Astra Avae

ex fabulis et astris!

[astras-ramblings]

Hello all! I am Astra, she/it. I write pretty exclusively in my own worlds. I don't take requests, but I do LOVE questions! Please ask me things!!

My main blog is @starborn-storyteller.

Important tags:

[#starry stories] are in-universe writing

[#astral journeys] are stories about my writing- how I got an idea or how it's evolved

[#space dust inbound] means an unfiltered lore-dump

Brief descriptions of my worlds below the cut!

Aer'ta is home to my longest worldbuilding project ever (the island of Tylia). It is urban fantasy, and features rich and complex geopolitics courtesy of my brother. Prominent nations include: Tylia (island, constitutional diarchy), Ith (corpratocracy), the Daedric Empire, Ataru (island, collection of small oligarchies), and the Empire (isolated monarchy)

Erosi is a digital world within the fictional virtual-reality game of Skiro. It is entirely immersive and has its own internal story.

Spellbound is a world made for my Kids on Brooms campaign- urban fantasy set in a boarding school in the UK. Expect less writing in this one, as I have actual work.

[astras-ramblings]

O Creator

[poetry - short, unedited]

48 lines

O Creator, You are holy; I am sinful, I am vain; O Creator, You are mighty; I am deaf and blind and lame; O Creator, I beg, guide me, For the woods seem all the same; O Creator, can You hear me O'er the thundering of rain On the rooftops of the lonely And devouts who call Your name? O Creator, won't You save me From the suffering and pain?

O Creator, You are holy; I am sinful, I am vain; O Creator, You are mighty; I am deaf and blind and lame; O Creator, we are lowly, Far beneath Your glorious frame; O Creator, we are slowly Losing sight of our true aim, As the summer turns to autumn, And the cold wind blows again; O Creator, will You teach me How to hear Your world's refrain?

O Creator, You are holy; I am sinful, I am vain; O Creator, You are mighty; I am deaf and blind and lame; O Creator, You will smite me, If my questions are inane; O Creator, will You write me To be happy once again? We are fearful, we are lightly Treading foot on all terrain, O Creator, did You make me To be cast aside in pain?

O Creator, what is holy? Am I sinful? Am I vain? O Creator, You are mighty, But I hear and see and strain, O Creator, at your tidy, Simple world that's all too plain; O Creator, it shines brightly, But it darkens all the same; So I promise to go quietly, If You answer me by name; O Creator, is it likely You're a construct of my brain?

[astras-ramblings]

[excerpt - OLD WRITING - oc]

Location: Unknown

Time: Unknown

Characters in play: Obsidian, Diopside

Characters mentioned: N/A

“This is all your fault,” I hiss under my breath, tears forming at the corners of my eyes as I try not to think about the people being found behind us.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean for them to find us! I swear!” There are tears at the edge of your voice, too, but less noticeable. You’re better at this. Not good enough, apparently.

The scene behind us, through the thin sliding bookshelf, is chaos. The bookshelf door is open, but we’re in the hollowed-out back of it. They found everyone else in the tunnel, and in the next-door sye that it led to, but we were the first to get into this space, and will probably be the only ones to survive. When the scouts were more than 30 minutes late, everyone hid. Except there were traitors among our scout party, and we’re a trading sye. No one had any weapons. And now everyone is dead.

We wait a while to make sure the Keepers have left for good, and emerge. It’s worse than you imagined. You had half hoped someone would be alive, but hope is a dangerous thing.

“Which sye are we gonna join? Kipo? Maybe one of the Zodiacs…” I ask, knowing no sye will take us in anyway. We’re jisha. We were lucky to get into this one.

You shake your head, silent. I understand, and we climb into the vents, the only place the Keepers never check. There’s a space up there that, should we have had the time, we would have hidden in instead. We can relax up there, so long as we’re quiet. From there, we can figure out where to go.We silently climb up the vents and find a spot to hide. We sit in the dark, listening to the distant sound of the Keepers, and I can’t help but feel a pang of guilt. I know that if we had been faster, more people might have been saved. You wrap your arms around me and I close my eyes, trying to forget the horrors of the day. We’re safe, for now. I just hope that our luck holds out. We’ll need it if we’re going to make it out of the city alive.

[astras-ramblings]

[untethered - short fiction, final product - one-off]

Location: Unknown

Time: Unknown

A knock- it was her! I leapt down my grandma’s old stairs faster than I should have—as my lungs were quick to tell me—and flung the door open. I had to stop my smile from falling. She looked so… normal. Bland. Not like co-president of the Weird Kids Club at all. Plain white shirt, blue skirt, matching jacket. A stark contrast to my band tee, patch pants, and chains.

