Xanthe and I had quarreled about this, recently. Indignant and possibly more than a little self-pitying, they had snapped, “Oh, so I was basically your stunt double that had nerve endings. Wasn’t that the time Prosper ran me through with a fucking sword?”
I stared at them. “Yes. While I was handling [April] and you were primarily out to get drunk, vent to Cotton, and cheat on [April] with [Avery.]”
Xanthe squinted at me thoughtfully. “You know, comparatively, being stabbed was probably preferable.”
alters
“Xanthe, what infuriates me the most about what happened is that [Arkady] only seemed to want you once he and [Ash] convinced themselves you were magic. That you could validate and cheer on everything they would say to raise themselves above the human race. And why? Because anything they do to you once you’re convicted of ‘being human’, doesn’t count. They condemned you for showing signs of mental illness because if your world was a result of mental illness, it meant that theirs is too.”
“I wish I could just switch and let someone else handle my problems for a bit.” Well, I don’t know how to do that on command. “Well, yeah, your alters are useless.” … Thanks.
I’m sorry, this journal entry is a lot more scattered than usual. I have a sense of urgency where I feel like I can’t refine this much as I generally do. This blog will probably be all over the place.
Anyway, the point is, Xhaxhollari wrote: “I was the one who typed.”
‘They would never do that to me! They love me! I know them! We’re family! They promised not to!’
Yeah. I’d thought that too.
Sound: “Does this mean we’re all just kind of weird OCs?” You and I both. Come on, you’re half-Japanese and you came around near 2008, you have silver irises, this shouldn’t be That much of a shock. She’d giggled. “At least I don’t have my Scene hair anymore.”
Kaspar actually gave itself the sign of a cross at that.
Living Fiction 