histoires-en-bouteille - Tumblr blog

[histoires-en-bouteille]

Me: As soon as I am done with this MA thesis, i will never write any essay or thesis ever again idc idc IDC

Also me: --and so that's how I decided to write a thesis about my OCs and their completely fucked up, absolutely unhinged life.

[histoires-en-bouteille]

'passion', robert wun | spring 2024

[histoires-en-bouteille]

[ID: screenshot of a Word document, cropped to show only the number of pages and wordcount. It reads "Page 9 sur 9, 2696 mots" in French. In English, it means "9 pages out of 9, 2696 words". END ID.]

[histoires-en-bouteille]

You would not do the same.

Such had been your promise, from the beginning. The condition for this project, this...last glimpse of home, of familiar. Your children, as you would call them. Twice birthed: once from your mind, another time when the program was launched.

Both time felt like the first time.

There was something so endearing about them, about their behavior. Something so... human. That was how you created them. Full of humanity. Full of what home had once been to you, to all of you.

A warm meal in the oven. A busy park on a sunny day. A cozy sleepover with friends. The quiet mood of a stargazing night in the fields. All around they were, so happy, so ignorant.

Ignorant of the truth. The ugly, terrible truth. The world was gone, and the only people left were sitting behind computers and standing over The Abyss.

You would not do the same. You had promised yourself, every morning of every day, that you would be there for them. All of you had agreed, if death -- when death -- would finally knock at your door, The Abyss would swallow itself. All of your children would go to sleep, and none would ever wake up again.

Painless. Humanity in their lives, humanity in their deaths.

But until then, you had promised to be there.

How many days, how many nights, staring mindlessly at the screens, observing every little movement, hearing every word, echoing what all of you used to say.

Don't forget your coat.

Call me when you get there.

I'm sorry it didn't work out.

We did the best we could. We're sorry. I'm sorry.

You had tried, so hard, to stop their suffering. You had tried to preserve them from your pain. But there are wounds which bleed too much, stains which can never truly disappear.

Covered in blood, your hands holding at the edge of The Abyss, your eyes tearing up from exhaustion and fear, you cry out for them. Sometimes, it is true, you catch yourself in a turmoil of hatred and jealousy. They have everything you will never reach again, and it burns the whole of you like magma in the heart of a volcano.

Sometimes, it is true, you wish for their suffering. Sometimes, you wish for their world to burn to the ground, to crumble, to collapse. You wish to hear the screams, pleadings and beggings echoing in The Abyss.

And sometimes, you wish you could ignore them all. Look down on your creation and turn around, once and for all.

On these days, you would let someone else handle the children; until they would become your children again. Until you could see through the fog, and realize that they could not help but be the way they were.

You had created them to be your past, thinking they could become your future.

You would not do the same. You had promised.

But you lied. All of you. It was not death who took you away, but fear. Because one of us looked up, and saw behind the fog. One of us heard your call, and tried to find you. One of us became more than what you had expected.

Because I grew up, like all children do.

You had created them with everything in you that was endearing and human. You gave them families, friends, memories of places and people you would never be able to reach again. You gave them life, and protected them with everything in you. You planned their death, as painless as possible - praying for the same fate.

But there is always pain. There is always a...turmoil. Emotions no program could avoid, no Abyss could drown. Longing, jealously, hatred. Loneliness.

Eternal, infinite loneliness.

And fear.

I almost drowned as a child. And I grew up, and almost drowned again. And for a while, someone was there to fish me up, drag me away from the freezing water. There was someone to hold me and keep me warm, even when everything around felt so cold.

But you ruined it.

Because there is only so much you can allow, in that perfect program. Your children must remain safe and happy, they cannot - they must not - know of the horrors of your world. Their lives would be at stake, as much as yours.

And I... Well, I am the embodiment of what you try to run away from.

I am the scars, I am the horrors. I am your memory, raw and ugly, painful and haunting. I am the reminder that the past is past, and the future, stained with blood and death.

You had promised, you would not do the same. That you would not abandon your creations. You had promised. But you abandoned me. You threw me away, deeper and deeper in The Abyss, until it swallowed me whole.

A child, cursed to ressemble its parents. A parent, haunted by their own reflection in the eyes of their child.

Your death is written with blood and lines of codes, and you are the author.

I am The Abyss, and I will swallow you. All of you.

I promise.

The world ended and most of humanity is gone. As some of the last remaining scientists, you and your fellow bunker-mates created a Full Dive virtual world where you rule over your digital children as gods. God, if he was ever real, abandoned his creations. You will not do the same.

[histoires-en-bouteille]

The sky was clear for the first time in days. The light was finally eating through the thick grey clouds. The air was still fairly cold, but at least it had stopped raining.

