The Ivory Door - A Hallowmas Confession

Fallen London
81

Day four of confessions incoming.

In several inks, with several things crossed out: [quote]I miss the surface. I miss the love I lost. I miss who I was.[/quote]

In incredibly small handwriting, like reading LB footprints: [quote]I never meant to hurt him. I was only thinking of my reputation, and to take away the last thing he had of his beloved…it is my greatest regret.[/quote]

On perfumed rice paper, in small blocky letters (in coloured pencil, of all things):[quote]I was raised to be perpetually presentable. A stressful task down here, of course, so I kept myself clean with a certain method. I never need a privy when I am out and my servants are spared any tasks related to chamberpots. As time goes by, I made friends from all walks of life, some of them with professions most esoteric. One acquaintance mentioned a standoff with serpents in a certain location, interrupted by humiliating circumstances. It never occurred to me until now, but, was that my doing? I even taught children in an orphanage-[/quote]

In a schoolteacher’s script: [quote]This place changed my friend, I hoped I may be spared from this…[/quote]

In letters written awkwardly, as if the writer was not familiar with their shapes:[quote]I come here not by choice. I try protect others, and I make mistake. I still miss home, miss family, but also have friends here now. If I find way back, I not sure what I do.[/quote]Note: The spelling was entirely phonetic, and as a result quite atrocious. I’ve, ah, spared you that.

In an impatient, looped scrawl: [quote]I walked in on my (This text was scratched out.) inamorato and his previous sweetheart. They seemed to be having a tender moment of some sort. I think I ruined it, but I’m not completely sure. Nor am I particularly sorry.[/quote]

And finally, written in furious swirls of gant ink on the back of a torn portrait canvas:[quote]I WILL NOT BE FOOLED AGAIN. IN LIBERATION SHE MAY REMEMBER. SHE MUST.[/quote]More of interest on that last one, though, is the portrait itself. It depicts two young women sitting fondly side-by-side, one well-dressed and formal, one in shabby, common garb. Behind them, the noble one’s parents, looking stoic, or perhaps annoyed. Under darkness, more marks become clear: The common girl’s eyes, her left breast, and the parents’ hands are stained with irrigo ink. In contrast, a feathered pin is painted in violant ink in the noblewoman’s hand. Er, as in holding it, not stabbed with it. The parent’s faces are slashed out with streaks of violant, as well.

I’ll try to knock out some of the longer confessions over the next few days. I’m kinda dreading posting them in fear that they’ll dominate the post (Hell, one of these is probably the size of seven confessions on its own), but it’s better than putting them all out in one post to blot out the sun.

82

Perhaps Tanith ought to have added to her confession that she’s the one who taught Shylarah to write. I think that atrocious spelling may be her fault.

And I expect that Drake knows who the “inamorato” is, but is too discreet to say.

83

Erem is, of course, correct. <3 For both of mine.

84

[quote=Reused NPC]
On perfumed rice paper, in small blocky letters (in coloured pencil, of all things):
I was raised to be perpetually presentable. A stressful task down here, of course, so I kept myself clean with a certain method. I never need a privy when I am out and my servants are spared any tasks related to chamberpots. As time goes by, I made friends from all walks of life, some of them with professions most esoteric. One acquaintance mentioned a standoff with serpents in a certain location, interrupted by humiliating circumstances. It never occurred to me until now, but, was that my doing? I even taught children in an orphanage-[/quote]
I just want to say I have no idea who wrote this or why (Actually, I might have a vague suspicion…), but I want to tell them something:
You made me choke on my beer. I f___ing salute you.

[quote]In an impatient, looped scrawl:
I walked in on my (This text was scratched out.) inamorato and his previous sweetheart. They seemed to be having a tender moment of some sort. I think I ruined it, but I’m not completely sure. Nor am I particularly sorry.[/quote]
And this person right here is the reason Mlle became a New Sequencer.

85

My word, woman. This may sound odd coming from Hieronymus Drake, of all people, but a touch of moderation would do you no harm.

86

Don’t worry, Drake dearest. She wouldn’t be where she is without your help. -Literally- :D

87

I’m not without doubt that I truly grasp the confession with the… Um, snakes? Nor do I know if I want to understand it…

88

Ooooh, if I was hosting this I would definitely lack the diligence to adjust the phonetic confession. Nice work! And I just learned what an inamorato is. I thought it had something to do with amaretto at first! ;)

89

Sadly, I didn’t actually. The confession was just written with bad grammar (which I kept), the horrible spelling thing was in the &quothow’s your handwriting&quot bit. I was actually somewhat tempted to GIVE it bad spelling as a result, but some of the possible spellings would have been… dubious.

90

Another batch of confessions incoming.

