I have a purpose, I just… don't remember what it is. I remember my old life. I remember my new life. What's missing is the connecting tissue between the two. Something about what happened to me has severed the link between who I am and who I was. I come more and more to think that link is somehow vital. I cannot comprehend how this could have happened.

I slowly make my way across Lordaeron looking for..something. I'm not sure what it is I am seeking, but I keep looking. Peace? Connection? I don't think it's forgiveness. I wasn't a terrible person, I don't think. And I certainly cannot be held responsible for my behavior now. It's only in these rare moments of calm that I can muster the coherence to write. Expecting restraint all the time is beyond the pale of possibility. Maybe if certain parts of me weren't missing, but I can't do anything about that now. Perhaps fortune will smile on my and I'll meet someone who can help me before my inevitable lapses complicate things.

A small green man had me plant floors in his garden. I think I may go back later and try it again. It was calming. Maybe gardening will help me to remember what it is that brought me for there to here. What the circumstances of my alteration, and what the reason for this condition might be. (I asked the angels before they died, but they didn't answer. I cannot mourn their passing overmuch as a result…)

I see a multitude of others who seem to share some form or another of my affliction, yet none of them possess my lack of direction, this purposeless chase towards a ever receding horizon. I can't read these words after I write them I just realized. Do I need to learn to read all over again? How am I to make sense of anything if I cannot even comprehend the uttering of my own pen damn damn damn damn damn.

This pen is mocking me I cannot bear this I am a scholar damnit break shatter punish

<<the rest of the page is an illegible smear of spilled ink>>