along the way, how they could never have gotten through their trials and tribulation without the love and support of all these people...
Did you know, diary, that support is simply another word for 'crutch'?
Where would I be now, had I waited for a friend to find me?
If I had waited for another to elevate me, rather than rising upon the horizon of my own volition?
Oh, don't look at me like that.
I can practically smell the pity on you.
I can see the 'what a shame', 'everyone needs friends' written plain upon your even plainer features.
Spare me.
We'll see if I return the favour.
Written By Avita
Nov. 26, 2023, 9:55 p.m.(4/7/1021 AR)
Dearest Diary,
I have thought of the storm.
I have considered the flame.
But, what of the shadows?
There are so many that fear them, for reasons beyond me.
They come to fear even their own, just as surely as their (oft unflattering) reflection.
But, the shadows are not nefarious things -- they are a comfort in the scorching, parching noon of summer, where we find our gentle rest and easy breezes.
There are flowers that bloom only within their soothing embrace, stretching long and as deep as the storm-tossed sea.
Me?
I rather like the dark.
Like a bleak horizon, it is where my radiance can best be seen.
I have thought of the storm.
I have considered the flame.
But, what of the shadows?
There are so many that fear them, for reasons beyond me.
They come to fear even their own, just as surely as their (oft unflattering) reflection.
But, the shadows are not nefarious things -- they are a comfort in the scorching, parching noon of summer, where we find our gentle rest and easy breezes.
There are flowers that bloom only within their soothing embrace, stretching long and as deep as the storm-tossed sea.
Me?
I rather like the dark.
Like a bleak horizon, it is where my radiance can best be seen.
Written By Avita
Nov. 26, 2023, 9:48 p.m.(4/7/1021 AR)
Dear Diary,
As I look out over the bay, I find my mind wandering to the storm.
Perhaps, more specifically, I think of how we choose to describe it, and its influence:
It rages.
We never stop to ask, "Is it justified?"
It rages, but we care not why -- we view it only as a destructive thing, much the same as an inferno, which also ... rages.
But, what is rage if not simply another face of passion?
What if the storm mourns, what if it lashes out the way that it does because though we hear its furious, thundrous call ... we do not -listen-?
What if we have, without our knowledge, stolen something precious from it ... and without our answer, no matter how many times it would ask that we return what was rightfully theirs, it could only grow louder?
As I look out over the bay, I find my mind wandering to the storm.
Perhaps, more specifically, I think of how we choose to describe it, and its influence:
It rages.
We never stop to ask, "Is it justified?"
It rages, but we care not why -- we view it only as a destructive thing, much the same as an inferno, which also ... rages.
But, what is rage if not simply another face of passion?
What if the storm mourns, what if it lashes out the way that it does because though we hear its furious, thundrous call ... we do not -listen-?
What if we have, without our knowledge, stolen something precious from it ... and without our answer, no matter how many times it would ask that we return what was rightfully theirs, it could only grow louder?
Written By Avita
Nov. 26, 2023, 9:40 p.m.(4/7/1021 AR)
Dear Diary,
Have you ever sat and watched a candle burn until -- with a gentle hiss, and a twist of smoke -- it is gone?
Melted away, spent, with not a moment spent mourning its tragic passing?
The flame dances for our entertainment, seductive as flame is to our minds.
We are but moths, lured closer with every lash and flicker ... even the words we use to describe it as it devours all are indicative of our wanting.
It isn't the limbs of flame, but tongues...
I wonder, darling diary ... what does it say to you?
Have you ever sat and watched a candle burn until -- with a gentle hiss, and a twist of smoke -- it is gone?
Melted away, spent, with not a moment spent mourning its tragic passing?
The flame dances for our entertainment, seductive as flame is to our minds.
We are but moths, lured closer with every lash and flicker ... even the words we use to describe it as it devours all are indicative of our wanting.
It isn't the limbs of flame, but tongues...
I wonder, darling diary ... what does it say to you?
