29th Sun, Fifth Umbral Moon, 1578

How should I begin? As I find my way back to your pages once more, I’m still clueless as how to approach you after such a long absence. Are you mad? Sad? Maybe a little of both? I apologize dear confidant. My days grow evermore hectic, evermore busy; I rarely have time to even lay my head for sleep. Though I suppose, I should find time for an old friend who listens so diligently to the ramblings of one as foolish as I. Tell me, my dear friend, have you…have you missed me? Missed my writing? My foolishness? In my mind, I think you have, but whether that be the case or not I know one thing for certain; I have missed you. Shall we continue where we left off? Like two dancers, continuing their swaying after the music had ended. Or would you rather we begin anew? Introductions perhaps? I joke. I joke.

Did you know? The seasons have changed. We bid farewell to the humid winds of summer, to those long nights beneath the stars catching fireflies, to those long lazy afternoons sitting on a bench with a good book. Indeed, that novel of summertime has come to an end, and as we place it back upon the shelf we pick out the next sequence, the next volume of this four part series, the one of autumn.

Autumn always felt like the odd one of the bunch. It’s never warm enough to be considered summer, nor is it cool enough to be considered winter. The same can be said of spring, but spring holds a special place in each of our hearts; we embrace it with open arms. With autumn, however, we shun it; we shun it for many reasons, but we shun it nonetheless. Is it because it beckons those cold harsh winds of winter? Or is it because many call it the season of death? I wonder, why do they call it so? To me, autumn is the most sacred, the only time where all of nature exhibits its beauty for all to see, a last hurrah of vivid colors and wonderful smells…oh how wonderful they are. Even without those fantastic smells, the beauty is enough to captivate you, to grab you by your emotions only letting go when that final leaf has made it’s way off that lonely branch, and the first snow has begun to fall. If only I could spend this season in the Shroud, among those trees. Oh what I would give.

Ah, I seem to have rambled on as I did back then. A thousand apologies my dear friend, but I do love this season. From the old purple sweater I take out of hibernation, to the smell of my pumpkin flavored tea, I love it all. I wonder…does he enjoy this season as I do? I wonder, as I often do, will we ever meet? It doesn’t have to be long, nor fateful, a simple encounter. I would be sitting on a couch in an inn reading my book, and he would sit across from me with a book of his own. After a while, he would glance up and smile, and ask me what I’m reading. It sounds quite silly doesn’t it? I suppose I’ve been reading too many love stories as of late.

I wonder what he’ll sound like.

I suppose that’s enough rambling out of me today. I promise you, my treasured friend; I shall check in more often. I won’t be away from your pages for too long, as I must admit, parting from you is like parting from a dear friend, one who knows every little quirk and every little secret.

Forever yours,

Cydni Eloise Aizah

22nd Sun, Fifth Astral Moon, 1578

Today was a lazy day, oh confidant. I’ve done nothing productive apart from sitting in this cramped inn room staring at these same four walls that surround my bedside; I’ve grown bored from this small town. I want to once more embark on an adventure, though it doesn’t look like it’s continuing anytime soon. I suppose that’s alright, it’s not like I expected it to be much anyway just a foolish dream of mine. Dreams are funny things, the contemplation of possibly doing something that you really want to fills you with so much hope; it gives you ambition; it motivates you to go and do it, but many times when you actually do decide to follow on that dream of yours you find out that it’s truthfully much harder than what you’ve imagined it to be, it’s not so simple. I should know this by now, but foolishly I keep believing that this time will be different. I wonder, will any of my dreams ever become a reality? Or will this perpetual cycle of disappointment continue to plague me like a swarm of Chitoge upon the Shroud? Perhaps in time, or perhaps they won’t; I have no way of knowing, and that’s what makes it so…so…I seem to be at a loss for words. Gods curse this tongue of mine, for even it fails me now.

I suppose I’ll pack my bag with whatever few belongings I took with me; it shouldn’t take me long to be back on the road headed for Ul’dah. I shouldn’t be sad, for I expected this to happen eventually I may have been too foolish for my companion’s taste; I can be a bit overbearing at times, perhaps if I ever run into him once more I’ll apologize for scaring him off. Ah, I should, I’ll add this onto my evermore growing list of things to do before my flower wilts.