She smiled, which failed to ease my growing disquiet. “Hi! It’s been a while,” she said.

“It certainly has,” I said, closing the door behind her. “Haven’t been able to visit much since—oh, we moved! We live up in Seattle now.”

“Really? I want to move there when I’m older.”

“it’s nice. Found some cool people to hang out with, so I’m happy.”

Seattle. I wanted to go back already. Not that I didn’t like my grandma—I did, still do—I just… It was quiet out here. Far too quiet for my comfort. I was used to hearing cars, train horns, faint unplaceable music, and the gentle background hum of electricity almost constantly. All of those things did happen out here, of course, they were fewer and farther between. Even the electrical hum seemed quieter.

We’d sat down on the swing before I even realized we were going there. A sigh escaped, the only indication of my discomfort. I leaned against the back of the swing, setting it into a slight rock.

“What are you into these days?” I asked (praying that she’d say something I knew how to talk about).

“Been watching a lot of TV,” she said, not meeting my eyes. “Friends mostly, but I started the Office.”

Nope. “Huh, nice. Is it good? I haven’t seen it.”

“Which one?”

“Either.” I forced a laugh. “Always preferred video games, myself.”

“Friends is good, but the Office is… meh. Never really got into games.”

“Not for everyone, I guess.”

The bench had stopped swinging. I heard the neighbor’s dog barking. A squirrel scurried up one of their trees—probably the source of the barks. It stopped on a branch to look at its tormentor. Almost smug.

“Zi?”

“Sorry? Zoned out,” I said, turning my attention back to my friend.

“I asked what games you play.”

“Oh, uh, mostly RPGs—Souls games, Fallout, that sort of thing. I used to play shooters, but those got old fast.”

“Oh, my sister plays Fallout!”

“Which one?”

“Uh, Melanie? I only have one.”

“No, like, which Fallout game. There’s a bunch.”

“Oh, uh, I’m not really sure. There’s a lot of robots? And weird mutated monsters?” “Ah.” That could literally be any of them, but I decided not to tell her that.

A long silence. The wind was picking up, and I felt it on my back. I liked the wind, and not just because it made noise. A strong wind was good for flying kites, sailing, it could provide power through windmills and turbines. Wind was good, on all fronts.

“Do you have a boyfriend or anything?”

Oh, that was a tricky question. “Not really my style,” I said, my default answer for when I didn’t know how someone would react.

“Girlfriend, then?”

Oh, good, she wasn’t like that. “No, unfortunately. You?”

“I mean… it’s more of a kinda-sorta-not-really-it’s-complicated kind of thing, you know?”

I laughed, really this time. “Yeah. I definitely do.”

She smiled, but the conversation fell and it got quiet again. Very quiet. Silence always made me feel so isolated. I knew she was sitting next to me, but I still felt alone. Like it was just me in the entire world. Me and that soundless air—air that fell into my lungs with every breath and squeezed, seeming to have a will of its own, begging me to speak, to say something. I’ve always hated silence (I have the loudest fan I could find in my room to keep it from getting quiet), and that certainly hadn’t changed. The silence had a viscosity to it that choked my voice and forced its way into my chest to rip out—no, no, to pump—my heart, faster than it should have been able to go, or at least I thought so, the faint rustles and chirps and susurrations only serving to make the agonizing—

I was on a chair. Not the bench, this one was soft and warm and didn’t sway. The light was warmer than it had been. So was the room. I was in a room. Not outside. It wasn’t quiet anymore—it was quite loud, actually,  and I heard a high tone I hadn’t been aware of before start to fade away. Voices. Ones I knew. I became aware of the pace at which air rushed through my windpipe and started putting things together.

Five things I could see. Table. Chair. My grandmother’s face, so close to my own I could feel her sigh of relief as I came back from… that. The painting of a horse she’d insisted was antique despite the obvious 70’s varnish on the frame. My grandfather, nodding to himself over a newspaper. Sigh, nod, turn the page, grunt. Almost robotic.

Four things I could hear. My grandma’s sweetie, are you okay and can you hear me and oh, she’ll be alright, don’t you fret. The incessant tickling of that damn clock that left many of my nights here sleepless. The shuffle of hair on fabric as I nodded slowly—couldn’t have her worry about me being unresponsive. The fan.

Three I could feel. The comfort of the old armchair, swaddling me in a cushioned embrace. A hand on my arm—oh, Grandma’s. The tag I’d never bothered to snip off of the back of my collar.

Two smells. Vanilla—fake vanilla. And tobacco. From Grandpa.

One taste. Sour. So sour it hurt.