Written By Avita
Nov. 19, 2023, 4:30 p.m.(3/21/1021 AR)
Dearest Diary,
I've learned something.
When you feel as though you have heard every story there is...
... We must simply write our own.
Allow me to begin:
Once upon a time...
I've learned something.
When you feel as though you have heard every story there is...
... We must simply write our own.
Allow me to begin:
Once upon a time...
Written By Avita
Nov. 19, 2023, 4:04 p.m.(3/21/1021 AR)
Dear Diary,
I feel as though I've seen your face a thousand, thousand times by now, and yet I could not even begin to reach for your name within my memory.
Should I try, the closer I am to remembering, the more your features drift into that hazy periphery of my imagination.
Were your eyes green?
Were they blue?
The dimple in your cheeks ... left... or right?
How I wish it mattered.
I feel as though I've seen your face a thousand, thousand times by now, and yet I could not even begin to reach for your name within my memory.
Should I try, the closer I am to remembering, the more your features drift into that hazy periphery of my imagination.
Were your eyes green?
Were they blue?
The dimple in your cheeks ... left... or right?
How I wish it mattered.
Written By Avita
Nov. 19, 2023, 3:49 p.m.(3/21/1021 AR)
Dear Diary,
I am fascinated, in some small measure, by the attention paid to the far-away in this place.
Foreign lands, forgotten languages, creeds, creatures...
So few understand even what is upon their doorsteps, let alone in the courtyard that sprawls before them.
For example, what do you REALLY know about the Saffron?
I am fascinated, in some small measure, by the attention paid to the far-away in this place.
Foreign lands, forgotten languages, creeds, creatures...
So few understand even what is upon their doorsteps, let alone in the courtyard that sprawls before them.
For example, what do you REALLY know about the Saffron?
Written By Avita
Nov. 12, 2023, 3:56 p.m.(3/7/1021 AR)
Dearest Diary,
Red.
Orange.
Gold.
Black.
Fire, smoke, and ash ...
Blood, sand, and silence...
Tch.
There's a story here somewhere.
A tale to be told in fabric, in hides, in feathers, gems and ink ...
It begins once upon a time, and ends beyond a sun-stricken horizon -- a dream, a nightmare, one in the same.
It's the middle that eludes me, really.
Who is the hero?
Who is the villain?
The nature of hope, versus the gravity of despair?
No.
NO!
That is a story that has been told, again and again...
I'm better than that.
... you know, you're remarkably unhelpful.
Red.
Orange.
Gold.
Black.
Fire, smoke, and ash ...
Blood, sand, and silence...
Tch.
There's a story here somewhere.
A tale to be told in fabric, in hides, in feathers, gems and ink ...
It begins once upon a time, and ends beyond a sun-stricken horizon -- a dream, a nightmare, one in the same.
It's the middle that eludes me, really.
Who is the hero?
Who is the villain?
The nature of hope, versus the gravity of despair?
No.
NO!
That is a story that has been told, again and again...
I'm better than that.
... you know, you're remarkably unhelpful.
Written By Avita
Nov. 12, 2023, 3:16 p.m.(3/7/1021 AR)
Sigh.
Dear Diary,
I've an event I'm planning, darling, but I'm having a terrible time of it.
Oh, no, I don't care about all that.
It's the fashion, you see.
I'll not be caught dead wearing something I've already been seen in -- how gauche -- and I lack not for ideas or inspiration, but rather an abundance of it.
Normally I would adorn myself in flawless dawnstones, and though they will doubtlessly be included amongst the multitudes necessary to sing my glory to all that behold me in all my stunning splendor, I feel that it's...
... Well...
Simply ... not enough.
Not this time.
I need something ... special.
Dear Diary,
I've an event I'm planning, darling, but I'm having a terrible time of it.
Oh, no, I don't care about all that.
It's the fashion, you see.
I'll not be caught dead wearing something I've already been seen in -- how gauche -- and I lack not for ideas or inspiration, but rather an abundance of it.
