#crypt of currency

[itswilliamleonard]

galaxy angel comix return.

[seriously-mike]

You said "crypt currency" and the first image that came to my mind was a D&D kind of rogue carrying a full bag of loot out of a tomb.

Which is not a bad idea at all.

recently my good friend colin robinson introduced me to a new form of currency—calls it the “crypt” currency. now i’ve never been particularly business-minded, but his pitch was rather convincing. he even set me up with something called “batcoin”, which, naturally, i was drawn to.

[cut to colin robinson] so over the past week i have, successfully, scammed over two thousand people

[clarawdesford]

Clara W Desford: With 9+ years of experience, she excels as a Bitcoin trader at a top investment firm, focusing on cryptocurrencies and online profit avenues.

[existentialgaybirdnerd]

On an op, Ghost and Soap are paired together and going through a seemingly already picked-through warehouse with dead bodies in it.

Ghost: "It's dead in here"

Soap: "Oh sweet Jesus please no"

Ghost: "What's a corpse's favorite currency? Crypt-ocurrency"

Soap: "Please stop"

Ghost: "Did you know that autopsies are a dying practice?"

Soap: "Corpses aren't very funny, they're just dead serious."

Ghost: "I hate going to funerals, I'm not very much of a mourning person."

Soap: "As if you're not always ready to fight someone at 0500."

Ghost: "You think there might be a reason for that?"

*Both of them come across a body with no heart in it.*

Soap: "Don't do it."

Ghost: "That's disheartening."

Price: "Shut the fuck up, by god I will force you on leave so long you get bored."

[brewstersbru]

More scribbles, this time karlachstarion? Astarlach? Whatever the hell they’re called?

It’s done. Finally, after what must have been years of excruciating waiting, Karlach’s heart is fixed. Or, rather, stabilized might be a better word for it.

After talking with Dammon in the druid grove and giving him their only piece of infernal iron- witnessing the sheer joy on Karlach’s face as she realized she was one step closer to touching someone again- Astarion knew he’d do practically anything to find another.

He’d scoured every crypt they’d crawled through, every traveler’s chest abandoned on the side of the road, hells, even some oblivious people’s pockets. Karlach had been searching too, of course, but nothing could compare to the sheer single-minded focus with which Astarion dedicated himself to the task.

Karlach had been kind to him, was the first to stand up for him when his true nature was revealed. She’s never looked at him strangely or doubted his intentions, even when she maybe should have.

The two of them have fallen into a sort of flirtatious tryst- a kind of relationship that Astarion is well acquainted with- but without any of the touching usually involved (a concept less familiar to him). He’s not quite sure how it all came to be as it is now; all he remembers is feeling safe and comfortable enough with her to drop his polite facade.

It was a clear summer’s night and Wyll had been exceptionally, annoyingly heroic that day. Astarion hadn’t eaten for a couple of days and- now spoiled, and fat with all of his current freedoms- found himself quite cross with no sufficient reason why. Still, the bastard he is, he’d called Wyll an ‘intolerable boy scout with raisins for brains’ at the fire that night.

God knows how he came up with that one, but Karlach had laughed something warm and hearty. Grin wide, eyes squinted in mirth. She shined in the firelight. She’d gone to clap Astarion on the shoulder in camaraderie but paused just before making contact, expression falling for a moment. Inexplicably, he’d needed her to be smiling again, so he’d cracked another wise one at Wyll’s expense- who took it with a smile and all the infuriating grace you’d expect- and turned easily to shuffle closer. Not touching, but close enough, he’d hoped, that his presence was clear, despite his cold, dead body.

He’d hated himself for it. For the soft weakness unfurling inside of him, growing larger with each passing day that he spent with these do-gooders. The abundance of food, the absence of his master and the sheer, intoxicating autonomy he’d found here was making him docile.

Still, when- after that night- Karlach had latched onto him, sidling up and walking beside him as they trekked through the trees (she’d shortened her usual lumbering steps), sitting beside him at the campfire, trading quips and jokes almost as if they were sparring. He’d let her. And he’d liked it.

It was freeing, in a way, to be able to just be with someone. When they physically couldn’t ask him for more. Maybe it makes him a bad person for finding comfort in the thing that’s tormented her for years, taken away her own autonomy. But he’s never claimed to be good.