“Uh, sorry to worry y-” I started, then abruptly failed to finish for reasons regarding a world-famous ‘Grandma Bear’ hug.

“Oh, sweetie, I’m just glad you’re alright. I mean, I thought it was the cold, but-”

“Anxiety. Mostly. It-It got too quiet.”

“Alright, dearie. Just let Grandma know if you need anything, okay?”

“A glass of-”

“Water, yes, here you are. I thought you’d want some.”

“...Thank you.” I sat there for some time, listening. The fan, my favorite sound. My grandparents talking in the other room—she’d already gone home, it seemed. Apparently I said goodbye, but I don’t remember that. The clock, beating patiently, staving off the quiet with its tick, tock, tick, tock. I didn’t find it annoying, then, more comforting than anything.

I went home the next day. Not early or anything, that was the day I was supposed to go home—and besides, this wasn’t the first panic attack I’d had at Grandma’s house. It had never been quite so bad, though.

I didn’t get them often, then. Panic attacks, that is. We forget just how loud the world around us is. I don’t, though, I always notice—I think if I tried, I could probably learn to gauge the decibel level of a room on command. I kept my headphones on the whole drive home; I was still recovering somewhat, and the familiar comfort of loud music helped a lot. Not too loud—nothing scares me more than going deaf. If a few minutes’ pause in a conversation is enough to send me into panic mode, I can’t imagine what total silence would do.

Like I said, that was the first of its kind. The second was on a random street in Philadelphia, several years later. I was there on vacation, my first since moving out. I was on a walk, enjoying the architecture where I could see it and the noise where I couldn’t. I love cities, especially big pedestrian ones where you can hear people talking to each other. I have a notebook where I save snippets of conversation that I overhear, so I can use them later in writing.

I turned onto a street I’d walked a number of times before—this trip had been very good for walking—and found that it was empty. Well, not empty, but there were certainly a lot fewer people here. The sound of conversation died down as I walked, turning into whispers and the rustling of clothes. Susurrations. The worst kind of sound. It was barely sound at all, and only ever made silence feel more complete, like it was wrapping all around you and closing you in.

And then I couldn’t hear the cars rumble anymore, just a swish as they went by. And it was nothing but silence and whispers and swishes and rustles and the worst kinds of sounds. I didn’t even realize when I stopped walking, I was so wrapped up in finding something, anything to hear. I was alone again. Me and the silence and that awful whispering, and I could feel the people staring at me as I sat on the ground (slowly, and it took all my effort not to fall to my knees). I hunted for something in their whispers, a word, a phrase, even an insult would have been preferable to the hissing quiet that pressed itself into me, pulling my shoulders taut and pressing itself against the back of my head and ripping every ounce of reality itself away from—

Something touched my foot. Soft. Enough to bring me back. Five things I could see was easy enough. Building, person, street, lamppost—cat? A cat. Paw on my foot. That was what had touched me. I thanked it as strongly as I could in my current state. It mewed. I expected it to leave, but it just stayed there. Expectant, maybe? Was that putting too much agency on this cat? Maybe it just wanted pets. Or food.

Four things I could hear. I reminded myself that yes, each kind of susurration was something different, so whispers—no, wait, there weren’t any of those anymore. Cars, church bells telling me I was going to be late, the faint sound of music from some unknown apartment, and voices—oh, thank god, voices. The people around had filled in the empty street.

The other three senses went easily. I was back by that point, and honestly I would have been fine after hearing, but I continued for the sake of consistency. I stood and went back to my day.

I kept seeing that cat, though—milk-white, lean as street cats always are, missing a section of one ear. It followed me around, and every time it got quiet I’d hear a little mew and it would be there. I looked online for missing pets and such, but could find none that looked like it—and this little guy certainly had the air of a cat who’d lived a life on the streets. So I took it home. I took it to the vet first, obviously, making sure it was neutered and had all the necessary vaccines. And then I made it my registered ESA.

I haven’t had another one since. Oh, sure, I’ve had panic attacks, but no unresponsive, memory blank, “lonely soul-crushing silence that wants me dead” ones. Would you believe me if I said I was a dog person before? I was. I wasn’t one of the people who hate cats for no reason, but I’d grown up with dogs and thought cats were too quiet. I mean, clearly I was wrong, this cat—who I named Chirp—was quite talkative. I liked that, for obvious reasons. 

[astras-ramblings]

want

it hurt a little bit and I was scared- and I'm still scared, but I want it- and it felt good after, in concept- it was the edges then, the entering, the back and forth, the getting started- but the thing itself was good- it was good, wasn't it? I sound like I didn't want to, but I did, I did want to and I still do- I'm scared and I don't know how- I'm scared I don't know how- that's it really, that's all- worry that I'll get it wrong- maybe the way is messed up- I don't know what I'm doing here, it could be anything I did wrong, my mistake could be anywhere- it hurt but it was good but- what do I do once it's there?

