I’m fine.
Really.
Thanks for asking…
My bed creaks as I slip from the stale sheets that I oh-so-carefully aired out yesterday, and I exhale relief when the wooden posts don’t collapse. Every breath near the poor bed worries me.
As I rise, each sore muscle and aching bone completes roll call, screaming its presence into my ears.
I rub the sleep clinging to my eyes away before I get my glasses off the worn nightstand beside me and push them onto my face.
My stomach growls, taking up the rear of roll call.
I look down the length of my cute, sturdy khaki dress at it.
InVale of Gems, I eat solely to recover HP in the mines.
The mines, presently, aren’t even unlocked yet.
So, what is this nonsense?
Now that I’m thinking about it, I am dreadfully thirsty, too. Andthirstisn’t even something in the game.
Or, you know, my dreams, usually.
Attempting to regain moisture in my mouth, I check for inconsistencies in my surroundings—any clue that I’m dreaming, even though I don’t tend to frame-tale my dreams and theboss equals alligatornonsense I just woke from felt far moredreamlike.
Same old crusty floor. Same old ceiling full of spiderwebs I couldn’t reach yesterday. Same old ashy fireplace. Same old rusty starter tools by the door, including that pathetic broom, which—for your information—wasnotincluded in the game.
Everything that was rotted beyond repair I carted outside last night to make a rudimentary burn pile. The entire time, I grumbled becauseVale of Gemsdoesn’thaveburn piles.On this property, there’s supposed to be a shipping bin that Lazul checks each night for goods he can pay me for.
Normally, I put my trash in there.
Not because Lazul pays me for it.
No.
Because it’s what he deserves.
And he deserves itdoubleif I pretend this is real life.
I have half a mind to tell him to touch grass if he—as an actual person not following insane genre-standard coding—believes it’s okay to drop a helpless girl off on a propertywith an outhouse.
Prepare the farmhouse for the nightquest aside, my own personal quest list has grown to includemarry Samson…andstagea coup.
It really is such a shame this place doesn’t have a shipping bin.
I’d feel so much better right now if I knew that Lazul carted off all my burn pile junk in the dead of the night.
Speaking of trash, where is he?
He said he’d be by in the morning, and I don’t know what’s going on if thisisreally real, but I do know I have never once in my life woken at the game-designated wake up time of 6:00AM.
Without checking what my journal says, I speculate that it’s probably a modest 10:00AM, which means Lazul has two hours to show up before it is no longermorning.
Which also means I have some time to see if I can’t figure out how to use the rusty tools and start clearing a path toward my love. Projectmarry Samson before I wake upis a go.
Determination renewed, I grab my backpack and the weathered handle of the axe by the door, march outside, and stop short at the sight of the red mail flag sticking up.
