Image (Click on them to select them)

Ah, the inside of the suitcase ... a place Matilda has often spoken of. It is an honor to finally see it for myself. We have much to speak about, you and I—how fortunate that we have been granted the time to do so.

This rainy season—in which the world is broken down, reshaped, and toyed with like wet clay—will be a long one. Still, I do not find the uncertainty unpleasant.

The future—had you spoken on it earlier, it would have been a dull, predictable subject. Once, beneath the Sephirot's glow, I saw it as plainly as the past. But now, with so much changed, I find myself just as curious as any to see where fate will lead us.

Du chaos naissent les questions, et dans leurs réponses, nous trouvons l'ordre. Pour ceux qui ne voient pas la voie du destin, la vie n'est qu'une mer en tumulte. Mais en apprenant à la naviguer, on peut y trouver un sens. Ah, je vous en prie ... entrez.

Another quiet visit? I do appreciate your attempts to bring some 'surprise' into my life. There are madeleines on the table—take one. Let your efforts yield at least some small reward.

Were the sun not to rise in the morning, dread would befall the world. The constants of life console us, yet when given a life of constants, we soon grow numb. We are all walking contradictions—and thus, it is never quite possible to wholly divine our futures.

Mind the divination sprites—they have a habit of following diviners like myself. They are not malicious, merely curious and willfully ignorant of house rules. No matter how carefully I lock up the night before, the crystals are always in disarray by morning ...

I slept in a suitcase last night. Words I never expected to speak. I mean no reproach—the experience was ... refreshing. After all, novelty has ever been a rarity in my life.

Beyond the hair on our heads, Matilda and I share few similarities. I suspect she would rather be remembered as a powerful diviner than simply as my daughter.

I often wander the fields in the Wilderness to feel the heavy ears of barley against my palms. Ms. Bunny Bunny tells me that, when baked at various temperatures, they may produce a variety of alcohols. Though I admire her dedication to her craft, I feel it is best I abstain from her next tasting session.

Bien des Bouaniches m'ont dit : « Tu es un cristal d'une clarté rare, par lequel l'énergie divine des Séphiroth s'écoule sans entrave vers le monde matériel. »

Those who resisted the current and those who surrendered to it were both carried off by the river. They were fragile back then, mere pebbles cast into the water, yet I found some joy in watching the splashes they made along the way. But now, it seems, we may all find satisfaction. For the river has lost its course, and what was once just a splash now carves a current all its own.