Humbled
Prompt: Write a letter to your younger self.
A letter written on paper and with ink would be highly suspect where she had come from. But when the source is determined to be from that beautiful blue planet in the milky way, it suddenly seems quaint and charming.
"Dear younger self,
Right about now you are dead-set on going to Earth. Don't insult our intelligence or capacity for retaining memories by denying it. You're ignoring the low mana-content of the inhabitants because you believe such a beautiful, blue planet is a promise for better days, a better life.
Let me be the first to tell you: Go somewhere else.
It has nothing to do with low mana-content. It has nothing to do with how your hosts are incapable of surviving in the beautiful blue. It has everything to do with the petty, close-minded, dangers your hosts will pose to you and your future young.
Your objective is to establish a nest off-world and nurture your young. This planet does not even come close to the ideal condition. While I thought we -I was strong enough, I was wrong.
Save yourself the trouble. Save yourself from becoming infected with empathy and being capable of experiencing the abstract notion of "Love" and "Compassion" and that wretched, undying thing called "Hope". You'll be much happier elsewhere.
Beauty is nothing more than an appealing aesthetic. Beauty is not worth the pain. Is "Love"? Is "Compassion"? Is "Hope"? I still don't know. I doubt I ever will. My curiosity for the answer will never be powerful enough to override my own selfishness.
And I trust neither will yours.
Sincerely,"
There is a blot of ink, a sign of a fountain pen being pressed too hard and too long on that spot on the paper. Hesitation? No. Angela just cannot remember her name before she became Angela. She had severed her ties to her old self, forsaken of her identity. Trying to dig up that part of her was too much of an... inconvenience.
"Sincerely,
-Your future self."
A letter written on paper and with ink would be highly suspect where she had come from. But when the source is determined to be from that beautiful blue planet in the milky way, it suddenly seems quaint and charming.
"Dear younger self,
Right about now you are dead-set on going to Earth. Don't insult our intelligence or capacity for retaining memories by denying it. You're ignoring the low mana-content of the inhabitants because you believe such a beautiful, blue planet is a promise for better days, a better life.
Let me be the first to tell you: Go somewhere else.
It has nothing to do with low mana-content. It has nothing to do with how your hosts are incapable of surviving in the beautiful blue. It has everything to do with the petty, close-minded, dangers your hosts will pose to you and your future young.
Your objective is to establish a nest off-world and nurture your young. This planet does not even come close to the ideal condition. While I thought we -I was strong enough, I was wrong.
Save yourself the trouble. Save yourself from becoming infected with empathy and being capable of experiencing the abstract notion of "Love" and "Compassion" and that wretched, undying thing called "Hope". You'll be much happier elsewhere.
Beauty is nothing more than an appealing aesthetic. Beauty is not worth the pain. Is "Love"? Is "Compassion"? Is "Hope"? I still don't know. I doubt I ever will. My curiosity for the answer will never be powerful enough to override my own selfishness.
And I trust neither will yours.
Sincerely,"
There is a blot of ink, a sign of a fountain pen being pressed too hard and too long on that spot on the paper. Hesitation? No. Angela just cannot remember her name before she became Angela. She had severed her ties to her old self, forsaken of her identity. Trying to dig up that part of her was too much of an... inconvenience.
"Sincerely,
-Your future self."