[!] A diary entry, never to be looked at by anyone but a pair of golden hues.
(Do not metagame this information. This is Buggie's creative writing piece.)
(May have been inspired by the songs Not Strong Enough and Can't Catch Me Now.)
In the blink of an eye, I vanish, a mere memory to be reminisced about, not mourned. As I pass, I don't desire tears on my grave; instead, let others rejoice as I become one with the land.
Well, perhaps "rejoice" in the sense that I am united with Eden. I understand some may find reason to rejoice for less noble motives. Are they truly wrong for doing so? The blood of those I've killed stains my hands; most were someone's daughter, friend, or son. Now, looking at my own beautiful family, the small one I've created, Kharash forgives anyone who might harm them. Because I will not.
Despite my years, I still get sidetracked. One would think that over time, I would learn to stay on topic. But, yes, my inevitable death. Most would fear the thought, but not me. A part of me is ready at this point, despite my "young" age. Though I don't feel young; it's as if I've lived a thousand lives in my thirty-three, almost thirty-four years.
The Azari’cerr, my citizens, will outlive me by centuries. Living among them for a decade can make one feel small, insignificant. Despite my "status," it's a stone-cold truth: I am not as important. In these ten years, my face has aged, worn from countless battles and never-ending problems. Yet, the Azari have barely aged three years, looking young for eons. It makes a De'nevir like me feel like a grandmother, but I can't complain. My tired face reflects the struggles I've faced, the responsibilities I shoulder. Isn't that beautiful in its own way?
My legacy will endure, lingering in the Forests, evident in the small footprints on muddied trails. My voice will seemingly echo off tavern walls. Apollon will speak of me for as long as he lives, intimately acquainted with every freckle and eyelash. So, when I'm gone, will I truly be away, or merely a whisper in the wind? As my body decomposes in the beloved flower field, will others visit to hear my ramblings? Should they build upon my grave, never to be looked at again? I wish I wasn't so inquisitive.
When people think of Jolie, Elaine, Jolie Elaine Lovell, I want them to remember my most furious moments, the fear I instilled. But I hope they remember my love as well, for the family I cherish, even the ones I've adopted. Remember how my embraces are tighter and my smile a bit wider. Chaotic as a sea storm, yet somehow as calming as the ocean breeze. It’s only a matter of time. Less than one hundred years. I should spend it wisely.
(Do not metagame this information. This is Buggie's creative writing piece.)
(May have been inspired by the songs Not Strong Enough and Can't Catch Me Now.)
In the blink of an eye, I vanish, a mere memory to be reminisced about, not mourned. As I pass, I don't desire tears on my grave; instead, let others rejoice as I become one with the land.
Well, perhaps "rejoice" in the sense that I am united with Eden. I understand some may find reason to rejoice for less noble motives. Are they truly wrong for doing so? The blood of those I've killed stains my hands; most were someone's daughter, friend, or son. Now, looking at my own beautiful family, the small one I've created, Kharash forgives anyone who might harm them. Because I will not.
Despite my years, I still get sidetracked. One would think that over time, I would learn to stay on topic. But, yes, my inevitable death. Most would fear the thought, but not me. A part of me is ready at this point, despite my "young" age. Though I don't feel young; it's as if I've lived a thousand lives in my thirty-three, almost thirty-four years.
The Azari’cerr, my citizens, will outlive me by centuries. Living among them for a decade can make one feel small, insignificant. Despite my "status," it's a stone-cold truth: I am not as important. In these ten years, my face has aged, worn from countless battles and never-ending problems. Yet, the Azari have barely aged three years, looking young for eons. It makes a De'nevir like me feel like a grandmother, but I can't complain. My tired face reflects the struggles I've faced, the responsibilities I shoulder. Isn't that beautiful in its own way?
My legacy will endure, lingering in the Forests, evident in the small footprints on muddied trails. My voice will seemingly echo off tavern walls. Apollon will speak of me for as long as he lives, intimately acquainted with every freckle and eyelash. So, when I'm gone, will I truly be away, or merely a whisper in the wind? As my body decomposes in the beloved flower field, will others visit to hear my ramblings? Should they build upon my grave, never to be looked at again? I wish I wasn't so inquisitive.
When people think of Jolie, Elaine, Jolie Elaine Lovell, I want them to remember my most furious moments, the fear I instilled. But I hope they remember my love as well, for the family I cherish, even the ones I've adopted. Remember how my embraces are tighter and my smile a bit wider. Chaotic as a sea storm, yet somehow as calming as the ocean breeze. It’s only a matter of time. Less than one hundred years. I should spend it wisely.