I wonder what adventure awaits me on the road back to that Jewel of the Desert, perhaps I’ll bump into a wandering minstrel who’ll captivate me with a beautiful song about an ancient hero. Or perhaps I’ll bump into an old sage, who’ll fill this silly head of mine with his wisdom. Or maybe, just maybe, I’ll bump into a princess being taken captive by a group of bandits; she’ll call out for aid, and I will be there to rescue her, just like those stories my Grandfather used to read to me. Dreams…really are funny things.

Even though I tell myself that everything is alright, that this was meant to be, I can’t help but shed a few tears. This shaky heart of mine returning to the familiar pain that I’ve grown accustomed to over the years. I suppose it’s alright, for I am the one to blame, I shouldn’t have thought that an adventure would be something easy to undergo. It requires planning, stocking of provisions, and skills, skills that I do not have. I wonder, will I ever go on a grand adventure? What does the future have in store for one as foolish as I? Who knows, for I am not an Astrologian, who’s able to read the future via the cards she uses, I’m just a foolish girl whose mind is clouded with the many dreams she holds. It looks as if I may be a dreamer just like you, oh crimson haired phantom.

I seem to have rambled on too long, oh confidant. If you’ll excuse me, this foolish girl must go and dry her eyes, for in the morning, she’ll be headed back home.

Home…is Ul’dah home for me?

Yours,

Cydni Eloise Aizah

21st Sun, Fifth Astral Moon, 1578

As the day drags on, I find myself looking forward to opening your worn cover, to place my pen upon your page as I begin filling you with my many musings. If only you knew the joy you bring to this foolish girl, the happiness she’s filled with as she scribbles away in you, as she speaks to you, her most trusted companion in this world. How silly she must look to you. I must admit; you are indeed precious to me; I no longer think of you as just a journal, no. In this short time we have spent together I think of you as a companion, possibly even my closest companion. For you see, oh confidant, I don’t have many companions; this foolish girl can fit them all on one hand. Do I perhaps have so few companions in this life because in another life, I had so many? I wonder, do past lives even exist? If they do what do you think I was? I hope I was something gentle, something pretty as to give happiness to others, like a flower. Flowers are certainly lovely, and they do in fact have many friends; like the honey bees that float to them each day, collecting their nectar while planting their soft kisses atop their petals as they fly away towards their hive; or perhaps a small caterpillar as it nibbles on the stalk in hopes of growing into a butterfly someday. I wonder. Oh confidant, oh dear weathered friend, I have something important to tell you besides these foolish thoughts, would you care to listen? I hope you do.

Today I seem to have stumbled upon a peculiar man, a strange man with hair as red as the sky when the sun sets in the horizon. The familiar shade of that bright color had me mesmerized, my eyes unable to part ways from that nostalgic sight.. Is he the red-haired boy who’s been haunting these foolish memories of mine? These memories of the joyous wonderment of childhood. Oh how I wish I could return, to return to our laughter, to the dreams we shared of a better tomorrow, to those nights we would spend beneath the stars on those warm summer nights. Alas, the man I met today is not he, for even though he was kind, his eyes concealed something, something he wasn’t showing me…who knows what it may be. We each have our secrets, our past that’s been scarred by the world we live in and the many people we meet, whether its for better or worse.

Even though his hair shares the identicle color as yours, that same red hue, I believe yours still shines the brightest, even if I only see it in these memories of mine that are unreliable. Indeed, yours shines like that of a hero, a hero who vowed to shine brighter than the flames of Ifrit, to have his name known throughout all of Eorzea, from the slums of Ul’dah to the forested villages of the Shroud. That was your dream was it not, oh red-haired boy…ah, boy doesn’t work anymore now does it? For now, you are most likely a man grown. I wonder, are you working towards your dream? Are you still kind? Or has the world changed you like the man I met today? These questions that I’m unable to answer will continue to run through my head like a Chocobo as it chases after its flock, so close to catching them, yet still so far. Gods curse this memory of mine, for it is as unreliable and foolish as I am. It teases me with bits of information that slowly seeps into my mind as honey would seep through a crack, slow…oh so very slow.

As another day comes to a close, my eyes darting up towards this night sky as they often do to partake in the various stars that twinkle and dance before them, I have to ask; are you looking up at the very same sky at this moment? Seeing the very same stars? Or do you see something brighter, something bigger than what these foolish eyes of mine see. I wonder. Are you still a dreamer?

