(no subject)
[[Not in the icon, but she has a witch hat on. One of those stereotypical, black, pointy ones.]]
All right, I’m pretty sure I’m still alive. Nobody ever feels this sort of blinding headache in the afterlife. But I can’t remember anything, except a name.
Tiffany.
That’s me, isn’t it? It wouldn’t make sense for me to remember somebody else’s name. Though, nothing really makes sense right now. Aside from the whole amnesia issue, something's odd. What is this place? The air feels unfamiliar. Good air doesn't smell like this. It's too warm, and it just doesn't smell right.
Think, Tiffany, think - it doesn’t matter if you can’t remember anything; complaining isn’t going to help one bit! There’s a reason you've got a head on your shoulders, and it’s not for putting a hat on! [1]
Okay, I’m dressed for winter, but it’s obviously not winter here. There’re still bits of snow on my cloak. I wonder how cold it was where I came from, if the snow hasn’t entirely melted already. There’s snow on my hat, too, but it’s a sturdy hat. Black and pointy, like a good hat should be. There’s a broomstick lying a bit away from me, too, but no mop or bucket.
A black hat and a broomstick. I suppose next I’ll be finding a cauldron near me and quite possibly a gingerbread house. Though I don't have any warts. I don't dance about without my drawers either. At least, I don't think I did.
. . .
Actually, that’d be just silly. The broomstick and the hat are mine, though. Still, from what I’ve seen, this entire place is very silly. They drop you in the middle of nowhere, without any memories, and just expect you to . . . do something. Well, it teaches you to get onto your own feet, at the very least.
This is some sort of communication device, right? Otherwise, I've been writing in this book for nothing. Would somebody tell me what is going on?
1 Although that is a very good reason to have a hat. [2]
2 What, have you never seen a journal with footnotes before?
All right, I’m pretty sure I’m still alive. Nobody ever feels this sort of blinding headache in the afterlife. But I can’t remember anything, except a name.
Tiffany.
That’s me, isn’t it? It wouldn’t make sense for me to remember somebody else’s name. Though, nothing really makes sense right now. Aside from the whole amnesia issue, something's odd. What is this place? The air feels unfamiliar. Good air doesn't smell like this. It's too warm, and it just doesn't smell right.
Think, Tiffany, think - it doesn’t matter if you can’t remember anything; complaining isn’t going to help one bit! There’s a reason you've got a head on your shoulders, and it’s not for putting a hat on! [1]
Okay, I’m dressed for winter, but it’s obviously not winter here. There’re still bits of snow on my cloak. I wonder how cold it was where I came from, if the snow hasn’t entirely melted already. There’s snow on my hat, too, but it’s a sturdy hat. Black and pointy, like a good hat should be. There’s a broomstick lying a bit away from me, too, but no mop or bucket.
A black hat and a broomstick. I suppose next I’ll be finding a cauldron near me and quite possibly a gingerbread house. Though I don't have any warts. I don't dance about without my drawers either. At least, I don't think I did.
. . .
Actually, that’d be just silly. The broomstick and the hat are mine, though. Still, from what I’ve seen, this entire place is very silly. They drop you in the middle of nowhere, without any memories, and just expect you to . . . do something. Well, it teaches you to get onto your own feet, at the very least.
This is some sort of communication device, right? Otherwise, I've been writing in this book for nothing. Would somebody tell me what is going on?
1 Although that is a very good reason to have a hat. [2]
2 What, have you never seen a journal with footnotes before?