Letter Sent to Jasmine, Written Approximately 04/02

Metadata

Reference Number: BICI/SSP/CRJ0402/004

Title: Letter Sent to Jasmine, Written Approximately 04/02

Author: Spica

Date: Written approximately 04/02, Year 5607 A.o.W.

Extent: One letter, one page long

To Jasmine, my friend:

I must go.

I’m sorry. For everything.

I won’t ask for your forgiveness, nor your understanding. I deserve neither. 

From,
Spica

The Legend of the Lighthouse

Metadata

Reference Number: BICI/SSP/CRJ0402/005

Title: The Legend of the Lighthouse

Author: P. I. Inkwell

Date: Written approximately year 5570 A.o.W.

Extent: One excerpt, two pages long

The Legend of the Lighthouse

Transcribed by P. I. Inkwell

The western edge of the land was once a place marked by death. Aberrations poured out of every cave and every chasm. They dug themselves up from the ground. Any human who ventured to the coastline was quickly torn asunder.

His Eternal Warmth constantly reconfigured the land to chase the aberrations away. The coastlines grew rocky and unstable, and the woods dark and frightening. People stayed away from the west, where Nothingness encroached on His Eternal Warmth’s mighty domain. 

Despite the danger, there was a single village that endured on the western coastline. One of a few thousand people, brought together in community. For many years, they braved the dangers. They rebuilt their homes along cliffs that shifted and changed, and laid wooden slats over the places where aberrations would dig their way out of the earth. 

As the years wore on, the dangers grew worse. Still, the people who lived there refused to leave. Not when their villages toppled into the sea or when aberrations tore them limb from limb. Despite His Eternal Warmth’s warnings, they would not move east. The east did not have the gentle breezes and cool waters they cherished. The east did not have the fish that was their main source of sustenance. 

Many people perished, and some did give in and escape toward the safety found in the east, closer to His Eternal Warmth’s Hearth. After many years, what was once a bustling village of nearly one thousand souls dwindled down to no more than one hundred. 

In the remains of the once-prosperous village was a young woman named Olea. She felt tied to the sea, despite knowing that it was Nothingness’s domain, and convinced many of her kinsfolk to stay with her in their decrepit village. However she knew they could not stay forever, and so she looked to the horizon with a prayer in her heart. She asked His Eternal Warmth for a new home. Somewhere still by the western sea, but one safe from aberrations, protected by His forge. 

As her devotion warmed her prayer, she saw a light past the sea. It cut through the thick fog that shielded His Eternal Warmth’s domain from the Nothingness at the edge of the world. It was the answer to her prayer. She knew in her heart that the land where that light shone was to be their new home. 

And so the villagers reinforced the little boats they used to fish in and set off. Immediately the waters grew choppy and the air hot and oppressive. His Eternal Warmth’s voice boomed in their ears and echoed in their hearts. “Turn back. That light only leads to lies and death,” He warned.

“O Keeper of the Forge, we have no home left. There are no more fish near the shore and no more cattle on land. Where else are we supposed to go, if not towards the light?” Olea asked. 

“I will not protect you in the sea, where Nothingness can consume you whole. Come east, where My warmth is gentle and My people are loving and generous,” His Eternal Warmth told Olea.

“To go east is to lose our homes and our dignity. We must live in the west by the sea, or we cannot live at all. There is no way for us to travel the land’s ragged cliff sides, beset by aberrations. We will chance the embrace of Nothingness by sea,” Olea insisted.

His Eternal Warmth was impressed by Olea’s resolve. And so, to protect her and her people from the clutches of Nothingness, He opened up a path through the treacherous woods. Olea and her people returned to shore and abandoned their boats. They walked beneath His cliff sides, the aberrations kept at bay by His mighty land and His holy fire.

At the end of the path was a beach, and upon the beach sat a lighthouse. The same light that had been reflected across the sea shone in the lighthouse. Olea and her people rejoiced. Finally, they found the land they had dreamed of.