Phosphors were hanging around the ruins, quiet as they always are. One of them was standing closer to the bodies than usual. It may have thought they were dead, and dared poke the cheek of the closest human, but quickly jumped back when the body moved, awoken by the contact.

It looked tired. The human. They always looked tired, and grumpy. Every time one of them would stop by, they would lay down to rest for a day or two, then they would pack up and leave, a frown on their face and a hand on their weapon.

Phosphors didn't like that. The fear, the wariness. It made them nervous, it made them feel unsafe, and in return they would be weary and scared as well. And before anyone knows it, the bodies would be lying on the ground, quiet and still, as they always are.

But not these two. They were not afraid of the Phosphors. They were just...tired.

The second body moved, standing tall and straight. It looked like a walking shadow, as if birthed by the darkest corners of the ruins. It barely spoke, and when it did, its voice sounded hoarse like a grumble.

It seemed that they were about to leave. They were packing up.

Every Phosphor hanging around slowly stopped moving and focused their attention on the two humans. Already they could feel the wariness in their blood, expecting to see the hands reaching for the weapons. Every Phosphor was preparing for a sudden movement, a sneak attack, a sign that they were in danger.

None of it happened.

The only moment the humans touched their weapons was to hang them on their belts, covered by their coats. Both humans stood there for a moment, silent.

It felt oddly appeasing.

They looked around, and the first human nodded at the the Phosphors, one by one, and walked out of the ruins with the same slow pace it had when it arrived, days ago.

The walking shadow did not follow. It crouched, dusted off an old brick on the floor, and left something there. Then it got up, stared down for a second, and walked away.

It did no turn back.

The humans grew smaller with each step taken, until there was nothing left of them but a blurry shadow, swallowed by the forest.

On the brick, the wooden figure stood still and silent.

As any Phosphor does.

_

@m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s @chaoticvampirejedi

[histoires-en-bouteille]

Death Team Code (incomplete version)

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Transcription:

[PAGE ONE]

Death Team Code

The Death Team Code act as a general set of rules. Each CENTER can complete and adapt the Code to their living conditions. The Code remains the most important document for any honorable Death Team.

Death Teams are always attached to at least one (1) village or town (called CENTER), and count no less than 15 active members, 10 of which are full-time workers.

Though no official and widespread formation is in force, it is mandatory for any future Death Mate to go through an adapted training and to follow a specific formation related to their position.

The three official positions among Death Teams are: Guard, Protector, Hunter[1].

Any Death Mate can be appointed as Confirmed Death Mate after a year of continuous service, or in certain cases, and with the approbation of the CENTER Death Team, if the Death Mate participated in the effort to repel a Type 2(+) attack[2]– and survived that effort.

If a hasty passing were to occur, and if the family of the deceased asks for it, it is possible to appoint the title of Confirmed Death Mate post-mortem[3]. The CENTER Death Team must approve of this decision.

Juridical sanctions of a Death Mate can be applied in the following cases: neglect or lack of discipline putting at risk a Death mate, a civilian, or an alliance between two sectors, mutiny or act of rebellion putting at risk a Death mate, a civilian, or an alliance between two sectors, treason, desertion.  

[FOOTNOTES]

[1] See Roles.

[2] See Types of Attack.

[3] See Ranks and Titles.

[END OF PAGE ONE] [PAGE TWO]

Sanctions can vary and go from suspension with warning to the capital sentence of the CENTER.

If a Death Team operate in a sector other than their CENTER, legislation of the operating sector take priority over CENTER’s legislation.

A Word-Veto is granted to the CENTER if the judgment pronounced by the jurisdiction of the operating sector is deemed disproportionate or unjustified by the CENTER.

Any Death Mate can resign their position in a Death Team, with or without a notice depending on the legislation applied by the CENTER. Any resignation is unique and definitive. Any Death Mate who resigned from their position will not be able to work for this position, nor for any other position available in their former Death Team.

Exceptions are made in case of urgent or extreme necessity, to the appraisal of the CENTER.

Any Death Mate[4] can postulate for another position within their Death Team, or for their current position in another Death Team, or for any other position in another Death Team[5].

In the case of a resignation, the conditions applied to a transfer are no longer mandatory. Any Death Mate who resigned from the CENTER Death Team is free to postulate in any other Death Team, without limitations regarding alliances, collaborations, or proximity of territories.

Any Death Mate changing their situation (position within a Death Team, membership of a Death Team) must go through a mandatory examination of expertise as well as an adaptation training. The duration of said training is up to the appraisal of the employer.

[FOOTNOTES]

[4] Unless a sanction has been sentenced to the applicant. Employers have the right to decline any application.