[astras-ramblings]

Snow

outside is cold blue light cast on my face there is a wall between us but it leaks around the edges where the wall is thin I bring my own light, warm and yellow but the blue is heavier and runs so fast it is thin like winter wind that builds into the channels between buildings, in the road thin like the blanket on my lap I'd hoped would be enough to keep the light away sweet honey, my gentle yellow, is thick it cannot fill the cracks between the skin where blue dances quickly, howls, grows the way ferns grow on a windowpane when morning dew is frozen on the glass, grasping quickly, wanting, reaching out my lantern flickers as a warning to it an empty threat of speed it can't achieve gold is too heavy, flows too softly in for cold silence to fear any rosy dawn

[astras-ramblings]

It Still Felt

Content Warning: gore, self-mutilation

The beach was long and the sand burned my feet as I walked. I'd asked the man at the entrance if they sold sandals, I know, but they must not have sold them because I didn't have any. I didn't feel like talking, so I listened. There was the slow, soft crash of the waves on the shore, and the musical calls of seabirds in the endless distance, and the crunch of footsteps in sand that shifted underfoot, and of course the voices of my friends.

As I sit here recalling it all, conversations blend into one word. I don't know what the word is, but I know it's my favorite one. The word is made of many things: stories, joys, fears, concerns, jokes and laughter and tears.

I spotted it first. On the horizon, some grey shape on the sand. A frozen moment of a sunrise, growing as we neared it. I pointed and said something, having to repeat the words before they came out properly. We approached as a group. It was still rising and falling, shaky, something desperate in it still clinging to its painful, fading life. It wouldn't be right to let it stay there, suffering, forever. Someone took out a knife.

I don't know what the inside was supposed to look like, but I know that when we cut it in half and dragged it apart, I should not have recognized the lungs. I should not have seen the same heart, the same spine, the same stomach. I should not have known the names of the muscles. But I did.

The lungs, the vast, grey, human lungs heaved. The half still attached to its head did, at least. It still breathed. It still felt, probably. I could only imagine how much it must hurt. We found the head and traced the knife down the center. We split skin and muscle and bone and underneath it all, a gray mass of neurons quivered at the slightest touch.

I knew it was still alive, though the great moon-surface of its back no longer moved. I knew instinctively, intuitively, in the way you know that the person in your dream is your best friend, even though their face will be unrecognizable to you in your waking hours. It was not a matter of observation, simply a true fact: this was not yet a carcass. It still felt.

My friends were gone. I held the knife steady, tracing it down the center of the brain, separating the halves, but that didn't kill it. I carved it apart, my blade cutting through muscle, fat, skin, and bone as if they were all butter. I took each organ out one by one, separated the muscles, cut every bone in half, and yet it still felt.

The poor creature was still in pain. I cut each separate part into chunks, stacking huge cubes of flesh and bone and sinew around me. Then I cut them further, further, further, until each part was less than an inch across. Blood caked my skin, matted my hair, made the sand sink under my feet. It still felt.

No longer was that knowledge a simple fact of existence- I felt its life in the blood covering my skin, in the sea of flesh I waded through. In myself. I had to save it. It still felt.

I began with my arm. Up, along the vein, my blood mixing with that already surrounding me. Then, my left hand fell- I cut it to the same size as the rest of the flesh. The rest of my arm. It still felt.

It wasn't enough. My legs, then. I was lightheaded- it would be good to sit down anyway. I cut, slowly, carefully, more cubes of meat and bone piling where my feet once were. It still felt.

My torso. I cut myself in half, my lungs opening into the air. My arm fell limp at my side. My world went red as my head fell back into the sea of blood. I didn't feel it, but I suppose at some point I must have passed out.

[astras-ramblings]

A Song

C, A minor, C. A minor, F, C.

The guitar feels unfamiliar in my hands. Then again, everything does. You'd think I'd get used to them in three years, but I guess not. The strings are where they're supposed to be, though, and he checked the tuning for me- spot on, it seems that skill hasn't gotten any worse- so I should be able to play something simple like this. Good thing I have it memorized.

C, A minor, C. A minor, F, C.

I'm able to harden my fingers enough to strum. I can't pluck, but I'll survive. Geebs offered me his gloves, but I can't take those from him. He needs them. As my hands move over the strings, I pretend I've only closed my eyes, and I let the character fall away. Goob doesn't play guitar. Archer does. And right now, I'm back to being Archer, if only for a while.

A year from now, we'll all be gone, all our friends will move away.