“I will allow you to live and prosper here, where the aberrations are quiet and the winds cool. I will push back Nothingness’s claim on the edge of the world, giving you more of the sea to fish in. Know that any water before the fog is protected by Me,” His Eternal Warmth said. “But Olea, you and your family, your lover and your children and your children’s children, must keep the lighthouse. You must defy the light of lies and deception. Transform it into a flame that illuminates your peoples’ way home.”

“O Keeper of the Forge, I will dedicate my life, the lives of all my children, and the lives of my children’s children to the lighthouse. I have but one request. Allow me to live amongst my people. Let me dedicate the loneliness of my nights to the lighthouse and the joy of my days to my people.”

His Eternal Warmth granted Olea’s request. He reconfigured the land once more, raising the lighthouse up onto a sacred cliffside. During the days Olea rejoiced with her people, sharing meals and recounting tales of love and trials. And during the night, she would ascend the cliffside alone, shining a light to guide her people home.

And so, the village of Seabreeze Shoal was created, and the lighthouse has remained blessed on the cliffside since.

Journal Entry, Dated 05/02

A journal entry written by Jasmine. The transcript follows below.
Metadata

Reference Number: BICI/SSP/CRJ0402/006

Title: Journal Entry, Dated 05/02

Author: Jasmine

Date: Written approximately 05/02, Year 5607 A. o. W.

Extent: One journal entry, three pages long

05/02

I should have said yes.

I should have said yes. I should have said yes. I should have marched back down the hill and brought her up with me. She would have been done with school by then. She would have been home. She was at home. I could have gotten her. I could have been there with her. I could have-

I COULD HAVE

[There is a long break. The entry continues at the very bottom of the page. And I don’t know if you can see it on the original, but… her penmanship is so… shaky. -Ellsyx]

It’s the middle of the day. Seabreeze Shoal is as alive as it’ll ever be. The town square is crammed full of merchants and Undying Embers. People are trading the fish they spent the night catching for all kinds of goods. Textiles, metals, lumber, fruits. And more, items I’ve never even heard of from places I’ve already forgotten. The people who aren’t trading fish are bartering with seaglass jewelry. One necklace for a sack of flour. Two bracelets for a bushel of berries. The town is alive and my little sister is dead.

She’s dead. She’s dead and I can’t stop seeing her lifeless body crumpled on the floor of our kitchen. Pina took her away earlier today. She said I should clean up the blood before the stain sets any further in our floor. Maybe I don’t want to clean it up. Maybe I want to let it sink into the wood and stain it forever. Keep whatever part of her I can. 

Pina’s preparing her for cremation now. 

I’ll never see my sister again. I’ll never yell at her for trying to skip school again. I’ll never buy bread for her again.

And I’ll forget her. First her voice. Then the fine details of her face. Just like I did Mom and Dad. Eventually she’ll be nothing more than a vague silhouette where my sister used to be. 

I have to remember. I have to try. She’s so small for her age. Her skin is paler than mine. Her eyes are a lighter blue than mine. Her hair is the lightest blonde I’ve ever seen. Dad once said that she was the first in generations to have that sort of color. His mother and father, and their mothers and fathers, they all had black hair like mine. Blossom usually wears her hair up in a ponytail. She once found a little trinket deep in the lighthouse — a small thing, made of a metal that was chill to the touch. She made it into a hairclip and has worn it every day since. 

Yellow is her favorite color. She loves dresses. She also loves ripping her dresses up. My clothes rip from work; hers rip from play. I don’t know how she manages it. She always criticizes me for mending her clothing poorly, and I always tell her if she doesn’t like how I sew then she should learn how to do it better herself.

I always tell her.

I always told her. I can’t tell her anymore because she’s dead.

All I did was tell her no and snap at her, and now she’s dead. The last thing I told her was no.

I don’t know what happened. I don’t know why anyone would kill her. She was only a kid. She wasn’t even an annoying kid. Strange, yes, but she kept to herself. The only thing she ever cared about was the damn lighthouse. 

I found her early this morning. Early enough that the fishers were all passing by me, thanking me for my hard work as they all carried their haul to the village square. They’d meet their families there, with booths and blankets already set up and waiting for their wares. I didn’t think anything of it. It looked the same as always.