He enjoyed the long nights they spent together, laying half a foot away from each other and staring up at the stars. Talking until the sun rose, or until Karlach fell (adorably) asleep. She snores. Loudly. And Astarion vehemently dislikes the fact that he finds it so damned endearing.

Still, centuries of having the idea that nothing is freely given pounded into his head have left a mark. And Astarion knows that the only currency that he has that’s worth anything in this kind of situation is his body, especially when Karlach hasn’t been able to touch anyone in years. He feels like he owes her this, after all of the kindnesses she’s afforded him, and who knows? He might even enjoy it. He could see himself enjoying it, if he did it right.

He searches so feverishly for two reasons. One, he hates being indebted to people, it makes something cold and wriggling appear in his stomach. Two, Karlach deserves to be free, and he knows that the smile she’ll be sporting when her engine is fully fixed will have been worth all of the painstaking searching and more.

Naturally, he’d found the metal. They’d gone to Dammon, once they found him in the shadowlands, and now here they are. And her smile is so much more than worth it.

Karlach is beaming over at him and he smiles back warm, but a little distant. The implications of this are just now starting to sink in; Karlach will want to get started soon, he’ll need to prepare himself. This needs to be perfect.

A low thrum of anxiety buzzes at the pit of his stomach for the entirety of the walk back to camp. Karlach is walking astride him, making wide sweeping gestures as she babbles on about all of the things she’s excited to do now, no longer over-careful of where her hands go. Catch a squirrel and pet it, give Wyll the noogie of a lifetime, have Shadowheart teach her to braid, kiss Astarion.

He smiles something a little more practiced, almost seductive at this and purrs a few words he could not be held at knifepoint to remember. His body feels miles away but the thought of kissing Karlach is vaguely compelling.

Something old and wretched within him surges forward and overtakes his body. Jerking his lips upward into a smirk, lidding his eyes invitingly. When they make it to camp, the thing that he is now grasps at Karlach’s arm and asks if she’d like to ‘go clean up’ in a voice almost more rumble than words. She agrees, staring at his hand on her arm, and, after collecting some soap and a change of clothes, she follows him to the stream.

It’s cute that she brought soap, as if they’re actually going to ‘clean up’. The naivety of her actions almost bring Astarion back into his body, but he focuses on the pit in his stomach and retreats. This needs to be perfect. And it can’t be perfect if Astarion is all needy and bitchy about being touched like that.

His body moves through the motions of undressing himself, a kind of rehearsed efficiency/allure to his movements. Karlach whistles lowly at the display, but once he turns towards the water, she’s already waist deep and gesturing for him to join her, soap bar in hand.

“Get over here, soldier! You’re covered in dirt.”

… Really? It’s the only thought he can muster at the moment. So she really thought they were just going to clean themselves up? Or perhaps she wants him to work for it a little more, that’s alright. He can earn it.

“Oh I know, absolutely filthy, aren’t I? You’ll make it better, won’t you?” His voice lilts as he wades into the water, muscles tensed, jaw tilted to it’s best angle in an attempt to seem as touchable as possible. If only she’d actually do it.

Karlach snorts and splashes him with water. He stares at her through the barrage and sticks his tongue out to catch some of the droplets that slide down his cheek. Come on.

“Get over here, you.” She sighs, as if she’s talking to a particularly unruly dog and not a vision of sex (Astarion would know, he’d used these same tactics on thousands of others before and they’d all fallen for it).

As he approaches- all swaying hips and cocked eyebrows- she sets the soap in her hand on a protruding rock to her left and places a gentle hand on either side of his face. Cupping him almost like you would a handful of water. He closes his eyes and tries to make it seem as if he’s aching to be kissed. A part of him is. But the pressure never comes.

And just like that, his consciousness crashes back into his body. He can feel the warmth of her hands against his skin, the lap of cool water on his bare hip. Astarion’s eyes flutter open, clearer than they’ve been in hours, and brimming with fear.

“There you are.” Karlach says, voice dipping with a mix of adoration and pity that settles and twists in Astarion’s chest. “Hello.” He chokes. Tries a smile but it feels crooked and wrong on his face.

“We don’t have to do this if it’s too much, ‘star.” He wants to cry a little bit, and sure enough, a tear escapes down his chin.

“I’m sorry.”