Senses aren't the same like this. I don't feel things with my skin, I just kind of… know they're there, and know their texture. I don't hear things with my ears, the sound warbles through my entire body. I don't smell the same way, I don't taste the same way. And of course, I don't see at all.

And they're going to better places, but our friends will be gone away.

Alec is sitting on the chair over there. I heard him settle into it after he gave me the guitar. I wish I could see him. I know he's still there, he's the last person I'd expect to leave without a word, but… still. I imagine his face the way he describes it to me- my own memories are starting to fail.

Nothing is as it has been, and I miss your face like hell.

I turn my head, looking around the reconstruction of Dottie's basement. The edges are fuzzy, and I can't remember what shade of blue the accent wall was. Everyone is here, just like how it used to be, when I'd play after the end of the session. I won't take requests today. I won't take requests for a long while.

And I guess it's just as well, but I miss your face like hell.

Then it's just me and Alec, in my room. I pretend I'm sitting on my real bed, not a simulated couch. The headset is charging on my shelf, not wired irreversibly into my brain. I look across the room as I play, and smile at him as he gets the words wrong again. I'm beginning to think he does it on purpose.

Been talking 'bout the way things change, and my family lives in a different state.

I can see the books on my shelf behind him. Most of them are tabletop role-playing game rulebooks and guides, but there's a small collection of novels as well- a series that Osian lent me. I try to remember what it was about. I can't.

And if you don't know what to make of this, then we will not relate.

I remember the library. Where we met after school every Friday, before we all graduated. The shelves blur together in my pretend vision, becoming vague, faintly rectangular brown blobs that line the study corner that we commandeered for our games.

So if you don't know what to make of this, then we will not relate.

We spent so many hours there, and then in Dottie's basement once the renovations were done and the space was usable. Playing game after game, making character after character, arguing over numbers and dice and whether or not fireball was an appropriate spell (it almost never was).

Rivers and roads, rivers and roads, rivers 'till I reach you.

I try and fail to remember my last character. I've been Goob for so long, it's pushed everything else away. Times like these, where I can be Archer again, are important. Alec knows that. He makes sure I get them.

Rivers and roads, rivers and roads, rivers 'till I reach you.

Every night, before bed, a song so I can keep practicing my guitar. Even though I can't read any new music, I still have the two songs I remember how to play. And then, once I've played through a few chords and a song, just to make sure I still remember, he sits down next to me on my bed.

Rivers and roads, rivers and roads, rivers 'till I reach you.

And slowly, in great detail, he describes the room we're in. Usually it's one of our bedrooms, but sometimes it's a hotel room or one of our friends' living rooms. He tells me everything, down to the shape of every carving in the antique wooden wardrobe.

Rivers and roads, rivers and roads, rivers 'till I reach you.

Then, he describes our friends. He tells me what they looked like- Dottie, Sophie, David, Osian, and of course he describes himself and me. He tells me about the angle of Osian's nose, and the mole under Sophie's right eye, and the way Dottie's eye color changed depending on how you looked at it, and the dark circles under his eyes from his terrible sleep schedule.

Rivers and roads, rivers and roads, rivers 'till I reach you.

And he describes what our characters look like- Silx's white ponytail with streaks of remnant color, every piece of Malik's armor, the fact that he and I- as Geebs and Goob- have matching lab coats, and the way that mine doesn't quite fit because we had to steal it and it wasn't my size.

Rivers and roads, rivers and roads, rivers 'till I reach you.

I go to bed every night with my memories of sight hazy, but fresh. Every morning I wake up from a dream of burning Polaroid pictures, and I try to open my eyes. Who knows, someday it might work.

Rivers and roads, rivers and roads, rivers 'till I reach you.

This part doesn't need the guitar, so I set it to the side. I hear Alec stand, and I panic for a second, but then I feel him sit next to me and lean his head on my shoulder. I lean back into him.

Rivers and roads, rivers and roads, rivers 'till I reach you.

One of the quirks of his body in this game is that his tears make a sizzling noise. One of the quirks of my body is that my tears mix with the goop covering my eyes and don't make it out from under it. I always know when he's crying. He never knows when I am. So I let him know by sniffling- but my voice falters, and he has to finish the song.

Rivers and roads, rivers and roads, rivers 'till I reach you.

[astras-ramblings]

The shadow on the wall is weirdly shaped and I'm not sure what's casting it. It wavers and twists and bends and spills into the shadows around it. If I stare long enough, I can see colors start to fizzle underneath the darkness, but then I blink and they're gone. Maybe if I could look harder, deeper, longer, unblinking, maybe then I could see what's behind it. Maybe if I turned around, I could see where it's coming from. I think I'll look at it a little longer first.