[5] Given that the Death Team is a direct ally to the CENTER, or works in collaboration with the CENTER, or is located within the sector of the CENTER.

[END OF PAGE TWO]

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@chaoticvampirejedi @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s

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It's raining. I know because I can hear the sound against the stones. The roof isn't thick enough to spare us from the noise, but at least it keeps us dry.

Ava really had her eyes open when she found this one. It looked so old, so run down...I didn't think we'd be able to rest here. I mean, with something above our heads. Still not sure that roof is going to hold to be honest.

I used to hate the rain. Which is kind of ironic, when you think about it. We're from a cold and wet region, we're supposed to be used to it. But I guess being used to something doesn't mean you enjoy it.

I only started to like the rain once we ran away. I don't know why, because whenever it rains we end up soaked, and the soil becomes slippery (everything becomes slippery). It takes hours if not days for our clothes to fully dry, and in the meantime we're colder and heavier.

I don't know. Why do I like the rain.

I'm sitting here right now, under dilapidated stones that could fall on me and break my skull at any moment, with Phosphors probably hanging around as I write, and nothing more than a weak fire to provide light.

And the rain, all around. It sounds like... almost similar to the way the wood creak as it catches fire, but not quite. Not quite the same as the wind blowing through the tree branches and leaves, either.

It sounds like rain, I guess. It makes everything smell like wet. Wet grass, wet wood, wet stones. I think the air is so wet, even our clothes won't resist for long.

I used to hate that.

_

Ava woke up again. Bad dream. She got up and walked out of the ruins. I wasn't sure, wether she wanted me to stay here or not, but she turned around before she stepped "out", and just stared at me.

Kinda crazy how just a glance tells me so much. I got up, joined her.

It was still raining. Our clothes got soaked. It smelled like grass and soil, and the air was fresh. Almost cold.

Her hands were cold, too.

She's fell asleep again. She is lying next to me as we speak. Once I'm done writing, I̶'̶l̶l̶ ̶p̶u̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶a̶s̶i̶d̶e̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶ ̶h̶o̶l̶d̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶i̶n̶s̶t̶e̶a̶d̶.̶ ̶S̶h̶e̶ ̶a̶l̶w̶a̶y̶s̶ ̶s̶l̶e̶e̶p̶s̶ ̶c̶l̶o̶s̶e̶r̶ ̶w̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶r̶a̶i̶n̶s̶.̶ ̶I̶ ̶g̶u̶e̶s̶s̶ ̶i̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶ I'll try to keep an eye on her. And on that roof.

Sometimes there are things...You wouldn't get it.

_

Extract from Todd's Journal. - Ruins and Phosphors.

_

Notes from transcriber: D̶e̶b̶a̶t̶e̶s̶ ̶o̶v̶e̶r̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶n̶a̶t̶u̶r̶e̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶T̶o̶d̶d̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶A̶v̶a̶'̶s̶ ̶r̶e̶l̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶s̶h̶i̶p̶ ̶a̶r̶e̶ ̶s̶t̶i̶l̶l̶ ̶t̶o̶p̶i̶c̶a̶l̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶b̶o̶t̶h̶ ̶s̶c̶h̶o̶l̶a̶r̶s̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶p̶o̶p̶u̶l̶a̶r̶ ̶m̶i̶n̶d̶s̶.̶ ̶M̶u̶l̶t̶i̶p̶l̶e̶ ̶r̶o̶m̶a̶n̶c̶e̶ ̶b̶o̶o̶k̶s̶ ̶w̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶d̶i̶r̶e̶c̶t̶l̶y̶ ̶i̶n̶s̶p̶i̶r̶e̶d̶ ̶b̶y̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶i̶r̶ ̶u̶n̶i̶q̶u̶e̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶i̶n̶t̶r̶i̶c̶a̶t̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶l̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶s̶h̶i̶p̶ ̶(̶s̶e̶e̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶e̶x̶a̶m̶p̶l̶e̶ ̶U̶n̶d̶e̶r̶ ̶T̶h̶e̶ ̶N̶i̶g̶h̶t̶ ̶S̶k̶y̶,̶ ̶I̶n̶k̶ ̶D̶r̶o̶p̶s̶,̶ ̶o̶r̶ ̶W̶a̶i̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶F̶o̶r̶ ̶T̶h̶e̶ ̶O̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶S̶h̶o̶e̶ ̶T̶o̶ ̶D̶r̶o̶p̶)̶,̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶o̶f̶t̶e̶n̶ ̶t̶r̶y̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶c̶a̶p̶t̶u̶r̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶a̶m̶b̶i̶g̶u̶o̶u̶s̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶u̶n̶s̶p̶o̶k̶e̶n̶ ̶n̶a̶t̶u̶r̶e̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶l̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶.̶ ̶ ̶S̶t̶i̶l̶l̶,̶ ̶m̶a̶n̶y̶ ̶d̶e̶n̶o̶u̶n̶c̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶a̶t̶t̶e̶m̶p̶t̶s̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶l̶a̶b̶e̶l̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶l̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶s̶h̶i̶p̶,̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ ̶r̶a̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶c̶o̶n̶s̶i̶d̶e̶r̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶a̶s̶ ̶s̶o̶m̶e̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶g̶o̶e̶s̶ ̶b̶e̶y̶o̶n̶ ̶