Normally I would adorn myself in flawless dawnstones, and though they will doubtlessly be included amongst the multitudes necessary to sing my glory to all that behold me in all my stunning splendor, I feel that it's...
... Well...
Simply ... not enough.
Not this time.
I need something ... special.
Written By Avita
Nov. 12, 2023, 3:08 p.m.(3/6/1021 AR)
Dear ... vaguely familiar Diary ...?
I recognise you from somewhere.
Perhaps you were one of the recipients of my recent charitable works.
... What?
You haven't heard of my charitable works?
I find that hard to believe, what with it inspiring so many others to action!
To feed and to clothe the poor, those which we have overlooked, the sick, the infirm, the huddled masses that have gone so woefully without as the Compact scrambles to make sense of all that has been, all that is, and the stark and staggering promise of what yet could be!
Oh, I don't know that I'd call myself a pillar of society.
A paragon of the generosity of self and spirit.
A stalwart and stoic ally of the disenfranchised.
Of course, I'd understand if you did.
... with gratitude and conviction.
Oh, I'm not saying I'm owed such, of course.
...
... ...
You're quite welcome.
I recognise you from somewhere.
Perhaps you were one of the recipients of my recent charitable works.
... What?
You haven't heard of my charitable works?
I find that hard to believe, what with it inspiring so many others to action!
To feed and to clothe the poor, those which we have overlooked, the sick, the infirm, the huddled masses that have gone so woefully without as the Compact scrambles to make sense of all that has been, all that is, and the stark and staggering promise of what yet could be!
Oh, I don't know that I'd call myself a pillar of society.
A paragon of the generosity of self and spirit.
A stalwart and stoic ally of the disenfranchised.
Of course, I'd understand if you did.
... with gratitude and conviction.
Oh, I'm not saying I'm owed such, of course.
...
... ...
You're quite welcome.
Written By Avita
Nov. 5, 2023, 3:23 p.m.(2/21/1021 AR)
Oh, Diary...
You've no idea the things I've got planned.
Oh, no, nothing quite like that.
Not yet.
I speak of Fashion, darling.
I speak of art given motion, of words given voice, of songs once lifeless now sung with spirits high, of that which is seen most clearly through a mirror thoroughly broken.
No.
I don't care to elaborate.
Good of you to ask.
Just know that a story is being told, and she dances between the lines you read, laughing at the blindness of the eyes that seek her there yet cannot see her sinful cipher.
You've no idea the things I've got planned.
Oh, no, nothing quite like that.
Not yet.
I speak of Fashion, darling.
I speak of art given motion, of words given voice, of songs once lifeless now sung with spirits high, of that which is seen most clearly through a mirror thoroughly broken.
No.
I don't care to elaborate.
Good of you to ask.
Just know that a story is being told, and she dances between the lines you read, laughing at the blindness of the eyes that seek her there yet cannot see her sinful cipher.
Written By Avita
Nov. 5, 2023, 3:08 p.m.(2/20/1021 AR)
Dearest Diary the Second, Replacement for my judgmental Man-Journal of Previous Entries,
My protege is a man of many talents, and I feel that my opinion of him has gone unsaid. This has been selfish of me.
Everyone deserves to know my opinion of them.
Count Duarte Amadeo, a man that tell a tale -and- tend your feet all at the same time -- a multitasker, a prime utility, the finest tool in your shed.
Yes, Count Duarte Amadeo is quite a tool, indeed.
If nothing else, he has never bored me.
-Abandoned- me, certainly.
I didn't much care for that, Diary, not one little bit.
My heart may be wounded, the shadows grow darker, but I have overcome and, selflessly and with immeasurable grace, I have learned how to forgive him.
Mm?
How?
Oh, come now, he worked hard for such a boon.
I can't just go giving it away.
My protege is a man of many talents, and I feel that my opinion of him has gone unsaid. This has been selfish of me.