[astras-ramblings]

I thought it'd be fun to try and challenge myself. A blind playthrough. literally. Figure out how to navigate a world by touch and sound and smell alone. And when it got too hard, I could just quit. Play something else. Make a different character.

It's so dark.

[astras-ramblings]

Light and colors and a swirling swarming sea of turquoise and cerulean and every other shade of green and blue and purple and bliss, so much bliss. I don't care. I don't care anymore. I don't care about him or that bitch whore or any of them. It's so beautiful here, lost in everything good and right and safe. It's slipping. Why is it slipping what did I do no no no no no come back no no NO NO NONONONONONONONO-

[astras-ramblings]

Duck. Aim. Shoot. Who was I doing this for? Dodge. Weave. Aim. A friend? Shoot. Miss. Dodge. A lover? Hit. Miss. Die. Respawn. How did I mess up that time? Learn. Aim. Shoot. Dodge. Did I have a lover? Duck. Weave. Die. Respawn. Learn. What was my name again? Miss. Dodge. Aim. Shoot. Die. Respawn. Learn. Aim. Shoot. Die. Respawn. Die. Respawn. Die. Respawn.

[astras-ramblings]

I love RPGs. I love MMORPGs. I really love the ones with thriving RP communities. It's nice to just, like, step into someone else's head for a bit, you know? Live like you're not yourself. It's nice to not be me. I'm not a good person to be.

[astras-ramblings]

get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out-

[astras-ramblings]

My restaurant never got off the ground before. Every time I tried, something else went wrong. But Savia is the perfect city. Plenty of people, all of 'em wanting new things to try! Honestly, I don't even know how long I've been here. I'm just happy people get to taste my food, even if it's not quite the same.

[astras-ramblings]

I can't go back there. I can't go back and look her in the eyes again and again and again. I don't care how bad it gets in here. I'm not leaving. I'm not going back. I can't.

[astras-ramblings]

I swear, I'll get to work on it. I'm sure it can't be that hard. I'll only be a few more days. I just need to get this right. It's almost working! I promise! No, really, this is the last one! No more. Just this one, then I'll get right on it. Pinky swear.

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The shadow on the wall is weirdly shaped and I'm not sure what's casting it. It wavers and twists and bends and spills into the shadows around it. If I stare long enough, I can see colors start to fizzle underneath the darkness, but then I blink and they're gone. Maybe if I could look harder, deeper, longer, unblinking, maybe then I could see what's behind it. Maybe if I turned around, I could see where it's coming from. I think I'll look at it a little longer first.

[astras-ramblings]

I thought it'd be fun to try and challenge myself. A blind playthrough. literally. Figure out how to navigate a world by touch and sound and smell alone. And when it got too hard, I could just quit. Play something else. Make a different character.

It's so dark.

[astras-ramblings]

Light and colors and a swirling swarming sea of turquoise and cerulean and every other shade of green and blue and purple and bliss, so much bliss. I don't care. I don't care anymore. I don't care about him or that bitch whore or any of them. It's so beautiful here, lost in everything good and right and safe. It's slipping. Why is it slipping what did I do no no no no no come back no no NO NO NONONONONONONONO-

[astras-ramblings]

Duck. Aim. Shoot. Who was I doing this for? Dodge. Weave. Aim. A friend? Shoot. Miss. Dodge. A lover? Hit. Miss. Die. Respawn. How did I mess up that time? Learn. Aim. Shoot. Dodge. Did I have a lover? Duck. Weave. Die. Respawn. Learn. What was my name again? Miss. Dodge. Aim. Shoot. Die. Respawn. Learn. Aim. Shoot. Die. Respawn. Die. Respawn. Die. Respawn.

[astras-ramblings]

I love RPGs. I love MMORPGs. I really love the ones with thriving RP communities. It's nice to just, like, step into someone else's head for a bit, you know? Live like you're not yourself. It's nice to not be me. I'm not a good person to be.

[astras-ramblings]

get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out-

[astras-ramblings]

My restaurant never got off the ground before. Every time I tried, something else went wrong. But Savia is the perfect city. Plenty of people, all of 'em wanting new things to try! Honestly, I don't even know how long I've been here. I'm just happy people get to taste my food, even if it's not quite the same.

[astras-ramblings]

I can't go back there. I can't go back and look her in the eyes again and again and again. I don't care how bad it gets in here. I'm not leaving. I'm not going back. I can't.