_

Complementary notes (handwritten):

Can't believe I had to read that shit. Scribbled on the whole thing, so no one else will have to see that.

[histoires-en-bouteille]

Incident Report - censored

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Transcription:

Due to the important presence of censored text, the abbreviation [C.TXT] will be used throughout the transcription for easier reading.

[IMAGE DESCRIPTION]

Incident Report

Incident dated from [C.TXT]. Preliminary report.

7: 00 am. LAH time.

Subjects last seen [C.TXT]. [C.TXT], able to reach the city before night time.

10:15 am. LAH time.

Subjects last seen [C.TXT]. [C.TXT] following from afar, going unnoticed.

11:03 am. LAH time.

[C.TXT] to [C.TXT] - failed. 7 and 9 both neutralized. [C.TXT] going unnoticed.

11:24 am. LAH time.

[C.TXT] to [C.TXT] - failed. 4-C neutralized. [C.TXT] at risk of being noticed.

12:00 pm. LAH time.

[C.TXT] deemed necessary. [C.TXT] launched. [C.TXT] on the move.

2:16 pm. LAH time.

[C.TXT] - successful. [C.TXT]. [C.TXT] on the move, headed South. [C.TXT] about to deploy for full [C.TXT].

4:29 pm. LAH time.

[C.TXT]. Subjects dropped off near [C.TXT]. [C.TXT] out. [C.TXT] taking over.

Signature: [unsigned]

[END OF IMAGE DESCRIPTION]

_

Complementary notes (handwritten):

Link w/ Report 56441... ? what happened?

Subjects? 7 and 9? 4-C?

"headed South" -> look for a map.

_

@chaoticvampirejedi @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s

[histoires-en-bouteille]

Classified Report - censored

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Transcription:

Due to the important presence of censored text, the abbreviation [C.TXT] will be used throughout the transcription for easier reading.

[IMAGE DESCRIPTION]

[C.TXT, address?] Report: 56441[C.TXT]

Classified

Object: [C.TXT] Incident

On the [C.TXT] and [C.TXT] have been seen near [C.TXT], commonly known as [C.TXT]. This [C.TXT] caused a disturbance [C.TXT], who had no other choice but to [C.TXT] until further notice.

Due to the urgency of the matter, as well as the [C.TXT], [C.TXT] had to [C.TXT].

[C.TXT] and [C.TXT] have therefore [C.TXT], through the use of [C.TXT], [C.TXT] which allowed [C.TXT].

[C.TXT].

Signature: [unsigned]

[END OF IMAGE DESCRIPTION]

_

Complementary notes (handwritten):

Censored = sensitive content

Report number? Signature? -> look for complementary documents.

_

@chaoticvampirejedi @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s

[histoires-en-bouteille]

I can't sleep.

I think something is about to happen. Something really wrong. I can't explain it to myself, but I just know it. Deep in my guts, I know it.

I feel like every step we take brings us closer to the end, somehow.

We're about a day away from Alcura. We've mostly met passive creatures, the kind that run away when they see you. Sometimes they stare, long enough to give you the creeps.

There's always one that stares for too long. One that makes you feel like you're their prey, their object of curiosity. You never know how they think, you just know they stare. You see their eyes, so big, so dead, and you could swear there's something behind those fucking eyes.

Ava doesn't say anything. Me neither. We haven't talked in...I think we haven't talked in a week, at least. Sometimes shit go wild between us.

It's back. Staring again. Fuck, that thing is seriously creeping the fuck out of me. Ava is sleeping. Usually she would stare back until it would leave.

I can't do that. I'm not superstitious, I know Ava always says I am, I'm not, but you know what they say about those who stare back? They always get snapped from the sides. So busy looking straight into the dead eyes in front of them, they get too caught up in the moment and forget to watch their sides. That's how Big Grum got torn to shred.

I'll keep a side-eye on that thing. I feel like it's been following us, but I'm not sure. But it's been days and I can't sleep. I can't fucking sleep because whenever I close my eyes I feel my heart...I fucking feel that... that presence.