The door was unlocked when I got home. I didn’t think anything of that either. I always told Blossom to lock the door at night, but she rarely remembered to. If an aberration really wanted us dead, a locked door wasn’t going to stop it. And if an aberration made it deep enough into the village to reach us, then we all had bigger problems.

I went inside. Immediately I noticed the chilly air; our hearth had gone cold. I think I went to check on it first, before putting my things away. My cloak, my boots, my satchel. Or maybe I put my things away first, and then went back to the hearth. My memory is usually better than this, but I can’t remember now. Everything swirls in my mind like water draining in a gray void. 

But it was dark, and cold — that much I do remember, and I only remember because I found it so odd. Blossom was more superstitious than me. She’d never let the fire go cold at night. His Eternal Warmth couldn’t protect us if we didn’t welcome His holy flame within our walls. 

Then I became frustrated. I think I said her name, but I don’t remember if I shouted it or just muttered it between my gritted teeth, like a fucking curse.  A scold building in my throat. I was exhausted, but if I saw her, I wanted to yell at her.

Maybe I looked for her next… or maybe I decided not to. That I’d yell at her after I went to bed, and that I’d eat the last of her bread out of spite instead. I know I wanted to eat her bread to punish her in some stupid, pathetic way.

Stupid. Pathetic. 

Spiteful. 

I was spiteful towards my dead sister. My only remaining family. I WANTED to be cruel to her, and my thoughts were full of my stupid, petty, cruel plan until the moment I saw her body, and then I couldn’t think of anything at all. 

She was a crumpled heap on the floor. Messy red gashes ran along her throat. She was covered in blood. It stained the front of her favorite dress. All that yellow, ruined.

When I close my eyes, I see her lying there. For all I’ll forget about her, I fear that sight will haunt me forever. 

I ran to her. I think I tried to scream her name. I’m not sure. My memories are a mess. I remember fighting with her stiff, cold body, trying to pull her into my lap. I remember the gash on her neck, how ragged it was, how painful it must have been.

I don’t believe that any deaths are painless, but there are ways to reduce suffering. Every fisher must kill their catch, but no fisher would ever let their catch suffer. A sharp blow to the head. A spear through the brain. Something quick.

Fish die with more dignity than my sister did.

I remember thinking of our parents. For a moment, I was a child again, blindly grasping for Mom to tell me what to do next. For Dad to say that everything would be okay. I wanted someone bigger and braver than me to hold me in their arms. 

But they’re all dead. 

I don’t know what I did next. I remember walking, but I’m not sure where. What I do remember is the face of Spica’s Dad, staring at me with somber eyes. I didn’t understand how he already knew that Blossom had died. Did the news spread without me knowing? How? 

I must have asked him where Spica was, because I still remember his answer: “Spica’s gone. She… she received a Spark.”

I could only think of one thing: Oh. Of course. I really am all alone. 

I have a letter now, next to me at my desk, from Spica; I’d recognize her handwriting anywhere. But what I don’t understand is how short it is. She and Blossom exchanged letters, and I often saw Blossom pouring over pages and pages of Spica’s sprawling words. 

This letter is so… barely anything. Just a few sentences’ worth of melodramatic bullshit, apologizing for some imaginary crime she committed against me. Is she apologizing for leaving? Why? She’d be a fool for not seizing the chance to realize her dream. Just because I had to give mine up doesn’t mean she should have to as well. 

But… there’s another part of me. That cruel part of me. And it wonders why she gets her dream realized, and all I get is another corpse to deal with. I’ve tried to silence that voice, but it still creeps in when I let my thoughts stray.

I must have told Spica’s Dad that Blossom was dead. I remember his arms around me, frail and trembling. His quiet voice in my ear, whispering that this reforging was far too fast.

There are other flashes. An Undying Ember, either Pina or Deodar, in my blood-stained cottage, talking to Spica’s Dad. One of them will find me when Blossom’s body is cremated and we can start the ceremony. Send her soul back to the Forge, so His Eternal Warmth can take her from me, too. 

I don’t understand. She was just a kid. A little kid at the edge of the world. 

She was all I had left.