She shushes him easily, a little forceful. “Don’t be. Please. I want to touch you, but never like this.” She thumbs across Astarion’s cheek, drying his tears. She’s warm, Astarion notices, but not as searingly hot as she’d been before (although, in the metaphorical sense her hotness has remained the same).

“I’m sorry.” He can’t help but repeat himself, he feels like a broken record. He feels like he’s ruined her night, her big, triumphant moment with his… bullshit, for lack of a better term. She goes to reassure him again but he continues.

“Would you be alright just…. Holding me? Tonight? I’m frustrated with myself, too, but I want to celebrate with you.” He chances a glance upwards at her face, afraid of what he might find. His fear is irrational, of course, because her grin is blinding.

“I think I’d really love that, ‘star. Gods, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to just wrap you in my arms! And now I can!” Her giggle is abrupt, and infectious. The tension bleeds from Astarion’s shoulders and he finds himself overflowing with warmth and affection. Oh, who was he kidding, how could he ever hope to engineer perfect when the embodiment of the word is standing right in front of him.

They rinse off quickly- Karlach helps with his back and he with hers, there are no wandering hands, only reverent tenderness around old scars- and head back to Karlach’s tent. Astarion would have offered his own if only for the fact that he doesn’t think the two of them will fit, what with all of the stolen trinkets he’s crammed in there. What can he say, he’s gone a little wild now that he can actually own things.

It’s surprisingly easy to fall into bed with her, and only in the exceedingly literal sense. He gets in first, curls around himself, and her around him. She fits her knees behind Astarion’s own, and slings an arm around his middle. Her back faces the camp in a move that may or may not be intentional, but makes butterflies flit around Astarion’s gut all the same.

“This alright?” She asks, voice low. Astarion takes a moment to catalogue himself, similar to what he does after battle to find any injuries that may be hidden by adrenaline. He’s not sure why he does it, when he never has before in these kinds of situations, but he finds everything to be in working order. The thrum of anxiety in his gut is almost completely gone. He nods.

“More than, my dear. Thank you.”

“Always, ‘star. Always.”

[berrypass-de-murdler]

2 - 42 Crypt or Currency?

I thought I accidentally didn't sign up correctly to get the ID card and pin for the SoM preorder, but I got an email that they were just shipped!! :DD

Look it's HTGAWM Mauve!!

And I just checked and the board game is in store!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

DON'T READ THE EPISODES WITHOUT READING THE BOOKS!!

Logico wakes up with the sun shining so elegantly through the window. It would be beautiful, but he’s a complete grumpypants, and shoves his pillow over his head. Irratino gives him a pat.

IRRATINO: Rise and shine buddy.  LOGICO: no! go away IRRATINO: Gico… LOGICO: no!! IRRATINO: Look what I have for you.

Logico shifts. A bribe always gets him going. He reluctantly sits up, and sees that Irratino is holding two tickets - to the Bahamas!!

LOGICO: Oh, Irratino, you lifesaver… You have no idea how much I need this…

They share a squishtastic hug. And they set off to the airport to fly to a tropical wonderland. Logico immediately becomes so relaxed, he sleeps the whole flight there. And when they arrive, he’s just so happy! They check into a gorgeous beach house, and prepare to do absolutely nothing for a while.

IRRATINO: Oh, Logico. LOGICO: …mh? IRRATINO: First things first, I gotta check on something. LOGICO: Check on… what. IRRATINO: My crypto investments! I gotta see how they’re paying off.

All the glass in the room shatters, and Logico slowly turns around without moving, eye in shadow.

LOGICO: YOUR… WHAT. IRRATINO: It’ll just take a minute, I’ll meet you on the beach. LOGICO: NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!!!

Every ounce of relaxation in Logico has died since Irratino spoke those dreadful words. He can’t just let him GO there… 

So he stalks him all the way there. Naturally, the building is so pretentious that it looks like a computer in itself. And inside is even worse! The obvious Executive Producer Steel and the less obvious Marble and Sir Rulean are impatiently standing in line, bickering. 

LOGICO: Did that tornado seriously blow Sir Rulean all the way to the Bahamas? How did he get his armor back? IRRATINO: [jumps] Geez, Logico, I didn’t even see you! Why did you follow me if you hate crypto so much? LOGICO: STOP SAYING CRYPTO. I’m here because… um…

He frantically looks around for an issue. Namely a murder.

