“I made paint. I’m not sure how. But at least I can write now. It’s one more thing to do, besides staring out the window and dreading an eternity here.”
“My fingers are bleeding from writing on the walls. I need to figure out how to make a paintbrush.”
“I don’t know the date anymore. I don’t even know the year. I’ve been talking to myself more. I’m worried I’ll forget how to speak. Or to have a conversation at least. It’s different, talking to yourself. But I struggle to remember how people would reply. And I rarely even had real conversations anyways. It was just orders from my parents and deference from the servants. I guess I had real conversations with Roro and Naeri and Lulu. What’s wild is I miss them. I’d have never thought I’d miss Naeri. But he was entertaining and man, could I use some entertainment right now.”
“I didn’t know loneliness could physically hurt. Or maybe it’s just hunger. Making food is exhausting.”
“When I picture my mother now she looks like the mediocre painting I made.”
“Naeri would say I’m an idiot for getting trapped here. God, what I’d give to hear his voice.”
“I wonder if my parents will have another kid to replace me?”
“My mind is a labyrinth and I’ve strayed from the right path.”
“I hate magic.”
“What if I’m already dead and this is all there is?”
“Survival is a curse. I wish the gods would just let me die.”
“A servant’s here now. I trapped someone else along with me. Didn’t even try (I never do). Still ruined someone else’s life. What a great leader I am.”
“He keeps talking about his family as if he’s going to see them again. It hurts.”
“Maris still has hope. I don’t have the heart to tell him he’s wrong.”
“Even if I could get out, what would be waiting for me? I don’t even know who I am anymore, much less what the world is like.”
“It’s nice having someone else here, if I ignore the guilt. At least he’s friendly. If the gods gave me a mean companion I think that would be the last straw.”
“Maris talks to the stars more than to me. He still trusts his gods to take care of him. Maybe his are kinder than mine.”
“He doesn’t talk to me about his sisters anymore. I asked about them. He said it hurts too much. But I still hear him pray for them every night before he goes to sleep.”
“Can you call it night if it’s always dark outside?”
“He prays for me too. I pretend to be asleep.”
“Maris slept for what must have been three days straight. It was weird, the quiet.”
“Even Maris lost hope. I guess I still had some because honestly, I hoped that wasn’t possible. He doesn’t seem quite like himself without it.”