#nettle's diary

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Nettle's Diary: Excerpt, written on the back cover

I have finally returned to the Jungle where it all fell apart.

A different person stands here today than did those long years ago. Someone who has suffered, for certain. But someone who has also learned to live despite that. Someone who has grown, slowly, but surely.

I will not lie and say this is not difficult. So many things are. But isn't that what I have spent the years coming to terms with? I can do difficult things.

Perhaps I will write more on this. In a different journal, as this one holds too many painful memories. I will start fresh, and fill new pages with this chapter of my life.

One that, while still challenging, holds so much more hope.

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Excerpt From Nettle’s Diary - Conclusion

1335 - Cantha

Spring has come again, with its sweetness and warm breeze. It is a Spring I could never have imagined, back in those darker days of long, long winter. My personal winter, which lasted through many seasons.

Yet here I am, the salty scent of the ocean mixing with the floral aroma of plants I have only just begun to learn the names of. The sun on my skin is warm, the faint chatter of friends in the distance welcoming.

My heart is full here. It happened slowly; so slow I barely noticed the change. But days are brighter, my spirit is brighter. Life is brighter.

I owe it to myself to be proud, I believe. Recovery was, and still remains, difficult. I know now it is an endless process. Some days will still be hard. Some nights harder still. However, I have confidence in myself now. I have learned ways to keep myself together and look forward, instead of behind.

This new space spreads out before me, countless somewheres to roam and explore and get back to what makes me feel most at home — helping things grow. Just as I tended to the wilting parts of myself over the years, so will I to others who need it. With enough care and kindness aimed both inward and out, growth and recovery are always within reach.

So perhaps my entries will ebb from now on. They started as a necessity, a place where I could ink my feelings instead of letting them devour me. Now they serve as a reminder: I have come far, and I am only going farther.

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Excerpt from Nettle’s Diary 13/?

Early 1329 - The Grove

Dreams of the Dragon have faded. It is rarer now for me to wake with blankets tangled, having believed them to be vines in my sleep. I no longer hear it’s voice, rough and demanding, in my mind.

Instead I dream of those who are gone. Those who died in my place. I see them with fixed expressions, breathing and alive. They walk through the Vigil’s halls, or along the soft grass of the Grove. Inevitably they stop when they reach me, where I have been waiting, watching them with hope.

I hope to hear their voices, to feel their forgiveness. I wish to tell them I am sorry. I need them to know it.

But my dreams do not allow it. These ghosts, for that is what they are now, bring no relief to my troubled heart. They weigh on more, in no uncertain terms telling me my guilt is deserved. If only I had been stronger, things may be been different.

Their disappointment and resentment haunts me.

Upon waking I know I dream only of what eats at my mind. These ghosts are but a manifestation of my inability to yet process everything that happened in the Jungle. I know this, but the gap between knowing in my mind and believing in my heart is vast.

I wish to sleep undisturbed. If just for a night. Just a few hours of peace for the parts of me that are so, so tired.

Perhaps I will make myself some tea; the chamomile is nearly dried. It should at the very least let me slip into sleep easily, though from there I am once again on my own.

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Excerpt from Nettle’s Diary 9/?

Early 1329 - The Grove

Once again, it has been some time since I last wrote.

It is difficult to look at my last entry, and the presence of those words have kept me from opening this book. I do not wish to see them. I do not want to confront those feelings. Not yet.

But I cannot avoid writing forever. So I opened to a page far from my last entry to provide some needed distance.

What has changed in the last handful of weeks? My garden is coming along nicely. I spend much of the day in the yard, tending to the new growths and caring for the ones already established. The organisms in the soil flourish — I find myself speaking to them tenderly, like I used to do. Perhaps my voice is what reaches them, aided as it is by the magic in my veins.

I received a letter from Leilani. She is safe, thankfully. It appears she fled the jungle when ——— She is staying in the north, far from the Grove. Her words feel warm, and hopeful. I’m relieved to hear from her, and wish her all the best.