LOGICO: I’m here because the CEO… is D-E-D. IRRATINO: Hhhhh

Logico looks around at the devices. SO many servers, TVs, and computers… the amount of energy this single place is taking from the rest of the world is disgusting. 

LOGICO: I think I’m GLAD the CEO is dead. STEEL: UGH! Are you for real? I need my high-tech BANKER! I’ve never seen a check I couldn’t cash!

Logico and the other suspects exchange a look of mutual agreement - Steel is the worst woman alive.

MARBLE: Personally, I’m just here to make… money. RULEAN: I’m here to enact revenge on when you almost killed me! LOGICO: WHAT? MARBLE: Oh sweetie don’t do that. RULEAN: I mean he already knows the plan now… I guess there’s no point.

Marble and Rulean are being remarkably cooperative. Steel, meanwhile, is whining about how ‘terrible’ her luck is, and it’s really getting on Logico’s nerves. Irratino just sits on the floor, waiting for this mystery to end so he can do what he came to do.

LOGICO: Are you going to help me? It’s YOUR cryptocurrency. IRRATINO: I didn’t… [sigh] NIGHT: You must be looking for me.

Logico screams. Where did they come from??

IRRATINO: All right, Logico… but you’re not being very grateful for the vacation I just bought you.

He runs the numbers with Night, and Logico feels kind of bad. But as always, they come to a conclusion. The killer was Marble!

MARBLE: I poisoned him, because he was using math for evil! LOGICO: How? MARBLE: I… don’t remember. LOGICO: You shouldn’t have done that. MARBLE: You’re right. I should have used a better weapon. He’s contaminated, and I can’t have him for lunch!

She regrets saying that right away. After that little fact slips, Irratino sits dejected. Obviously, this murder means his investments added up to nothing.

LOGICO: Don’t worry. I hacked into your phone and sold all your ‘crypto’ months ago.

He rubs his back. Irratino feels a little bet-

IRRATINO: WHAT THE HELL?? YOU WENT THROUGH MY PHONE?! LOGICO: You think after you moved in I wouldn’t go through your phone every night? IRRATINO: EVERY NIGHT?!

Irratino yanks out his phone and starts violently deleting random things.

LOGICO: It’s too late, Irratino.

The goat lord screams and falls to his knees.

The end!

Now who's the stalker boyfriend

I CAN'T WAIT TO GET THE BOARD GAME OMGGGG even though I hate board games but IDC IT HAS LOGICO ON ITTT

The power of Goat Lord compels you!

See you next time murdlers!

[astercontrol]

Being an artist is far too much power because you can just have a phrase pop into your head, like "penny-farthing lightcycle," and then you can just. Make it be a thing

but be careful

(because if you have the kind of messed-up brain that would DO this, then you may also end up with thoughts like: "they would not call it a penny farthing, though. What kind of currency do they use inside a computer" and then the Evil side of you will say "the crypty kind" and will also try to tell you that Bit and Tron both have crypt money named after them and you will have to smack that part of your brain and tell it to shut up)

[thatweirdocryptid]

Welcome to Crypt bar, what can I get ya?

Hello dear friends, mutuals and many others! I am thatweirdocryptid or who you may call, Cryptid, Cry, or Ray!

I am a dragon enthusiast, cryptid enthusiast, and dca enthusiast.

I watch the Sun and Moon show, Lunar and Earth show, and a tiny bit of Monty and Foxy show.

I enjoy making AUs (specifically dca) and OCs, though I rarely ever show any.

I have a character . Ai account under the same name, thatweirdocryptid.

And I do have a YouTube account, but I only have one video posted, which is a speedpaint of a drawing I did not too long ago, and I plan to make mostly gacha videos on said account as I do not know how to animate but I wish I did.

I am learning to horse ride currently, and I cosplay as my own characters at times.

I love ren faires abd I've been to 4 so far, and I wish to go to a con soon!

Now, time for oc lore!

Commonly known as Ray; Ray is a demonic cryptid who tends to the bar in the cryptid world called "The stone crypt".

Ray worked there for god knows how long, but for cryptids like them, it would be only around 20 years for cryptids, while it's be around 100-204 years for humans.

They have an odd collection of animal bones from the human world abd likes to study humans.

In the cryptid world, gold is easy to come by, which is the reason why it's their currency, and sometimes, cryptids prefer living in the human world for better food, but some cryptids are banished.