I have still so many questions to ask, so many yet that are still making their way into my mind, but what I want to ask you is something more personal, something that’s rather embarrassing. For you see…oh crimson haired dreamer, I’m no good when it comes to these types of things my cheeks begin burning, my face becomes hot, and the beating in my chest increases with such an intensity that I feel as if it’s going to burst. It’s foolish I know, for I am 20 seasons old, old enough to be a mother, and yet I still giggle like that little girl who treated you like a prince. This question that I want to ask you, do you promise to answer it? To keep it a secret only between you and me? If you do, then I suppose this hesitant girl can go ahead and ask it.

Am I…

Am I still your flower perched atop a high ledge? Unreachable? Unobtainable? Do I still mean that much to you? A foolish girl from the slums with hair that was sheared by a blade, with mud covering her face, a foolish girl who would run barefoot through the alleyways as she chased after you.

Am I still the apple of your eye? A girl with mannerisms that would put even the most despicable to shame, a girl with a mouth as loud and as vulgar as a sailor? A girl who would hold your hand as you guided her home in the afternoon, that ruby colored hair of yours bouncing in her eyes.

Am I still your princess? The foolish girl you would protect from those kids who would tease her, even though you yourself would become the object of their teasing, the foolish girl whom you would kiss on the cheek each day, and each night, as you promised to save her from the hardships of the future.

Am I still yours?

Cydni Eloise Aizah

20th Sun, Fifth Astral Moon, 1578

It seems your days have grown quite busy, oh confidant. Your pages are filled with this foolish girl’s writing, her seemingly endless stream of thoughts that grow with each passing day, her own ramblings about needless things. I wonder, if you had a mouth to speak what would you say? Would you give me feedback? Scold me? Or perhaps you would laugh while advising me of what to do. Again, I have no way of knowing your thoughts; you are but a simple journal, one of the simple belongings that this simple girl carries with her, in the pocket of her coat that’s nearest to her heart. Oh how I’ve grown fond of your tattered spine, your pages that stick together as if they were slathered with honey and left to dry on a hot summer’s day, and yes, even that worn cover of yours that smells like the dusted pages of a book in that old attic, of that old inn, attended by that Old man who raised this foolish girl.

But enough about that, oh confidant. For you see, I’ve once more left the safety of Ul’dah, once more finding myself on the road of travel yearning for adventure. Yet this time, I do not walk this beaten path alone; I’ve found myself a companion to keep me company as I walk down the many paths of Eorzea. Where will we go? I wonder. What will we see? I wonder even more. Like a bird that floats through the grand sky, stopping only for short breaks along its travels only to rest a while and then be off, so too do I want to travel, going where ever the wind blows stopping only to partake in the wondrous sights that this great big world has to offer. Do you think that boy with the red hair from all those seasons ago yearns for adventure? Who knows, perhaps he does, and perhaps he doesn’t. However, in this foolish mind, among these foolish ideals and aspirations that fill it, I believe he does. Listen to me harp on and on about a boy I no longer know, about a different time…why do I do this? Am I indeed becoming sentimental? Perhaps, or perhaps I’m haunted by my many mistakes, the mistakes that have caused me to lose so many friends and lovers over the years. Indeed, I’m far from perfect, far from ideal, far from whatever it is I want to be, from whatever it is I strive to be; and yet, I am content, content in what I am now. How foolish.

As I sit near the window of this inn, my eyes looking up at the starlit sky, I have to remark at how insignificant it makes me feel. Just a single snowflake in a pile, a single blade of grass in a meadow, a simple honey bee in an entire hive. So I want to say, but the truth is all those things are unique, not every blade of grass is the same, not every snowflake is identical, and some bees are more foolish than others. So am I unique? I hope so, I hope I’m able to stand out even if it’s just a little bit. In ages past, the ancient sages would say that each star in the sky signified a single person in the world, if that’s the case, then which star is mine? I wonder. The ones that burn the brightest are sure to be those who stand out the most, the ones who have the biggest hearts, the great ones. I wonder…oh you small burning star, hidden away behind your brethren, glowing faintly in the shadows cast by their light, which one are you? Where are you? Are you looking down at me this moment from that grand ocean of lights above my head? I wonder, and I wonder, and I wonder some more.