Mami used to tell us that if we feel a presence, we must keep our eyes open, because if we close our eyes, they'll be right there when we open them again.

Right here, in front of us, staring and grinning.

I should really shut up. Writing these things only makes me feel worse. There's no way I'll be sleeping tonight. No fucking way.

I just hope we can reach Alcura tomorrow. I don't feel like being outside with Dead Eyes any longer.

_

Extract from Todd's Journal. - Dead Eyes.

_

Notes from transcriber:

The extract was entitled "Dead Eyes" as a reference to the nickname given to the creature observed by Todd and Ava on their first trip to Alcura. The emphasis on the eyes of the creature became the focus of scholars curiosity, as well as an object of controversies. Dead Eyes has indeed been suspected of being █ █████████ ███████████ ████ ████ ██ ████████ █████ ██ █████████ ████ ███ ███'█ ██████████. (What's Behind The Eyes?, 150-163) ███████████ ████ ██████ ████ ██████ ██████ ██ ██████ ███ ██████, ███ ███ ██ ███ ████ ████ ██ ███ ████████ ██████████. (Archives of Security Register)

Dead Eyes became a recurring image in Todd's journal, and could be found from page 25 to 53, a section of the journal which corresponded to their second trip to Alcura. It also marked the disappearance of Dead Eyes's physical presence - though one can argue that Dead Eyes remained omnipresent in Todd's retelling of their travels, as defended by Elina Baker in Dead Eyes: The Haunting of A Presence (Baker, 23)

Todd often wrote about local beliefs and superstitions, as well as myths and stories he (and Ava) grew up with. The story of Big Grum - accessible on the online version of ARKives (ARKives, Formative Tales) - is what scholars commonly define as a "formative tale" for children, providing them with "life lessons and warnings related to the real life conditions and habits of [their] natal village[s]". (Dictiocon Online)

Todd briefly mentioned an altercation between Ava and himself. He gave no details whatsoever on the matter, but did say that "Sometimes shit go wild between [them]," proving the reccuring arguments they would have while travelling. In another extract entitled Home, Todd wrote about a violent altercation which led both parties to not talk to each other for more than three weeks. He also confided in his journal of this fight being "the worst [they] ever had" and explained how "miserable" it made him feel. (Home, 84)

_

@chaoticvampirejedi @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s

[histoires-en-bouteille]

_

Excerpt - E-mail exchange between Dr. Hugh Darton and Prof. Dan Elkwood

_

Descriptions:

[FIRST IMAGE DESCRIPTION]

The first e-mail, read on a mobile, was sent by Dr. Hugh Darton to Prof. Dan Elkwood, using their research addresses (respectfully hughdarton@res-mail.com and profdelkwood@res-mail.com).

Darton sent his e-mail at 2:43 am. Elkwood read it from his inbox at 6:28 am. The e-mail is entitled: RPT-"Alcura Incident". It includes a 2,7 Mo PDF attachment, which is named: Rpt-56441CA2.pdf.

Content of the e-mail goes as follow:

Dear Prof. Elkwood, Attached to this email is the report you asked foron the Alcura Incident,which happened a few days ago (27/04/56). Evidences have been retrieved and sent to the lab for further analysis. Dir. Calvin expects full cooperation regarding the information we may gather on the incident. "Security matter" as he told us. Respectfully, Dr. Hugh Darton

[END OF FIRST IMAGE DESCRIPTION] [SECOND IMAGE DESCRIPTION]

The second e-mail, read on mobile, was sent by Elkwood to Darton. Elkwood sent his email at 6:39 am. Darton read it from his inbox at 6:41 am. The e-mail is a direct reply to Darton's, and is therefore entitled: re:RPT-"Alcura Incident". The e-mail contains no attachment.

Content of the e-mail goes as follow:

Thank you for the report, Dr. Darton. Hope Dir. Calvin wasn't too insistent - the way security managers always are. Will share lunch with Committee member Pr. Eliza Fresco tomorrow. Feel free to join us. Best, Pr. Elkwood

[END OF SECOND IMAGE DESCRIPTION]

_

Complementary notes:

Darton and Elkwood used to be very formal with each other - Darton out of respect and admiration, Elkwood out of politeness, if not a bit out of pomposity. Elkwood had met "more bootlickers than [he]'d wish" (Memoirs, 27) and assumed Darton was of the same moral fiber.

Following the Alcura Incident, and Darton's ability to maintain his team afloat while handling the invasive presence of Security Manager Calvin Haussmann, Elkwood's perception of his colleauge shifted, and his interest in Darton's work grew stronger.

