Chapter Text
1816-04-11
Time is but a gift and a lie. Once you've heard, or seen, the lie long enough you start to believe it.
How silly.
You start shaping your reality just like how malleable these lies are.
Even through the headaches, forgetting how you got to one place, the weird idea of "Leyline disorders" from the word of adventurers... for one has been taught and fought tooth and nail against temptations, but has not been taught to fight against the time. Even if you ignore the times and records of the time, never even thinking about converting them to what you're used to. Never questioning the sky, where the sun or moon sets, and never questioning why when you head to another region, it's daytime or night time all around. No matter how far you run.
Never questioned the weird floating island-like castle in the sky that is never reachable, like an illusion that is seen all around.
Who knew truth could lie?
Her name is Charlotte Rosalie. For she tells all truths, and writes like the day never ends. You can speak to her, she can smile at you, you can touch her, hug her, kiss her, get close to her, hold her hand, tell her anything you want. She never aged.
"Don't go there. It's dangerous and not reserved for us."
And once you go against her word, you pass out, as if your head was spinning if you ignore what she says. You're set into an illusion, perhaps another trial? She's crying, but how can you confirm it's her when she's saying, "Don't go"? It's just a graveyard. She was reaching out to you, and she looked distorted, you see her like she was older. Surely just a nightmare? You fight your way out of it, as if fighting water-thick enemies.
You wake up in a sweat, red hair tangled in grass, sitting up. You passed the trial, you think. But you wake up next to a stone, with a red hat on it.
Charlotte Rosalie
The Steambirds Reporter
▉▉▉▉-04-10
1618-04-11
"Lies are soft and malleable, but the truth is sharp and inflexible."