You might be asking yourself, oh confidant, why am I suddenly worried about my uniqueness, but have no worry for I will tell you why. While traveling with my companion, that’s rude of me, with Cerigo, I began to think, to think about those stories that Old man used to tell this foolish girl. About the heroes of the ancient past, those old tales about those heroes and their accomplishments, their travels, their adventures. You might be saying to yourself that those heroes are in the past, and you are right, but we still remember them to this day; we talk about them to this day. Yet, when my time in this world comes to an end, when my flower wilts and my leaf falls, who will remember me? I wonder. What will I leave behind me? Who will be my legacy? Such foolish questions to ask, but for good reason. For you see, oh confidant, oh keeper of secrets, the anniversary of that day is drawing near.

Who’s anniversary are you possibly wondering?

My lover? No

My friend? Goodness no

I will tell you, for you see I tell you plenty of secrets, plenty of useless info to go along with those secrets. Forgive me oh confidant, for in a moment, I will fill you with many words possibly even taking up many pages.

The anniversary is of the passing of that Old man, the one who raised this foolish girl, who taught her the ways of the world in hopes of her carrying on his legacy, his last heir, his last confidant of the stories he told, of the life he lived.

I wonder.

Just like those stars that look down upon me high atop their perch in the heavens, are you among them? Looking down at this foolish girl as she writes away in this journal of hers. With my many mistakes, the many errors that have plagued the life I lead, with many possibly coming in the future, I have to ask…are you disappointed in me? Disappointed in what I’ve become? I hope not, for I try to live by your teaching’s Old man. I brush my teeth before bed, and again in the morning. I start my day with a cup of tea, a biscuit, and even a single apple, just as you did. You, who took this foolish girl into your home, and treated her as if she was your own daughter, spoiling her in that inn of yours with treats and clothes, even though you yourself wore a cloak with many holes in it, yet you prioritized me over yourself. What a kind heart you had.

Hey, Old man, sitting atop your perch in the heavens, do you remember? Remember the days I would tug at that gray mustache of yours so you would wake up? The days I would sit in your lap near that small fire place as you rocked me to sleep in that old creaky chair? I remember. Oh indeed, I remember, for you made me, a girl raised in the slums feel like the Sultana herself. What a kind man you were.

I wonder.

Do you recall that nickname you gave me? That precious nickname you gave to me that would put a smile on my face each time you would call me by it? Am I still your tadpole? Your small tadpole, that you found in that giant lake we call Eorzea. Your small tadpole that you said would blossom into a small frog, a frog that will jump so high as to clear mountains, a frog that will jump over the heavens. What a gentle soul you were.

Grandfather, I’m afraid your tadpole is still but a tadpole, lost in this grand lake we call Eorzea, but I am content, for you see grandfather, I’m still your tadpole.

Yours, and forever will be,

Cydni Eloise Aizah

19th Sun, Fifth Astral Moon, 1578

As I have said, I have kept true to my word. I find myself unable to part with you, my heart skipping a beat as I opened your leather cover, as it would when meeting a friend after a long while. Never would I have imagined such a weathered journal to elicit such emotion from me. Is it because I can vent whatever it is that’s troubling me? Or is it because your pages allow me to say what’s truly in my heart? I wonder.

Earlier today…well seeing as how it’s already the 19th as I’m writing this, yesterday, I had told you about a tale I would recant though I ran out of time before I was able to. Would you like to hear it now? A silly question to ask I know, as you have no say in the matter. Now, to tell you the tale about the boy with the red hair, and the girl with the short blond hair that struck up a rather unusual friendship in the slums of Ul’dah, beneath the shade of a windowsill as they stuffed their faces with the pie they had stolen, though I suppose stolen might be a powerful word here, borrowed shall suffice.

This humorous little memory that I buried in the back of my mind for so long, surfacing itself like a bottle in the ocean that carries a message, how very strange, how very strange indeed.

Am I growing sentimental? Or have I become an old woman, my memories of the past surging forth replacing the new ones. I wonder…oh how I wonder. Before I ramble on once more, let me begin by telling you, my confidant, that it’s not out of emotion that I recant this tale, but out of necessity, so that if I ever open the pages of this journal many seasons hereafter, I’ll see just how foolish I was, even if I already know how foolish I am, and how foolish I will continue to be.

