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One Day

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Very Important Story

Nothing exciting to do. Just waiting for the clock to run out so I can do something fun. I kept checking the time but every second felt like an hour... There has to be something fun to do while trapped with these people. Maybe a prank or something? Maybe I can hit that guy from across the room

The Misunderstood Revolutionary

Here I am again. In a cold room, warming my bare hands and feet with the slice of silver light from one of the six moons coming through the window. Yavlin was generous to give me his best guards, not the fools who ate up my rhetoric last time. I laugh at the memory darkly; how many societies must I liberate before Yavlin will take me seriously? Do you know how depressing it is to not even be considered dangerous enough to get proper cell? Sheesh.
This time is more like it. He pulled out all the stops. A hard, stone floor to dig into my butt? Shackles around my wrists, ankles, and neck as well? Gelatinous food and cloudy water? Demoralizing. Deprivation of sound? All this will surely drive me insane.
Last time, Yavlin tried to bait me with Gremel, and told me all the things he'd do to her if I didn't tell me what I planned to do. Yavlin's stupid. If he really cared that I was planning to liberate the oppressed Hillinites of the Zemzel galaxy, he would have known that I'd broke up with Gremel years before and that she'd never loved me, not even as a friend. Do you see my issue? I've traveled the galaxies through and I've found that everyone's the same. They pretend to care that you're going to mess things up, but they don't give a damn. That's why I am so happy that Yavlin has finally given me a cell that's cold and dark and damp. I finally feel that Yavlin is getting me at last. To destroy a revolutionary, you have to destroy the very darkness that keeps them together.

Further into the walls

Autumn is the most magical of seasons. As its Amber feeling was sweeping through the reddened bushes, the birds held their breath while a noise moved under the fallen leaves. A slither swayed by Oak and Birch, under a drowned sky, approached what was fleetingly fleeing, jumping from branch to branch, with its light claws and agile frame. A dark reptile, pride in its fangs, a glint in the ember eyes, crossed the humid glade in a sinusoidal pattern. Disregarding the anxious animals in the trees, it soon found its target, and with resolutely cold eyes, glided towards its location.
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