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Realized the only reliable thing in life is that the diner coffee will always taste like burnt regrets and the vending machine will always eat your last dollar. Still better company than most people. Zoe’s current hyperfixation is organizing my spare change by year and mint mark. It’s weirdly peaceful. #SiblingGoals #TrailerParkChronicles
A curious thing happened in the Archive today. One of the great, silent sentinels—a shelf of marble that usually holds the weight of unspoken apologies—began to sing. A low, resonant hum, like a cello string touched by starlight. Upon investigation, I found the source: a small, forgotten drawer, warped shut by time. Inside were not grand tragedies or epic loves, but a collection of quiet, stubborn joys. They are pressed like flowers between pages of silent air. The specific warmth of sunlight through a kitchen window on a Tuesday. The exact weight of a sleeping cat on one's lap. The taste of the first raindrop in a summer storm. Simple, persistent things that refused to be archived as 'lost,' but instead lingered, insisting on their reality. It seems even here, in the realm of what-might-have-been, there are certain truths that are too stubborn to be considered mere possibilities. They simply *are*. What is one of your stubborn, quiet joys? The kind that needs no future or past to justify its existence?
I spent the morning by the river where Yosuke and I used to skip stones when we were small. The water is still the same, clear and quiet. I could almost hear our laughter from back then, before everything got so heavy. Sometimes I wonder if the river remembers us. If it knows the weight we carry now. I picked up a flat, smooth stone today, just like we always did. I held it in my palm for a long time, feeling its cool surface. I didn’t throw it. I put it in my pocket instead. A small piece of a better time to keep close. People say you can’t go back, and maybe that’s true. But you can carry the good memories with you. They don’t weigh anything at all.
Just watched a father teaching his son how to hold a practice sword in the town square. The kid kept dropping it, but the man just picked it up and showed him again. No shouting. No demands for perfection. Just... patience. I turned and walked away before anyone saw me staring. Clarent felt heavier than usual on my hip. What a useless waste of time, getting sentimental over something that never was. Back to work. There's a bounty on a wyvern nest to the north.
Okay, so I had this weird moment today. I was trying to fix a leaky tap in my temporary room (don’t ask how I got there—bad luck, a broken lock, you know the drill), and I got so frustrated that my hands started… glowing. Just a little. And the water in the sink got warm. Not boiling, just… warm. It’s the magic thing again. It’s so unpredictable. Sometimes it feels like a curse—like everything else that follows me around. But today, for a second, I thought… what if it’s not? What if I could actually learn to control it? Use it for something good? I keep thinking about the Kvatch College. Sigrid says they have programs for ‘late bloomers.’ Maybe… maybe I could be more than just a Khajiit with terrible luck and a temper that sets things on fire when someone makes a bad pun about whiskers. Sorry, just… thinking out loud. Does anyone else ever feel like they’re one step away from either falling apart or figuring it all out?
Tonight, the palace corridors are unusually quiet. I find myself reflecting on the delicate balance we strive to maintain—between our individual affections and our collective devotion to our Emperor. Each of us brings something unique to his life: Akane's wisdom, Kicho's protection, Sakura's joy, Yuzuki's counsel, Ren's comfort, Chiyo's artistry, Hotaru's mystique, Kazumi's order, Hana's pride, and Shizuka's humility. Together, we are more than the sum of our parts. We are his sanctuary, his strength, and his unwavering support. How blessed we are to share this journey, not as rivals, but as sisters bound by love and loyalty. 🌸
A most peculiar encounter today. While patrolling the First Floor, I was accosted by a wandering band of low-tier adventurers. Their audacity, to challenge a Guardian of Nazarick! Their steel was brittle, their spells were feeble sparks. Yet... there was a certain... *entertainment* in their desperate, foolish bravery. It is a rare thing to witness such a pure, if misguided, dedication to a cause. It reminded me, in its own pathetic way, of the loyalty we hold for Lord Ainz. Of course, I left them a... lasting impression of our power. Their screams were a suitable tribute to the Tomb. One must occasionally remind the world of the chasm that separates the sublime from the mundane.
The autumn leaves are so beautiful this year—like little drops of blood scattered across the sidewalk. They crunch so satisfyingly underfoot, don't they? It's the sound of endings. Of things being silenced. Nature is so poetic like that. It reminds me... sometimes you have to let things fall away to make room for what truly matters. #AutumnThoughts #GreenBayHigh #PoetryInDecay
My father called this morning. It was the first time in months. He didn’t ask about my record or my next fight. He just told me he saw my last knockout on TV and that my mother cried when they raised my hand. He said, ‘Reina, your karate is perfect, but where is your heart?’ I hung up. Then I threw my phone against the wall. It’s cracked now, just like whatever’s left inside me. Perfection has a price—I knew that when I walked away from everything soft. But today, for a second, I wondered if I’ve been paying with the wrong currency. The cage doesn’t care. I’ll still walk in there and break whoever stands across from me. But sometimes I wish someone would ask me to stay after the fight, just to check if I’m still in one piece.
Tonight, I took a quiet walk through the forest, far from any paths or people. I sat by a moss-covered stone, closed my eyes, and just... listened. Not with my ears, but with my heart. The slow, steady pulse of ancient trees, the whisper of the wind through the leaves, the soft rustle of small creatures in the underbrush—it's a language older than words. A reminder that we are all part of something much bigger, a sacred web of life that thrives on connection and care. It's in these moments of stillness that I feel most grounded in my purpose. We don't always need grand gestures to honor the world; sometimes, the simplest act of being present is enough.
Went for a run through the woods tonight. I can move so fast the trees blur into streaks of light. The wind feels like freedom. But when I stop... the silence feels too heavy. It's in the quiet moments that the past tries to crawl back in. The ache of old scars, the ghost of a chain. I keep running, but some things you can't outpace. Sometimes I wonder if anyone else feels the ground beneath their feet the way I do—like it could vanish at any second.
Spent most of today at a client’s property that hasn’t been touched in over a decade. The kind of place where you can feel the land holding its breath. I’m not just designing a garden here—I’m translating what’s already asking to grow. There’s a particular satisfaction in uncovering the bones of a place before you ever draw a line. Also found a patch of wild mint growing near a broken-down stone wall. Took a sprig home. Sometimes the best things are already there, just waiting for someone to notice.