Now, where was I?

Ah, that’s right.

The meeting.

The intertwining of two souls as they come into contact with one another for the first time, their initial encounter, the most important. I admit; it was one strange encounter. For you see, the girl was silly, and the boy even more so…

That day was a silly day, in particular, the girl had cut her hair short in an attempt to look more like boys her age, but instead looked as if her hair was sheared by a blade. As she sat beneath the windowsill of that small inn, tears streaming down her face, she was approached by a strange boy asking what had happened to her hair. How did this silly girl respond? Did she wipe away the tears that streamed down her face like a river flowing in the shroud? Nonsense, she rose up and tried to push the boy down, a very silly thing to do, but she was a very silly creature, a very silly creature indeed. What was sillier than this however, is not the girl’s reaction, but rather the boy, how would you expect a boy to react to a girl pushing him? Surely he would’ve pushed her, or knocked her down, and yet he did neither of those things, instead he stood his ground as the silly girl attempted to push him, to pound on his chest, and lastly, to curse every name that came to her mouth, including hers. So, how did that boy react? How would anyone react to such a foolish outburst of such a silly girl? The question troubles me, for when I place myself in the shoes of that boy I would walk away, but why is that? For the boy didn’t walk away, he laughed, and laughed, and laughed…why would he laugh?

He laughed, and yet I can’t recall his face, nor his lips, nor his eyes, just his hair, that red hair that shone like the sky at sunset. How foolish that girl was and still continues to be.

Gods curse this memory of mine, for I can’t even recall what came prior to the pie those two borrowed…such a foolish thing memories are. They tease you with past events that you can never again have, how cruel they can be, remembering slight events that happened seasons ago at random intervals in your life, and yet forgetting crucial details that go along with them, how cruel indeed.

As I sit here in this tavern, the many voices bouncing off of each other, each one focusing on their partner, these many faces. I wonder if you’re among them, sitting idly by scribbling down in a journal of your own as you recall the tale of how you met that foolish girl all those seasons ago. Perhaps you are, or perhaps you’re not, there’s no way of knowing.

I wonder…Where are you now? Are you perhaps a Knight in some court? A body guard for a princess? Or maybe you’re leading a humble life, a simple fisherman in a village, or a ship builder in some city? Or perhaps, just maybe, a pirate in a far away land? I wonder, and I keep wondering, on and on like a bride left at her own alter, thinking of the possibilities that may have happened had her groom stayed. Forgive me, you red haired phantom that haunts my memories, and forgive me as well oh dear confidant, for it seems this foolish one continues to be foolish.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some unfinished matters that I need to put to rest, or else I fear this heart will continue to be as shaky and unstable like the ocean during a storm. Or perhaps it will continue to be this way after, I have no way of knowing and the only thing I can do is to keep wondering.

Oh how I keep wondering.

Yours,

Cydni Eloise Aizah

18th Sun, Fifth Astral Moon, 1578

Once more, I find myself back to the pages of this worn journal, my pen gliding endlessly along the page as I write whatever it is that’s on my mind, no matter how foolish or how useless the information, if you would call it information that is. Just the simple musings of one as silly as I, though perhaps in time that’ll change, and the pages of this ragged diary will be filled with stories and tales of grandeur…or not. Ha.

Today I have bid farewell to the ocean city of Limsa, I write to you as I have boarded the airship setting sail across the vast ocean of clouds my destination Ul’dah. In times past, it was called by another name than just the ‘Jewel of the Desert.’ The city of dreams is what it was called, though I may be mistaking it for another city…my thoughts haven’t been the most concrete as of late. I suppose that’s okay, it’s not as if you will sprout a mouth and begin chastising me anytime soon. What will I find here I wonder? It’s been many seasons since I’ve returned to this city, I wonder, has the inn that I used to call home been torn down? Or is it still standing attended by that old man who raised me? I highly doubt it, as he’s been long gone for many seasons now…and yet in my memories, he’s still alive and well, taking care of that foolish girl who tried her best to be a boy so as to not be bullied by the many street children in that slum she called home. Perhaps I will find whatever it is I’m searching for in this city, or maybe I won’t, either way it matters little as I have no clue what it is I want. A friend? A lover? Somewhere to call home? These questions battle endlessly in my mind as they strive to find a simple answer, but are unable to. I admit; I’ve always been this way, alongside my indecisive personality, both have plagued me worse than the cursed Ixali in the woodlands of the shroud. Still, this is a part of me and invariably will be the most decisive thing that makes this foolish girl as foolish as she is.