Everyone deserves to know my opinion of them.
Count Duarte Amadeo, a man that tell a tale -and- tend your feet all at the same time -- a multitasker, a prime utility, the finest tool in your shed.
Yes, Count Duarte Amadeo is quite a tool, indeed.
If nothing else, he has never bored me.
-Abandoned- me, certainly.
I didn't much care for that, Diary, not one little bit.
My heart may be wounded, the shadows grow darker, but I have overcome and, selflessly and with immeasurable grace, I have learned how to forgive him.
Mm?
How?
Oh, come now, he worked hard for such a boon.
I can't just go giving it away.
Written By Avita
Nov. 5, 2023, 2:59 p.m.(2/20/1021 AR)
Dear Diary,
I deserve this, you know.
I insist.
All of this and more.
... what do you mean 'what is 'this'?'?
Last I checked it, it wasn't any of your business what my words -meant-, darling.
But, as I am a most generous soul, so kind and so selfless, I suppose I shall let you in on a secret.
Come closer, secrets should only be shared in whispers.
... Closer, my dear, I won't bite.
... What was -that- look?!
Well, fine!
You can just stay in the dark, blindly staggering around in the shadows cast by my radiance.
I'll have you know there are many a man that would KILL for me to whisper secrets into their ear!
HMPH.
I deserve this, you know.
I insist.
All of this and more.
... what do you mean 'what is 'this'?'?
Last I checked it, it wasn't any of your business what my words -meant-, darling.
But, as I am a most generous soul, so kind and so selfless, I suppose I shall let you in on a secret.
Come closer, secrets should only be shared in whispers.
... Closer, my dear, I won't bite.
... What was -that- look?!
Well, fine!
You can just stay in the dark, blindly staggering around in the shadows cast by my radiance.
I'll have you know there are many a man that would KILL for me to whisper secrets into their ear!
HMPH.
Written By Avita
Oct. 22, 2023, 12:05 p.m.(1/20/1021 AR)
Dear Diary,
Today I had reason to return to Seraceni Manor, rather than warming myself by the fire in my own assuredly very humble abode.
Upon arriving, and making my way to the main chamber where I keep a spare bed on the off chance that I should -have- to remain overnight, I found that my wardrobe had been RANSACKED.
Outraged, I made my way back out into the Manor proper, following a trail of my carefully curated clothing all the way down the hall and out into the water garden.
Have a guess at what I found, Diary, do.
Go on.
Guess.
... No.
Gods, how I wish that was what I found.
What I found, darling, was my husband.
Unconcious, spilled into the pool-drowned map of this place, REEKING OF MY GOOD WINE, AND WEARING MY FAVOURITE STARLIGHT SILK NIGHTROBE!
He had the BARE AUDACITY to look GOOD in it!
Gods damn his skintone.
... mm?
... No, I didn't help him out of the water!
We do not award criminal behaviour in Ischia.
... What do you mean that's not illegal?!
It was blatant highway robery!
Today I had reason to return to Seraceni Manor, rather than warming myself by the fire in my own assuredly very humble abode.
Upon arriving, and making my way to the main chamber where I keep a spare bed on the off chance that I should -have- to remain overnight, I found that my wardrobe had been RANSACKED.
Outraged, I made my way back out into the Manor proper, following a trail of my carefully curated clothing all the way down the hall and out into the water garden.
Have a guess at what I found, Diary, do.
Go on.
Guess.
... No.
Gods, how I wish that was what I found.
What I found, darling, was my husband.
Unconcious, spilled into the pool-drowned map of this place, REEKING OF MY GOOD WINE, AND WEARING MY FAVOURITE STARLIGHT SILK NIGHTROBE!
He had the BARE AUDACITY to look GOOD in it!
Gods damn his skintone.
... mm?
... No, I didn't help him out of the water!
We do not award criminal behaviour in Ischia.
... What do you mean that's not illegal?!
It was blatant highway robery!
