We seem to have lost contact with the Control Tower [Grinding Noises][Part II] (855)

353 Name: (*゚ー゚) : 1993-09-7856 23:38

>>349
You continue to play as Ariadne Aaronova. But who, precisely, are you?

Retrograde amnesia is a confusing and frightening thing indeed. What sort of person were you before you lost your memory, you wonder? Were you a kind, loving person as you are now, or were you full of spite and vitriol? Either way, does it affect who you are now? If your every experience and memory has been erased like equations from a blackboard, you cannot help but wonder what exactly is left behind. The most troubling part is that you don't know what of yourself - of your patterns of thought, your desires, relationships with others, and so on - is leftover from your previous life, and what is simply an artefact of your recent circumstances.

You wish you could just be yourself, but sometimes life isn't so simple.

>>350
In search of the truth, you delve into the dark waters of introspection. Surely, you assert, there must be some fragment of your former self, still locked away in the obscure recesses of your subconscious. You begin by extrapolation from your current position. You try to recall your childhood, presumably being brought up by the kind and loving Aaron, along side your little sister Jack. You don't think you grew up in this jungle. Try as you might, however, no image comes to mind - and worse, you find the thought of all those precious memories now gone forever is almost more than you can bear.

You press on ever deeper, through the pain and darkness, seeking something, anything, that you can grasp and feel. At last you find some small kernel of substance. It is nothing so concrete as a memory; it is something primordial and animalistic. It is a feeling, fundamentally, of hate - specifically, of disdain, of hatred for the way of things. It is the feeling of one who knows too much. You recoil, feeling all at once as though the feeling may overwhelm and become you. Well, you think to yourself, that was horrible.

>>351
You find yourself quite sick of feeling like the epitomic Alice lost in a wonderland she doesn't understand. Perhaps, you think, you should trust in the Queen of Hearts' solution of choice. You crawl over to the edge of the roof, point at Rupert and shout at the top of your lungs, "Off with his head!"

>>352
You attempt to interpret the phrase "the card of the hearts". Well, card could refer to a greeting card, or a playing card, or cardboard, or... or... um, in which case... You're just not sure. You're not sure of anything any more.

While you've been cogitating, the weather has taken a turn for the worse. Not only is the wind strengthening, but the clouds which earlier were just torn and amorphous have begun to accumulate into vast, looming structures, of a fuliginous colour. All of a sudden, you are caught in a hail of hailstones. Each is the size of a marble; enough to hurt, but not enough to injure. Theodore burrows into your skirts for shelter. Rupert, meanwhile, is still indifferently browsing the trees below.

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