I’ve begun to take visitors from time to time. Neighbors mostly, stopping by for a cup of tea or advice on tending their own gardens. They don’t stay long. I believe they notice my discomfort as the day goes by; company wears at my mind now, like it never has before. But I cherish their short visits.

One exception to the length of time spent in my home is Amwyl. He returns from his Pact missions bruised and littered with wounds, but always with a smile that reminds me of the day he awoke. He makes himself a sort of nest on my couch and follows me around the kitchen and yard. He enjoys the more rigorous work in the garden, and without him many of the large rocks and stumps would still be stuck in place.

It is nice to have him around. He’s full of life, more so than I can ever hope to be. And he is a comfort when I wake in the night, ready to soothe the fear away with laughter and sticky, honey covered treats. He leaves without warning, however. The house feels eerie and quiet for some time after his departure, but as his presence fades until his next visit, the peace of solitude returns.

My hands have mostly recovered. I use my salve less and less, and no longer need bandages. The scars are… hard to look at.

For now I will leave off. It is nearly dusk, and I still have a few lingering duties around the house. I will try to write more consistently. It is a habit I do wish to cultivate, as difficult as it has been so far.

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Excerpt from Nettle’s Diary 12/?

Early 1329 - The Grove

I have been sleeping much of the days lately. The seasons are changing outside the Grove, and with the passing of one into another the feelings and memories of my life beyond this small patch of land that is my home fades further. It is difficult to recall the way the tall wheat grasses brushed along my arms as I waded through them, or the lapping of the sea water waves against my ankles.

Or the voices of my dear friends, who I pulled so far from I fear there is no hope in reconnection.

I have done this to myself, that much I know. I told myself it was for their safety, but as I sit here, watching the sun set again the same as the day before, I wonder over the truth. Was it truly for their sake, or was it for mine? Perhaps I did not want to face them. I did not want to see the rejection, the distrust, the pity. The pain. If I simply kept to myself I would not have to confront the looks they gave me that mirrored my own feelings so closely.

I’m afraid I’ve left things irreparable. A gap too large to breach and bridge.

I have told myself that is okay. But again the truth reaches me through canopy dappled sunlight, orange and red. It washes over my face, leaving it warm as night settles in.

It is not okay. I am not okay.

But I will be in. In time. That is what Laranthir has been telling me, what Mother has insisted.

I think I believe them, now. It is painful — more painful than the curling of my hands into claws and the choking  of vines wrapped around my throat so tight they leave scars. There is no other way to come through the other side of the fog and clouds that inhibit me, though. I must confront these truths. I must let the pain have its place. And in time, how long I cannot say, perhaps it will be gone.

One day I will be okay, but for now I will let my tears wash the sunlight from my cheeks as I lament the passing of the seasons.

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Excerpt from Nettle’s Diary 11/?

Early 1329 - The Grove

I had an unexpected visitor today.

Unexpected in many ways. The knock on the door caught me by surprise, though I imagined it must be Amwyl back from his work early or perhaps Leilani, still over-do for a visit. I briefly entertained the idea it might even be Laranthir.

Upon opening the door, however, the face of the Commander greeted me.

I cannot deny the surge of fear I felt upon seeing hir. Ze brought back too many memories I have been struggling to keep away. I believed my actions in the jungle were now about to be addressed, and from there… I do not know what the Pact does with traitors and murderers, but I felt that fate looming in my doorway.

But then ze spoke in such a delicate, soft way. Ze asked how I was faring and if there was anything ze could do to help the process of recovery from the jungle. Hir words rang with a sincerity I had not expected, and despite everything I felt the tension I held inside me begin to ease.

I offered tea and sweets, and when I asked over hir own heath and wellness such a feeling of surprise and melancholy rolled of hir that I wished I had more to give. I do not believe the Commander has had anyone inquire about hir own feelings in some time.

We spent the morning in conversation, slow at first but somehow comforting. I was surprised yet again at the ease in which I could speak. I see now why the Commander is what ze is — hir presence is calming and gentle and I more than once found myself caught up in hir voice.