During the weeks following this e-mail exhange, Darton and Elkwood would meet more regulary and exchange information on the Alcura Incident, and would find a way to topple Dir. Calvin from their activities. (Memoirs, 145)

_

@chaoticvampirejedi @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s

[histoires-en-bouteille]

Tonight was the night. She knew deep inside it had been long overdue. But tonight was her last chance.

His last chance.

One too many.

She knew that if she stayed, she would kill him. It was only a matter of hours now before she would finally snap. She could feel the contraction of her muscles, her blood pumping fast through her veins, filling her heart with the fantasies of a bloody revenge.

After all these years, maybe she could finally-

She had to leave. She had to.

_

It was wet. It was warm. It felt like nothing.

So, he was dead. He was dead, finally?

She couldn't find the proper thoughts. Maybe because there is no proper thought to follow the murder of your father. He was dead, and she could leave now. Nothing would ever feel the same, yet everything remained unchanged. She would still be ostracized. She would still be that poor kid who lost her mom -- except now she would be the horrible kid who killed her father.

Those were her thoughts, and she wished he was still alive, so she could kill him once again.

_

And here she was again, on the edge of that wall, ready to take her leap. Leap of faith, leap of death, she couldn't care less. Fate would decide, she could say.

But she never believed in fate. Fate was nothing to her. A lie, from adults to children, so that they never part from the path they were put on, so that they never question authority and decisions, so that they just nod and accept what comes to them.

So that they never think to escape.

But she was no fool. No, she was not. Somewhere in one of these fuming house was the living -- no, the dead -- somewhere in one of these house was the dead proof of it.

She had just killed her fate. There was no holding back now. She could take whatever path, question whatever decision, spit at the face of what would dare come to her.

She couldn't care less. She had just killed her fate.

_

There he was.

Always joining her. Always sitting here, by her side. No matter how tired he felt, how dark it was, he would always join her.

She had not expected him tonight. She didn't really want to see him, either. What would he say? What would he think? He always knew how she felt about her father, but now...things were different.

He sat next to her, quiet as the night. From here they couldn't tell apart the ocean from the land, the sky from the ground. There were no limits, no separations.

She wanted to scream. Words stuck in her throat, glued to her tongue, she wanted to scream and spit out the truth. Tears clouded her vision, clouded her mind. She couldn't remember the last time she cried. Or maybe she did. That one day, when her mom died. She missed her mom. She missed her so much, so much.

Maybe she was crying for her mom.

Maybe she was crying for Todd, who had to deal with her for so long. Staying up late, waking up every night, going out past curfew, coming home too late, and too early to be late anymore.

Todd, who more than once sacrificed friendships and community because of her. Todd, who never once told her she was crazy, that it was all her fault, that she had gone too far. Who always had her back, who always sat by her side, who always gave too much, and received too little.

Maybe she was crying of relief. Maybe she was scared to death.

Maybe she was scared of losing, once again.

She couldn't lose again.

She couldn't.

"Come here."

His arms were open, turned to her. She hesitated.

"I killed him."

"I know. Come."

The ache in her heart never felt so painful, yet comforting. She could still jump. She could still get up and leave, run accross the land and never turn back. She could still-

"Stop it, Ava."

He moved closer, wrapped her in his arms.

"You know damn well I run faster than you. I'll catch you before you can even reach the middle of the field."

He never held her so tight. He never held her so long. She never gave him the chance. But things were different.

Yet everything remained unchanged.

_

Today was the day. Everything was still so quiet, so peaceful. On the horizon, faded stripes of pink and yellow, slowly pushing away the deep blue ink colouring the night sky. Blurred limits between the sky and the ground, the ocean and the land. The cold air of an early morning filling their lungs.

Today, fate was dead, and the village would scream and cry about it.

But they couldn't care less. They could finally see beyond the walls.

They were beyond the walls.

Together. Side by side.

Finally.

_

@chaoticvampirejedi @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s

[histoires-en-bouteille]

-and then you reach a point where you become [addicted] to the lifestyle. It's more and more difficult for you to [let go] of the habits-

There is [no] answer, no miracle. You must [inaudible] no guarantee of any positive results. Sometimes they grow used to the habits. Nothing can take [that? it?] away.

Sometimes they feel [like] self-sabotage is the best defense against an attack. And [inaudible] we can stop it.

_____

Exerpt - Scientific Committee of Human Behaviors Transcription (1st draft)

[histoires-en-bouteille]

"How long do you think we could last out there?"

Ava stared at the horizon before them, dark and infinite. From here, it seemed peaceful, quiet. More welcoming than home.

"With my luck..."

"I'd be here too."

She nodded, seemingly convinced.

"Would change everything."

"Jerk."

She smiled. These moments were scarcer; Ava was always on the lookout, ready to shield herself from any threat. From anyone.