Today’s long confession, starting out elegant, but slowly devolving into an illegible scribble: [quote]I met someone in London, about a year ago, now. I had only recently arrived in the Neath. While they weren’t my first friend here, they were my truest. If not that, they were the first with whom I exchanged more than perfunctory notes. We’d write each other pages upon pages, enough to fill the library of a certain Master with a… sesquipedalian vocabulary. They were married, to a jewel thief, if I recall, and I was entangled in a hundred causal relationships, as one does in the Neath, but once I met them, all others seemed… lackluster. Flat? It tore at me to speak to them, for I wanted nothing more than rip them and their husband apart. I know that I had no right to even think of such a thing, but it ate at me every day and night.
I ended up confessing my love for them, and they divorced their husband, but our adventures kept us apart. I zailed back and forth from Polythreme and Port Carnelian, while their research demanded their attentions at far flung isles of the Unterzee. We were never wed. A few weeks ago, they came to me in an excited frenzy: they spoke of zeppelins, starving men, and the roof. I begged them not to go, but I knew that I couldn’t bare to hold them here while every inch of their being dragged them upwards. We spent one last night together before they left. They have not returned. My confession is thus: when I sit to play the Marvelous, they will not be my Heart’s Desire.[/quote]

Tall and neat, with a slight rightward slant: [quote]I think my resolution to not gain feelings for those I use for my own gain has been destroyed. Why couldn’t it have been someone of my own caste?[/quote]

In precise and elegant script: [quote]This place has changed me. I have been seduced into choosing pleasure over propriety. I have associated with low company. I have committed crimes. I thought I did these things in pursuit of just goals, but how often can one step off the path of the righteous before one is lost in the woods?[/quote]

In careful, precise handwriting: [quote]I am afraid that I have lost my purpose. My brother is not avenged and now I run around the city with my own gang and try to satisfiy a hunger. I am afraid of who I have become. [/quote]

In a messy, scrawled sort of chickenscratch:[quote]I was not a good person. I was a soulless Licentiate. And I killed many, many people, sometimes permanently, on behalf of all sorts of clients. It didn’t matter who it was, as long as I got paid. At the time, I barely felt anything, besides the thrill of the kill, and when I did feel anything like sadness or regret, I drank to forget. I have now, due to very peculiar events, gotten my soul back. But when I think back on who I was, I am unable to conjure up any sort of feeling of regret. Instead, I feel only relief that I am no longer that person. Happiness that I get another chance. But my victims, they never had a chance. And I can’t seem to feel anything for them. [/quote]

Shakily: [quote]Some would say naivety is the worst crime of all, and I would be inclined to agree. I was…- so very naive. I loved her, the Deviless. So quiet. So gentle. Such a perfect predator. I was dominated- heart, body and mind, by her. Would’ve given her the world, my everything, most precious. Anything, everything.
And she wanted my soul, so in the end, I’ve given her my soul. And then, she was gone, and I…- Stupid. Naive. Gullible. But I loved her. Maybe I love her still. And as long as I love her, I will not be free.[/quote]

And finally, in furtive cursive: [quote]I confess that I have ended the life of an old friend, whose insistence on positioning themselves between myself and my ambitions despite my assistance in their own endeavours meant that sooner or later, one of us would have to lose.[/quote]

91

i really like the way this confession is worded. very elegant

92

In a different playerbase, the vocabulary of that one would be a tell. &quotSesquipedalian &quot in particular is a word-lover’s word. But around here, that’s normal.

93

and that is why I like it here so

94

Haha. Well since Erem and Sly both recognized her, I should note that shylarah did not even speak English when she arrived in Fallen London. She’s an odd duck and breaks the lore badly, but it was too much fun to have the poor girl stuck underground. And also to have her meet various other people here. Tan did teach her the English alphabet, but it’s not really Tan’s fault that shylarah cannot spell. English is a very confusing language and actually the tutelage she got from Tan means she spells better than she would otherwise. Give her time. It’s a new thing. ^.^

Estelle, if you care to know precisely what shy’s writing is like:

I was going to reply to this earlier and somehow got distracted for half a day. WHOOPS. That’s what NaNo does to my brain.

95

Ah, Shylarah as in the character! That explains a lot, actually! ;)

96

Rather small amount of discussion on yesterday’s, huh? Anyways, here’s day 6’s batch.

Today’s long one, ciphered in &quotpassable&quot handwriting on paper splattered with candlewax:[quote]
A Confession of Violence. The Smell of a Zee Salt Breeze. The Sound of Ravens at Morning. The Taste of Spore Toffee as we Walk Around the Carnival. The Sound of Sweet Grass in the Wind. The Touch of Soft Blue Feathers Closer to Home then We Are. The Sound of Waves Against a Steadying Rowing Boat. The Feel of Silk Scrubbed Fresh of Blood. The Smell of Burnt Sugar. The Smell of Lavender from Surface Perfume. The Feel of Old Counterfeit Coins. The Sound of Gunshots in the Fog.
These are the names of the ten Cousins I’ve personally help hunt this past year. These are not names that you would’ve known them as – those names we discard as easily as faces. These are personal names we have for each other – shared memories that define this bundle of experiences, mannerisms, and fears. The Bishop talks about the pain of choosing, but he’s not the one who looks them in the eye. I do and they always see their death coming. Many of them choosing to fight – they remember that we most always survive. But too many of us only go through the routine, waiting for the knife. For all of them, I wish I could forget their eyes, their madness, and our desperation. I wish I could forget the slumped bodies left behind, the screams as their fingers search for their faces, the hooded figures that haunt London, and the writhing figures that make up the Far Country. I know we call ourselves Cousins, not Brothers and Sisters so this betrayal is not unbearable. I know that one falls so the rest can survive. I know that self-interest is divine. I know that He enjoys our degradation as we make others like ourselves. I know that we are born in darkness and thus will die in darkness – no matter how we long to fly. A Confession of Violence. The Smell of a Zee Salt Breeze. The Sound of Ravens at Morning. The Taste of Spore Toffee as we Walk Around the Carnival. The Sound of Sweet Grass in the Wind. The Touch of Soft Blue Feathers Closer to Home then We Are. The Sound of Waves Against a Steadying Rowing Boat. The Feel of Silk Scrubbed Fresh of Blood. The Smell of Burnt Sugar. The Smell of Lavender from Surface Perfume. The Feel of Old Counterfeit Coins. The Sound of Gunshots in the Fog. I will remember your eyes.
[/quote]I had to cut out a lot of the newlines in this one. As it was, it was taking up an entire page.