[astras-ramblings]

The shadow on the wall is weirdly shaped and I'm not sure what's casting it. It wavers and twists and bends and spills into the shadows around it. If I stare long enough, I can see colors start to fizzle underneath the darkness, but then I blink and they're gone. Maybe if I could look harder, deeper, longer, unblinking, maybe then I could see what's behind it. Maybe if I turned around, I could see where it's coming from. I think I'll look at it a little longer first.

[astras-ramblings]

I thought it'd be fun to try and challenge myself. A blind playthrough. literally. Figure out how to navigate a world by touch and sound and smell alone. And when it got too hard, I could just quit. Play something else. Make a different character.

It's so dark.

[astras-ramblings]

Light and colors and a swirling swarming sea of turquoise and cerulean and every other shade of green and blue and purple and bliss, so much bliss. I don't care. I don't care anymore. I don't care about him or that bitch whore or any of them. It's so beautiful here, lost in everything good and right and safe. It's slipping. Why is it slipping what did I do no no no no no come back no no NO NO NONONONONONONONO-

[astras-ramblings]

Duck. Aim. Shoot. Who was I doing this for? Dodge. Weave. Aim. A friend? Shoot. Miss. Dodge. A lover? Hit. Miss. Die. Respawn. How did I mess up that time? Learn. Aim. Shoot. Dodge. Did I have a lover? Duck. Weave. Die. Respawn. Learn. What was my name again? Miss. Dodge. Aim. Shoot. Die. Respawn. Learn. Aim. Shoot. Die. Respawn. Die. Respawn. Die. Respawn.

[astras-ramblings]

I love RPGs. I love MMORPGs. I really love the ones with thriving RP communities. It's nice to just, like, step into someone else's head for a bit, you know? Live like you're not yourself. It's nice to not be me. I'm not a good person to be.

[astras-ramblings]

get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out-

[astras-ramblings]

My restaurant never got off the ground before. Every time I tried, something else went wrong. But Savia is the perfect city. Plenty of people, all of 'em wanting new things to try! Honestly, I don't even know how long I've been here. I'm just happy people get to taste my food, even if it's not quite the same.

[astras-ramblings]

The shadow on the wall is weirdly shaped and I'm not sure what's casting it. It wavers and twists and bends and spills into the shadows around it. If I stare long enough, I can see colors start to fizzle underneath the darkness, but then I blink and they're gone. Maybe if I could look harder, deeper, longer, unblinking, maybe then I could see what's behind it. Maybe if I turned around, I could see where it's coming from. I think I'll look at it a little longer first.

[astras-ramblings]

I thought it'd be fun to try and challenge myself. A blind playthrough. literally. Figure out how to navigate a world by touch and sound and smell alone. And when it got too hard, I could just quit. Play something else. Make a different character.

It's so dark.

[astras-ramblings]

Light and colors and a swirling swarming sea of turquoise and cerulean and every other shade of green and blue and purple and bliss, so much bliss. I don't care. I don't care anymore. I don't care about him or that bitch whore or any of them. It's so beautiful here, lost in everything good and right and safe. It's slipping. Why is it slipping what did I do no no no no no come back no no NO NO NONONONONONONONO-

[astras-ramblings]

Duck. Aim. Shoot. Who was I doing this for? Dodge. Weave. Aim. A friend? Shoot. Miss. Dodge. A lover? Hit. Miss. Die. Respawn. How did I mess up that time? Learn. Aim. Shoot. Dodge. Did I have a lover? Duck. Weave. Die. Respawn. Learn. What was my name again? Miss. Dodge. Aim. Shoot. Die. Respawn. Learn. Aim. Shoot. Die. Respawn. Die. Respawn. Die. Respawn.

[astras-ramblings]

I love RPGs. I love MMORPGs. I really love the ones with thriving RP communities. It's nice to just, like, step into someone else's head for a bit, you know? Live like you're not yourself. It's nice to not be me. I'm not a good person to be.

[astras-ramblings]

get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out-

[astras-ramblings]

The shadow on the wall is weirdly shaped and I'm not sure what's casting it. It wavers and twists and bends and spills into the shadows around it. If I stare long enough, I can see colors start to fizzle underneath the darkness, but then I blink and they're gone. Maybe if I could look harder, deeper, longer, unblinking, maybe then I could see what's behind it. Maybe if I turned around, I could see where it's coming from. I think I'll look at it a little longer first.

[astras-ramblings]

I thought it'd be fun to try and challenge myself. A blind playthrough. literally. Figure out how to navigate a world by touch and sound and smell alone. And when it got too hard, I could just quit. Play something else. Make a different character.

It's so dark.

