#i've just tagged it as a longpost for someone who wants to blacklist that tag for personal reasons

[blaiddydbrokeit]

11.30PM kinposting but please don't mind me, I just needed somewhere to put my thoughts so that I can actually be in a proper frame of mind to take an 8AM national exam tomorrow. I may delete this later on.

I still despise the feeling of being so perpetually strung tight, like I would snap if even one thing struck but a hair beyond the limit. All the little things I once did, whether with intent or by accident. I still feel dreadfully guilty. Yet even so, Garreg Mach has... so many fond memories as well. The extra care that went into maintaining weapons, the scuffs on the leather binding of my journal because I always had it on my person.

Even now, when I detail the means of maintaining a sword to Felix - it's being greeted with a satisfactory response of still knowing the motions and steps. I do remember, when once I'd broken their arm by sheer accident, the way they scowled at the healer when informed that it'd have to be rested for a bit. I did have to do an extra share of maintenance then, given the indisposition, but it was the least I could have done.

I hardly remember the war, though some parts are clearer than others in a way I haven't heart to speak of yet. But I did remember the days that did come after. The way I was helpless at handling my own hair for the coronation, the way Felix was so expertly pulling away the hair tie to fix it in exasperation. I remember looking in the mirror terrified, as if I was expecting to see someone else. As if I was expecting to see the image of Father staring back.

I remember the way my bedchambers of childhood was in the East Wing. Far from the conference, the archives, the library, even Father's office, in the West Wing. Too young to have to know just how deep into the night he worked. How I had to brace myself stepping into it as king, knowing it was mine then. Mine, of all people. A wretch of a king, I used to think. But my dearest friends would always remind me. A wretch of a king is still a king nonetheless. If... if only they could know just how far that reminder has carried me through even in this.... this lifetime, so to say. The little things I do that I want to recreate from those fonder times. The little things I wish I still could say.

Faerghus, how dreadfully I miss you so, evermuch as I miss the classmates who used to be within arm's reach. Where have you all gone, my old friends? Must the Goddess be so cruel, to put us in so many places, so far away, that even the chance to meet again is but a shattered needle in the Tailtean Plains?