Hallore has been bugging me. She's been keeping everything in for much too long. She needs to share. The trouble is, she hasn't exactly have a lot of people she trusts. You might even say she has no friends whatsoever. The only people she remotely trusts enough to share her story with do not share her story. They're locals.
How could they ever understand what it is like to be ripped away from your homeworld, your memories taken from you? How could they ever begin to imagine what it is like to have to piece together your own life when your guess is just as good as anyone else's? And have they truly any idea how it feels to have a weight drop from your shoulders as you realise you are, in fact, a decent human being? To truly fear how far you would go if only your hate were strong enough?
By now, Hallore knows she is a dead girl walking. Whatever her old life was, it ended. Her real body died before coming here, or shortly after. However grateful she is to know with certainty that she is not inhabiting another's body, the thought that this is in effect her afterlife makes her sick to the stomach.
She was happy when she arrived. She left everything, lost everyone, and was grateful for it. That's just not right, though, is it? Her friends and family, the people she values more than anything in the world, gone. Not even the slightest memory remains. And she's happy for it? It can't be right. There must be more to the story.
Hallore has farmed, mined, skinned bears, tortured people, fished, performed tricks, demanded money, counsilled rulers, wrestled cougars, peddled wares... She understands fear, pain, trust... But right now, what she does best is think. And she'll do anything to prevent it.
For months she's been juggling dumb labour, mindnumbing alcohol, and running a government. Her bonds won't hold much longer. She needs to confide in someone. Anyone.
Right now, it would that I, her creator, am the only confidant available.
Think on it,
Erane
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