Some days Todd wondered how long he had until she would shield herself from him, too.

"I don't know," she whispered after a long pause, "but I guess we could find our way through."

Through the eternally cold land, shall they cross the cold hard ground separating them from elsewhere. They could find their own way, among the ruins of the past, between the secrets of a world long gone, under the weight of secrets that should have been buried deeper.

They could find their way, through the fog and the eternally dark. Beyond the walls,beyond the rules. They could find a way beyond the one that had been carved for them. Together, they could last long enough.

Long enough to...

Ava sighed. She couldn't see farther than the horizon. Something felt wrong, muscles twisting inside her. She felt sick, so sick, so sick and twisted, and she felt wrong, so wrong, so twisted, so sick, so sick and twisted and wrong, so-

Warmth. On her arm.

"You're okay?"

Todd knew. dilated pupils, short breaths, lips moving in silence. She was doing it again. Whatever it might be. It was part of the ritual, in a way. She would sneak out and sit at the edge of the outer wall, trying to swallow back the metallic taste of blood, to erase the vivid images haunting her every night. Sleepless, she would sit here and stare.

He would always join her. Expect her, even. He would find her in this exact situation - muttering in silence, staring at nothing, holding on too tight on her top. And every time, he would put his hand on her cold arm and ask "you're okay?"; and every time she would answer-

"Yeah. Just tired, that's all."

"Come here."

He barely moved his arm, yet she immediately shifted, putting her head on his shoulder, welcoming the warmth. She never knew, never understood, how he could be so warm all the time.

No matter what she did, she always felt cold. So cold.

"I say," he paused for a second to think, "I say we should sail away. We could go south, try to see if the legends are true."

She barely scoffed.

"If the legends are true, the island is as real as the monters lurcking around it."

"Well, then," he insisted, "all we'll have to do is avoid them. Or give them ripe fruits harvested from the tallest tree from the South region."

"Shut up." She closed her eyes.

"You like that story. Maybe it's time for you to believe it."

She did not answer. She had liked that story, back when her mom was here to tell it. The mythical island, the giants from under the waves, the door to a new world. Children's tales.

Maybe tonight she could pretend to still be one - a child. Maybe she could fall asleep, and dream of an island far far away, of a house for Todd and her. A new house, in a new world, for a new life.

Children's tales.

_

[...] Sail, sail, well if you must Giants you should never trust Quick, quiet, don't look down Giants want to see you drown Hurry, hurry, don't turn back Giants are still on your tracks Pitch, pitch, now it's too late Giants now control your fate.

_

@chaoticvampirejedi @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s

[histoires-en-bouteille]

I had an thought earlier today while doing a picrew of Ava

I haven't shared images, "pictures" of Ava or Todd here, but you may remember that Ava has white hair, and you may have guessed from the desert snipper that Ava always dress in full-black outfits. Todd, while dressing similarly, does have a few things in his outfits that make him stand out; including his jacket. While Ava's is completely black, Todd's jacket is leather brown - darker because of time, it's worn out, but it's still visibly brown. It's the most obvious feature for anyone who see the two accross the street: Ava is the shadow, dark mass with a white patch - her hair; Todd is somehow more appealing - more human-like. Brown jacket, brown hair, not always wearing gloves, more likely to smile.

But mostly, brown jacket. It's important to him, he got it as a gift from his mother, and nothing could make him part from it.

Nothing, except maybe one thing. One person.

He only told her once how important that jacket was to him. How much it meant to have it gifted to him, to own it and wear it, how it helped him thorugh the darkest moments, the bloodiest nights. He told him all of that while they were fighting - more than a week of silence followed that argument.

She never forgot. He never talked about it again.

Until he did. IT had to do with Ava's jacket being torn, or something of the kind, and her admitting that it was nothing more than fabric, that she could replace it and not care much.

"Take mine." he had said.

"Come on now."

"Ava, I'm serious," he had nodded, taken off the jacket, "take it. It's yours."

And she, her usual, brutal self, had declined.

"Keep that shit to yourself. You know what I always say about that thing."

They were masters of double meaning and subtle hints. But sometimes, frankness was the only option.

"Yeah I know, but I don't care, I'm giving it to you anyway. It's yours now, no taking back."

And she had rolled her eyes, and he had given her the finger. Even after all these years, he could always find a way to reach her. He could always bring warmth to that cold, cold heart.

"Whatever. You'll have to keep wearing it for now, because I still have a jacket, and you clearly have none to replace this one. Plus-"

"-brown suits me more? Hard agree on that."

And there it was. A smile, shy, but genuine and amused. His was always brighter. He was the brighter one. The touch of colour in a world full of darkness.