I asked hir to call me Nisienn, for clear reasons. I have not heard my true name called often, which might explain the odd, swirling feeling in my chest when I hear it now. I suppose I will get used to it, for Nettle promised to return.

I hope that day is soon.

For now it is late, and I am sitting here by my open window, watching a seed carrier float away on the breeze, still puzzling over the events of the day. I am left feeling somehow lighter than I have felt in weeks. I am excited for something — for the return of a new friend, and another afternoon spent in conversation.

I think tonight the dreams will stay their distance, and for that I am grateful.

( @sylvari-bouquet‘s Nettle finally appears!)

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Excerpt from Nettle’s Diary 5/?

Late 1328 - The Grove

Today was a long day.

Some flash by, the sun traveling across the boards of my kitchen floor without my notice. Others drag on, minute by aching minute as I sit and remember. Those days are difficult. By the end of them my body feels heavy as the rocks lining the path to my front door, and as immovable.

But today was long in a new way. I woke with the dawn, as I always have. I made myself a light breakfast and brought it into the yard to eat while watching the sun rise fully. I noticed again the weeds and the overgrown beds of my once tidy garden.

I won’t say there isn’t something beautiful in the chaos. I think once I would have enjoyed it. Life overflowing, filling in all spaces and letting nothing hold it back. It is what I’ve strived for, before. Bringing forth live, helping it overcome its bounds and flourish.

Right now the sight reminds me too much of the jungle, however. Life was there too — suffocating, choking, strangling life. It was life in a way I have never seen before, and in way I do not wish to see again.

It is difficult even to admit here, where I know no one else will see, what I did next. Setting my breakfast aside, I began to tear up the weeds and flowers alike, plunging my hands with destructive intent into the soil and ripping out the living roots. I dug and tore until my hands again began to bleed, the blood mixing with the dirt and clumping into mud.

I do not know how long I continued to tear and rip at the things I once put so much care into. When I came to my senses a corner of my yard was in disarray. I was breathing heavy, and my body ached. I had destroyed something. Again.

I cried for a while, there in the pile of blood soaked soil. The scent of fresh earth and copper rose around me, but I still took one breath after the next. In through the nose, and out through the mouth, as Mother had told me to try.

Maybe it helped to calm me. I can’t say for certain. I eventually rose, though, and walked back into my kitchen. I washed my hands. I wrapped fresh bandages around them. I sat at the table as the light travelled across the floorboards.

When evening came I returned to the yard. It took well into the night for me to gather up the debris and begin a small composting pile. The plot I had destroyed is still full of churned soil, but tomorrow I will even it out and ready it for new seeds.

Perhaps the destruction I caused today will give room for new life. It would be nice to believe that.

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Excerpt from Nettle’s Diary 7/?

Late 1328 - The Grove

I have been busy as of late, and my daily writings neglected.

After Laranthir departed the Grove I admit I spent a few days moping about. I had grown used to my brother’s company again, spending time together much like when we were saplings. His presence, though not daily, was something of a tether. With him gone I feared any progress I’ve made the last few months would fade as well.

That fear still lingers, but I am doing what I can. I returned to my yard in hopes it would prove a welcome distraction.

And it has.

I spend much the day there now, prepping and tending to the soil and new growths. I can set my hands in the fresh earth and feel life-force surging through the small organisms within it, flowing into my fingertips and through my body. I can reverse the process; send my own life into theirs and urge them to flourish.

This return to normalcy — to the feelings and acts I once treasured — is more tether than even Laranthir offered. It reminds me I still have much to give, and with my touch lives are changed for the better. It is proof I am capable of more than destruction.

I focus on that feeling as much as I can. It does not banish the shadows or nightmares or illusory vines that wrap so tight around my throat and wrists. It does, however, give some comfort when nothing else will do.

Even now my mind is wandering to thoughts of what seeds must be planted tomorrow and what help I can provide them. I would continue late into the night if I were able, but my hands and knees ache, and I am coated in a layer of dirt and grime. It is a good feeling, though, and I welcome it over despair.