But ever since Cryptid hunters started to pop up more often and kill off more cryptids, they prefer now to stay in their world.

every cryptid knows of what they are... But not Ray... Ray doesn't know what cryptid they are, hell they never seen a cryptid with blue eyes just like them, they sometimes feel like they don't belong.

They go to the human world sometimes to get rare ingredients in their world, as making drinks and selling it is entirely legal in the cryptid world.

They do not know of their other abilities, examples like flight and other abilities you all will find out :³

They like to go to the library, and sometimes reads books for hours, Mostly for trying to find out what cryptid they are.

And they were adopted by two gay mothmen :³

Sammy! Ray's love intrest! Just a widdle ol' cryptid hunter!

Sammy was born in South Carolina, and lived near the small town of Fairplay, his family owning a farm with cows, chickens, and horses.

Sammy, when growing up, spend a lot of time in the woods, and one night, Sammy saw two strange glowing blue eyes, with grey little pupils.

Sammy wouldn't see those eyes for a long long time, and encountered many cryptids.

He got his scar from a rough fall, and had t9 go to the hospital for a couple of weeks.

And never knew, a certain cryptid, fell in love.

[astrials]

Welcome to the Astrial Closed Species Blog!!!

Hello there! And welcome to the Cloud Tops! The Astrial species is a Discord based closed species where you can earn MYO's, Traits, Currency and more via interacting in the server. We pride ourselves in being a safe and friendly space to hang out, create friendships, share art and more.

Our Server consists of five main species to pick from!

Astrial

Cloud Jumper

Crypt Keeper

Nirrak

Night Terrors

You can read about the Lore here.

With Pets and other features coming in the near future!

We also have a Toyhouse World page where you can see traits, news and other members creations.

[snugzisvent]

I completely understand Terra users being frustrated with staff for prioritizing Snugzis but honestly as a longtime Terra enjoyer I already find Snugzis more enjoyable. Obviously every CS has its flaws, I know the design approval process can be frustrating + the current lack of worldbuilding and lore; but it's SO MUCH easier to obtain MYOs, more creative freedom, there's a currency converter, the pets are cuter and you only need the diaries for trait upgrades (I like that there's various items for traiting in Terras but the best items (psychshroom, glow vial, amber crypt etc) are expensive, and if you're saving for a Jasper's Garden MYO then item trade ads is your last resort and ppl can be soo stingy. You also can obtain Snugzi diaries in foraging whereas most Garden Goods items are only obtainable thru the shop). I get that Snugzis being easier to obtain takes the fun out of it for some, and it means value of MYOs is lower but I want to be in a CS for the ARPG/fun of designing and not whether I can use it as trade fodder. I still love Terras but I really do wish they were more accessible sometimes.

🩶

[skajador]

ok watched arc. ONE OF THE EPISODES OF ALL TIME.

the "Economy" bit unironically a decent explanation of why crypt*0 doesn't work as an actual currency

[hoodie-prince-kid]

Incel: Are you into cryptocurrency?

Vampire: Your crypt has currency?!

Mummy: Doesn't everyone's?

[gh-0-stcup]

Kittens are just something demons trade with each other. It's a food source and seemingly a delicacy, so it has value to them. But they still need actual money for housing, clothing, transportation, entertainment, liquor, human food, etc.

Vampires get by in those aspects of life by stealing from their victims - taking their clothes, vehicles, squatting in their homes when possible, and of course taking actual cash they find on them. Post-chip Spike and Angel both struggle when this method of survival is taken from them. They now need money for blood from a butcher shop* as well as for material things that give their lives a measure of dignity and enjoyment.

*It's implied Angel was stealing human blood from hospitals at least up until season 2, Spike was likely doing the same when possible.

Spike with his whole schtick with making money in Season 4 is always odd to me. Is it just that he subconsciously wants to be human so bad? Is it an excuse to fit in with the Scoobs? Is it that he wants to buy as many of those onion flower things and spicy buffalo wings at the Bronze as possible?

Why does he even need money? Mortal money at that. Aren’t the kittens enough for him? I’m so confused.

I can’t be the only one that finds it extremely ironic that an undead person has to make a mortal living.

[thecurseoftailsdoll]

my moldy coin resting in my crypt o' currency

[alchemisland]

Fallout

Roll up a piff, boy

Boot up that game toy

Shining my pip boy 

Primm sheriff lost boys.