Written By Avita
Oct. 22, 2023, 11:51 a.m.(1/20/1021 AR)
Dear Diary,
Do you know what I miss when I'm here in this frozen hellscape, watching the creeping chill all but consume the view from my window in its frosty, greedy little grip?
My well-oiled smooth-chested frond fanning followers.
I can't exactly make them strip down, oil up and go about their usual business knee deep in snow.
... could I?
... no...
No.
That would be cruel.
... Then again ...
If I were to have them first build great blazes by which to stand as they fanned me -- given I refuse to be fanned when I've not cause to be fanned, even though it should rile my flames all the hotter than they normally are -- I suppose it would be more than fair to have their resume their duties.
Besides, it would make the oil shine so beautifully.
I am, above all else, an aesthete.
Do you know what I miss when I'm here in this frozen hellscape, watching the creeping chill all but consume the view from my window in its frosty, greedy little grip?
My well-oiled smooth-chested frond fanning followers.
I can't exactly make them strip down, oil up and go about their usual business knee deep in snow.
... could I?
... no...
No.
That would be cruel.
... Then again ...
If I were to have them first build great blazes by which to stand as they fanned me -- given I refuse to be fanned when I've not cause to be fanned, even though it should rile my flames all the hotter than they normally are -- I suppose it would be more than fair to have their resume their duties.
Besides, it would make the oil shine so beautifully.
I am, above all else, an aesthete.
Written By Avita
Oct. 22, 2023, 11:34 a.m.(1/20/1021 AR)
If ever you have asked yourself if you were worthy of wonder, if you were destined for distinction, you must only know one thing:
You are all that you believe you are.
... Two things:
You are all that you believe you are, but I am better.
I am always better.
There.
Wasn't that inspiring?
You are all that you believe you are.
... Two things:
You are all that you believe you are, but I am better.
I am always better.
There.
Wasn't that inspiring?
Written By Avita
Oct. 15, 2023, 9:40 a.m.(1/6/1021 AR)
Dearest Diary,
... Are you new?
I don't believe I've bestowed my glorious words upon you before...
... No, I do believe I'd remember you.
No matter.
Did you know that in Ischia, we believe a life is lived thrice?
Oh, it's a funny little story, my dear, based -- of all things -- upon a traditional tea that we brew.
The first cup is gentle.
The second cup is strong.
The third cup is bitter.
I suppose my question is this: Which cup do we sup upon now?
There's more to the story, of course, there's always more. But, if you want to know the truth, you'd have to ask me nicely, darling.
Perhaps when I find myself sated, pleased with your method of asking, I might let you sip from -my- cup, darling.
Wouldn't that be a treat?
... Are you new?
I don't believe I've bestowed my glorious words upon you before...
... No, I do believe I'd remember you.
No matter.
Did you know that in Ischia, we believe a life is lived thrice?
Oh, it's a funny little story, my dear, based -- of all things -- upon a traditional tea that we brew.
The first cup is gentle.
The second cup is strong.
The third cup is bitter.
I suppose my question is this: Which cup do we sup upon now?
There's more to the story, of course, there's always more. But, if you want to know the truth, you'd have to ask me nicely, darling.
Perhaps when I find myself sated, pleased with your method of asking, I might let you sip from -my- cup, darling.
Wouldn't that be a treat?
Written By Avita
Oct. 15, 2023, 9:15 a.m.(1/6/1021 AR)
Dear Diary,
Yes. I do want that part written.
That, too. For posterity.
My husband has begun threatening me with forceful extractions from this place.
I know you're reading this, you spite-fueled twazzock.
You'll have to find me first!
If I go missing, darling, don't believe the letters.
He's done this to me.
Yes. I do want that part written.
That, too. For posterity.
My husband has begun threatening me with forceful extractions from this place.
I know you're reading this, you spite-fueled twazzock.
You'll have to find me first!
If I go missing, darling, don't believe the letters.
He's done this to me.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.