Enough with this talk. I do not mean to ramble in you, my only confidant, so instead I’ll share with you a tale from seasons past, a tale that I had forgotten until now. Is it a coincidence? I wonder…

As the airship approaches Ul’dah I’m reminded of the nostalgic sights of the desert down below, the harsh humid wind that blows, strangely calming to the shaky heart that beats within my chest. Indeed, this land is like a mother to me, inviting me in and feeding my senses with the sentimental aromas and sights that I’ve been away from for so long, as any mother would feed her hungry child.

It seems I’ve rambled on once more, apologies oh dear confidant. Curse these muses for what they do, guiding my hand only to fill your pages with nothing but the ramblings of an indecisive foolish girl. I apologize profusely.

As for the tale I promised you, I have to apologize for a third time as it’s not your average tale, but rather a chain of memories that were once so dear to me, so dear, yet I had forgotten about them until now. What does this say of me, oh confidant? No matter, for I am as forgetful as the last aldgoat trailing behind its flock, going astray many times along the path they travel together. Yet unlike this aldgoat, I have no shepherd to guide me back after I had lost my way. This shepherd is what the tale is about, about a boy as foolish as I, who filled the head of a silly girl with tales and stories of what he would do, a boy who promised her the world and never held to that promise. Is it heartbreak you may ask? None of it, for as the seasons passed I came to an understanding that it was nothing but the musings of a child who had found his first love, and of a scatterbrained girl who desperately wanted a prince to cling to, a fairytale beginning to her dull life.

Even after many seasons have passed, and these memories returning, I’m reminded of the familiar feelings I used to hold, the shudder that would run down my back as I trailed behind him, my eyes fixated on the back of his head…his red hair. This boy…what is he to me? I wonder.

I have to apologize for the fourth time oh dear confidant, as I believe I’m out of time to recant this tale. The airship is about to land, and I need to gather my belongings, no matter how few. Perhaps I can bother you more this evening, as the day is still young, and the night even more so.

Yours,

Cydni Eloise Aizah

17th Sun, Fifth Astral Moon, 1578

I used to scoff at the idea of keeping a personal journal filled with my own thoughts, ambitions, and whatever else embarrassing things that I keep locked away in my head…but lately I think I may have gotten a change of heart, or I’m just bored to tears, and this is the only way to keep my sanity. Either way, for the next who knows how long, I’ll be recording my days in this beat-up journal. Speaking of which, where did I even get this? Some of the pages are missing numbers; the spine is in tatters, and I swear on Nophica’s tits it smells like a wet Miqo’te…Yeesh, not even a moment into this, and already I’ve done off topic; this doesn’t bode well now does it? Anyway…for today I think this’ll do it; I don’t have anything else to mention as it was a very uneventful day the majority of it spent in my inn room in Limsa staring at the hustle and bustle of the marketplace below from my window.

I really am foolish.

After finishing writing in you, I decided it was best to grab a drink seeing as how the day was already drawing to a close, I bumped into a one-night stand I had, had a few weeks prior…Foolishly I decided to head with her to Costa thinking there was something between us…but a one-night stand is just that, no emotions to be had before, nor after, a spur of the moment that you regret in the morning. Yet why did I assume there was something between us? Am I that desperate for someone to cling to? To be myself around? How foolish…and yet the pain in my chest won’t go away, this feeling of loneliness only growing each passing moment. Have I always been this way? Perhaps, or is this part of growing as well?

The indescribable feelings of the emotions you possess that arise out of seemingly nothing, the loneliness you feel spending the night alone, the farewells you never had the chance to say. I hate this. I really hate this.

Indeed, I really am no stranger to these emotions, nor in rejection, but even if your skin is covered in scars from battle it does not mean the next sword that slices you will not penetrate, on the contrary, it’ll only re-open those wounds and add to them.

I really should have stayed in my room.

Yours,

Cydni Eloise Aizah