[astras-ramblings]

Light and colors and a swirling swarming sea of turquoise and cerulean and every other shade of green and blue and purple and bliss, so much bliss. I don't care. I don't care anymore. I don't care about him or that bitch whore or any of them. It's so beautiful here, lost in everything good and right and safe. It's slipping. Why is it slipping what did I do no no no no no come back no no NO NO NONONONONONONONO-

[astras-ramblings]

Duck. Aim. Shoot. Who was I doing this for? Dodge. Weave. Aim. A friend? Shoot. Miss. Dodge. A lover? Hit. Miss. Die. Respawn. How did I mess up that time? Learn. Aim. Shoot. Dodge. Did I have a lover? Duck. Weave. Die. Respawn. Learn. What was my name again? Miss. Dodge. Aim. Shoot. Die. Respawn. Learn. Aim. Shoot. Die. Respawn. Die. Respawn. Die. Respawn.

[astras-ramblings]

I love RPGs. I love MMORPGs. I really love the ones with thriving RP communities. It's nice to just, like, step into someone else's head for a bit, you know? Live like you're not yourself. It's nice to not be me. I'm not a good person to be.

[astras-ramblings]

The shadow on the wall is weirdly shaped and I'm not sure what's casting it. It wavers and twists and bends and spills into the shadows around it. If I stare long enough, I can see colors start to fizzle underneath the darkness, but then I blink and they're gone. Maybe if I could look harder, deeper, longer, unblinking, maybe then I could see what's behind it. Maybe if I turned around, I could see where it's coming from. I think I'll look at it a little longer first.

[astras-ramblings]

I thought it'd be fun to try and challenge myself. A blind playthrough. literally. Figure out how to navigate a world by touch and sound and smell alone. And when it got too hard, I could just quit. Play something else. Make a different character.

It's so dark.

[astras-ramblings]

Light and colors and a swirling swarming sea of turquoise and cerulean and every other shade of green and blue and purple and bliss, so much bliss. I don't care. I don't care anymore. I don't care about him or that bitch whore or any of them. It's so beautiful here, lost in everything good and right and safe. It's slipping. Why is it slipping what did I do no no no no no come back no no NO NO NONONONONONONONO-

[astras-ramblings]

Duck. Aim. Shoot. Who was I doing this for? Dodge. Weave. Aim. A friend? Shoot. Miss. Dodge. A lover? Hit. Miss. Die. Respawn. How did I mess up that time? Learn. Aim. Shoot. Dodge. Did I have a lover? Duck. Weave. Die. Respawn. Learn. What was my name again? Miss. Dodge. Aim. Shoot. Die. Respawn. Learn. Aim. Shoot. Die. Respawn. Die. Respawn. Die. Respawn.

[astras-ramblings]

The shadow on the wall is weirdly shaped and I'm not sure what's casting it. It wavers and twists and bends and spills into the shadows around it. If I stare long enough, I can see colors start to fizzle underneath the darkness, but then I blink and they're gone. Maybe if I could look harder, deeper, longer, unblinking, maybe then I could see what's behind it. Maybe if I turned around, I could see where it's coming from. I think I'll look at it a little longer first.

[astras-ramblings]

I thought it'd be fun to try and challenge myself. A blind playthrough. literally. Figure out how to navigate a world by touch and sound and smell alone. And when it got too hard, I could just quit. Play something else. Make a different character.

It's so dark.

[astras-ramblings]

Light and colors and a swirling swarming sea of turquoise and cerulean and every other shade of green and blue and purple and bliss, so much bliss. I don't care. I don't care anymore. I don't care about him or that bitch whore or any of them. It's so beautiful here, lost in everything good and right and safe. It's slipping. Why is it slipping what did I do no no no no no come back no no NO NO NONONONONONONONO-

[astras-ramblings]

The shadow on the wall is weirdly shaped and I'm not sure what's casting it. It wavers and twists and bends and spills into the shadows around it. If I stare long enough, I can see colors start to fizzle underneath the darkness, but then I blink and they're gone. Maybe if I could look harder, deeper, longer, unblinking, maybe then I could see what's behind it. Maybe if I turned around, I could see where it's coming from. I think I'll look at it a little longer first.

[astras-ramblings]

I thought it'd be fun to try and challenge myself. A blind playthrough. literally. Figure out how to navigate a world by touch and sound and smell alone. And when it got too hard, I could just quit. Play something else. Make a different character.

It's so dark.

[astras-ramblings]

The shadow on the wall is weirdly shaped and I'm not sure what's casting it. It wavers and twists and bends and spills into the shadows around it. If I stare long enough, I can see colors start to fizzle underneath the darkness, but then I blink and they're gone. Maybe if I could look harder, deeper, longer, unblinking, maybe then I could see what's behind it. Maybe if I turned around, I could see where it's coming from. I think I'll look at it a little longer first.