Dear Diary, The candle whispers low tonight, shadows soft as a hand on the shoulder. Just us, Diary—no doubts, no ghosts. Four years knocking on doors that slammed shut, and then... them. They opened the gate, no tricks, no shadows—just enough faith to let me in, and I walked through, heart pounding but head high. Today I successfully completed the probation and training stage of my work. I brought to life over 20.000 words, which is the double they required from me. "We're l

Dear Diary, The screen's glow fades as I lean back, cold orange drink cooling in my hand like a sigh after the storm. Just us, Diary—no deadlines, no ghosts. Seven hours, over 10,000 words humanized from cold robotic text to breathing prose, lines that hook and hum with life I breathed into them. And then the message: "Hey, take a break if you haven't yet." From my boss, no less—simple words that land like a pat on the back I didn't know I craved. No "try harder," no pity; ju

Dear Diary, The candle's glow wraps the room like a lover's arm tonight—or is it morning now? Shadows play soft on the canvas, just us, Diary—no clocks, no ghosts. The digital pencil scratches steady, lines curling into heat I haven't tasted in too long. I remember waking up. It was around 3:30 am or so. But I was welcomed by heat in my body, which of course, I took advantage of. There's nothing better than reconnecting with that warm side that I once thought lost. Then after

Dear Diary, The candle flickers dim tonight, shadows softening like old scars fading at last. Just us, Diary—no chains, no echoes. A slow breath, and the words come, heavy with goodbye but light with release. It's time, Diary. Pierrot—that broken dark clown with huge tarkatan fangs and a heart full of thorns—he's done. But let me speak about him first. He carried one of the worst episodes of my life. The kind of episode that hollows you out and leaves you raging in the dark.