Sorry if this is all over the place, but I am absoluetly obsessed with how this narrative is taking shape, actually and I need to talk about it:
Lost history retold, but twisted through multiple generational games of telephone and pieced together in fragments by one single sentimental and theatrical narrator who is shamelessly putting their own flare on it all for the sake of storytelling. It's a very fun version of the unreliable narrator trope.
The narrator tried to explain the humanity of the story, to keep that part of it intact, besides just the pure facts of what happened. But ironically, by doing that (while they had a good estimate for how some of the people felt in certain situations due to personal notes of first or second hand sources) they mixed a lot of facts with what is essentially fiction. Either, they salvage a watered down version of the events that happened, leaving out speculation that could potentially be really important for the reasoning of why those events happened at all, or they fill in the gaps and pretty much guarantee to at least somewhat miss the mark.
In the end, despite the attempt to give new life to lost records, the true history dies with those that lived it.