Landscape palimpsest of extinct styles, bandos where radroaches hide

Ghoul’s rusted lancet breaches my cardoor breastplate, there will be Fallout from this

Last night for supper had scorpion, half-diced a man’s daughter hungry radscorpions

Primm properly like something from a book about prospectors panning for gold

Gold’s old, new currency how cold you’ll go, how quick you’ll do a man for a good turn when he turns

When a trader comes to you flaunting the bag his brahmin copping bullets, tags and a body bag

My sack sags with caps, 

Agape I preach but no treaty’ll stay my breaching, my upreaching

Stealing from the brotherhood, my power armour the grand drama of my bare audacity

I plug the sentries, crunch doors with semtex, load up fast’n’flee.

Hazmat suit got a rip in it

It Van Winkles open, RIP enscripted

Stat check on a terminal that’s encrypted, a crypt of cryptids control of the sentries such advantage would gift us

Pureheads call the third one Van Buren

I’m not one to RP, fast cycling dialogue trees, not in any way shape or form a purist

Hardliners call me a tourist, n00bper mutant

I’m here to see what haunts the empty silos, great graves for ICBMs

Which flew like witches with wet lips from sustained posterior kissing before the End

I’m here for insane prototypes, nauseating new phenotypes

Genetically created cenobites, cultic brute nu-Aztec tribes.

Powder gangers haunt its reaches

Gates formerly part of some larger structure pray deathclaws won’t breach it

Mentat munchers made momentary hierophants, no cap I found caps in a super mutant flesh sack

Settlements squeezed for protection, be a shame if anything happened

Caesar’s legion a band of sandalled leeches 

Teachers features creatures peaches mad preachers

Night desert’s winter, under thick layers the tramp wrapped like a coaxial

Rumours from the north of birds, twice a Thunderbird, a quetzalcoatl 

Its lair in layers of squalor, unswallowed bones 

Every door is a window into a Cazadore hive.

[walliswithawhy]

Dear Da,

I made it, though it wasn’t without it’s trials. I believe you would have disowned me on the spot had you seen how quickly I was batted aside by the first living thing I encountered in these lands. Though living is questionable— am trying to convince myself I did not see as many hands on that thing as my memory insists were there. I blame the knock to the head that followed my immediate defeat. I fell quite a distance and when I awoke I don’t think I was entirely myself. Could barely remember how to hold a sword.

I know. First rule: Don’t let go of your weapon.

And: don’t die.

Or: don’t get caught unawares (by abominations that definitely did not have that many arms).

Come to think of it, you had a lot of first rules when it came to fighting.

I’m trying my best to keep them all in mind out here. Not that it’s been easy. There’s so much to look at. The tree is just as it was described in the stories. Bright, so bright looking at it for too long leaves it’s shadow imprinted on my eyes. It fills the sky with a radiance not unlike a second sun. Not that I’ve seen much of that. After I crawled out of the crypt I woke beneath, I walked out upon these lands and almost as soon as I did, a storm beset upon me. The rain went sideways, and I thought the trees—the proper ones— would tear straight from the ground they grew upon. They didn’t, and I’ll take that to be a lesson as to how I must be.

I did meet a strange fellow. Well, more than one strange fellow. One ushered me along my way like a hen wife shooing her chickens out of her path on the way to collect the morning quota of eggs! The other was a pleasant sort who offered to trade some useful thing for that which they call currency here. He seemed rather surprised at my immediate, stumbling return to the nearest flicker of grace but I suppose anyone would have been, given I’d been nearly gored by an unseen assailant.

This time you cannot blame me for my folly. Truly the conditions were miserable, such that I could not see but a hand’s width ahead of me.. I should have waited out the ill weather, I suppose. Blame my exuberance. This path laid before me is—

Well. I know you never much cared for my silly fantasies. Still. Even without your blessings, I continue forth with you in my heart—if only because I wouldn’t know the cutting end of a halberd from the stabbing were it not for you. I wish you could forgive me my stubbornness. But it is as if this path has stolen my feet from under me, and I can’t escape it. I do not even know that I have the heart to, really. I need to know what awaits me here in these lands of grace and grace lost.

I’ll keep record of it. Maybe someday these words will find their way to you, and you will understand why I had to go.

Sincerely,

Your loving child,

Wallis, Frayborn

P.S.

They keep calling me maidenless here—I didn’t realize that having a maiden was a criteria.

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