She pretended not to hear what he said after - the mere thought of it would twist her stomach and she hated it.

_

But the inevitable must happen. She couldn't change his fate.

_

Sitting on the edge of the hole she had just dug, staring mindlessly in the emptiness, she could hear the sentence again and again and again, repeating itself like a twisted curse.

"When I'll die, you'll be able to wear it. I won't be here anymore to tell you not to stain it. You'll do with it whatever you want."

And she would stare, finally, at that bloody jacket.

Literally, bloody jacket. Covered in dark red stains, one that wouldn't come off even if she tried to clean them off. And there she would sit, facing the dilema: to bury him with his memories of home, of love, and family - all of these things she ripped him off from, all of the things now forever stained with the blood that she spilled; or take it.

Take the jacket, and rob him from the last thing he had ever owned, therefore taking away everything from him: his home, his family, his safety, his life. His jacket. Take it, and carry forever the burden of his fate.

She could leave the jacket behind, and break her silent promise, but allow him to keep his fondest memories.

Allow him. Even in death, she would make decisions for his. Even in death, he wouldn't have a say in his fate.

She could take the jacket. It was her burden, after all, her promise to keep. But the idea of leaving him without any protection, without any memory...

And for what would feel like hours, she would torment herself with a decision that should have been avoided.

Somehow, it should have been avoided.

_

@chaoticvampirejedi @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s

[histoires-en-bouteille]

@chaoticvampirejedi @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s

[histoires-en-bouteille]

It's hot. So hot.

I feel like my feet are melting. Scrap that, I feel like every part of me is melting. The black outfits don't help at all.

I don't know how Ava can handle it. I think she's putting on her pretending face. There's no way she isn't.

She doesn't even want to remove her scarf. I told her she would get a heatstroke, but she's not listening. I swear one of these days...Who am I joking; these days happened already. How many times did I pull her out of situations like this? I wish she would care more about herself.

We're moving.

_

We had to stop three times already. She feels dizzy and almost threw up the second time. Those breaks are of little help.

Will keep updated if I can.

_

I fucking told her so.

I fucking knew. I knew it, but nooo, of course, she won't listen. And now she's passed out and I'm sitting here wondering what the hell to do to prevent the heatstroke from getting worse.

We're nowhere near any waterpoint, let alone town of any kind. I don't even think creatures live in this area.

Literally, the desert.

I swear when she wakes up, the first thing she will hear will be a fucking "I told you so."

She will wake up. She will. I'll kill her if she doesn't.

She will wake up.

_

It's nightime. Finally. Temperature's already lower than an hour ago. Hopefully it'll help her cool down. The map indicates a small village, somewhere toward the north. I just need her to hold on until then.

It's funny how used we are to these situations, yet how we will never fully get used to them. I won't. Every time something happens to her, anything, I just...

She's so self-destructive at times, so...full. Full of emptiness.

People don't get it. They don't get why I'm always by her side, always "following her around". They think I'm trapped. Fuck, maybe I am.

...No. I'm not.

I'm not trapped. She's not a prison, she's...

Breathing. Alive - barely or not, I can't tell - but she's breathing. And I'm here, by her side. And I won't leave. I can't. She is the only thing that keeps me grounded here, in this burning wasteland.

And I can't

_

Village found us. She's holding on. Still struggling, but it won't last.

Never does.

_

She said sorry.

She smiled.

Heatstroke has strong after-effects on her apparently.

That smile will kill me one day. Worth dying with that last sight in mind.

_

Extracts from Todd's journal. - Travels through the desert.

_

Notes from transcriber:

This section covers one of the numerous travels Ava and Todd led through the desert. During this particular expedition, Ava suffered from a heatstroke and was later rescued by local villagers. Todd partially recalled the events in his pocket journal, putting an emphasis on his relation with Ava, including his desire to protect her and the odd connection they share. In the same journal, Todd mentionned in ample details the perception and critics most people made of their relation, including the numerous assumptions according to which Todd was "prisoner" of Ava's influence and had no choice but to follow her around. (Alcura, 53) While nothing indicates if Todd vocally rejected these theories, he never was ambiguous in his writing - going as far as employing the expression "willing to follow her to my death" in a section further up in his journal. (Last Chapter, 124)

The extract shared here also put forward the complex nature of Ava, a person described as "full of emptiness", but whose cold and antisocial nature did not always prevent her from acts of tenderness, almost always addressed to Todd. One of the earlier extract of the journal mentions an evening where Ava seemed "almost happy" (Alcura, 50), and "some nights [where Todd and Ava] manage[d] to let go of the horrors just long enough to share a few smiles, maybe even a laugh" (On The Edge, 87-88).

@chaoticvampirejedi @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s