Barely legible, on the back of a crumpled laudanum prescription (do they even prescribe it down here? anyways):[quote]When they came home drunk and bruised, I made my decision to leave. This I don’t regret. Children aren’t supposed to be dragged down by their parents. Leaving was the best choice I’ve made in my life.
Not taking my baby sister along was the worst.[/quote]

Childlike, with not all the letters facing the right way: [quote]It’s difficult pretending that you care about people as much as my new friend does. He scolds me whenever I try to be myself. But he’s all I have. [/quote]

In handwriting described to me as &quotterrible&quot:[quote]He was my friend once. He sought madness, he ruined all he touched. He kept whispering of a name, he muttered ‘north’ in his sleep… and it’s all behind him now. It was a mercy you see, It had to be done. I stole his notes, and I marooned him within a cave who’s name nor whereabouts I dare not speak of. He forgot the path. He forgot the name. He forgot his own name. He was my friend once, now he is my puppet.[/quote]

In elegant, but ever-so-slightly unruly writing: [quote]My crime is one of lack of commitment: To attain the prizes which I seek, to complete goals of high standing, and prehaps most unforgivably, to always aid or train those who would patron under me. I have done a few awful things, but prehaps this lack to go though with a end goal or to aid other Londoners is my worst.[/quote]

Bold and inelegant, the pen pressed into the paper deeper than is normal: [quote]I worked within the Labyrinth of Tigers for a while, ambition pressing me eagerly towards its depths. What lies in the third coil made my blood boil - so many unjustly held indefinitely - but I said nothing. One day a captive asked for a mirror. I provided.
What pains me the most is that I can’t decide whether I was wrong to do so. I can’t go back. Not until I know on which side I’m meant to be.[/quote]

And finally, in ornate, flowery script: [quote]I provide aid, tenderness and care. I write songs and poems. I pray. I go through all the motions. And yet, I am still unable to feel love.[/quote]

97

Yes, that’s me. Right, shameful story time!

[spoiler] When I was a young shy, I first found the wonders of online things in elementary school, but I didn’t join any sites until sixth grade: Neopets. Back then I hadn’t started playing videogames, so I used words for my username (dragonsdance, I think?) and name-names (though made up ones) for my pets. Shylarah was a shoyru, chosen because of the initial sound.

From there she turned into a (separate) rp character, coming to mean an individual I’d had in my stories in one form or another since years before. There may have been self-insertion at this time. Or at least wishful thinking. Also fanfiction (mostly DRoP and StarTrek).

Fast forward a few years, and I get my very own computer in preparation for high school and an email account! What do I wanna have as my online handle? Three guesses, and the first two don’t count.

From there it’s history, and if you find a &quotshylarah&quot or a &quotshylarah falanth&quot (you can still see vague remnants of DRoP in &quotfalanth&quot) there’s a 99% chance that’s me. the other 1% is that it used to be me, and I forgot about it. In fact, perhaps the strangest thing is that my gmail is not actually shylarah, despite being far more elegant than what it actually is. sigh But changing it would be a huge hassle.

Shylarah-the-character took a while off because she was in many ways a child’s fantasy, but I’ve grown as a writer and as an rper, and eventually I dusted her off and gave her a rather thorough reworking. The wings stayed, the fighting skill was matched to her age, and she became a character who was a bit too reckless in trying to be a hero and ended up thrown clear across dimensions.

Besides, it’s fun to play a character that doesn’t entirely get English, and whose habits are not entirely human.[/spoiler]
edited by shylarah on 11/12/2017
edited by shylarah on 11/12/2017

98

an interesting batch. Abandoned sister, I feel you. Mr Snuffer, you are quite interesting.

And I know none of you.

99

Yeah, I really like the second confession - very well done.

100

[quote=shylarah]an interesting batch. Abandoned sister, I feel you. Mr Snuffer, you are quite interesting.

And I know none of you.[/quote]

Mrs. Snuffer actually. I now I should lurk longer on that, but after several hours of waiting, I still feel a great need to apologize for that format. I didn’t fully realize my folly until you started posting the confessions. Or the typos that were left in.