There is so much that happened so I am not sure where to start. I suppose I will give brief overview and then expand on it in comments. Also, I would prefer that in comment you state if you are a lawyer practicing in Ontario, Canada or just a user visiting the sub.
My former therapist has been emotionally abusive & unethical. Initially when I brought up my concerns she was receptive and appreciated me. But she only made temporary changes then continued with prior behaviours. I brought up my concerns again and she gaslit me and said that I have a fav person which is why I am being critical of her and expecting too much from her (She never brought this up before, she used this as her defense and didn't address my concerns). I didn't get what she meant. I went home and searched up and it meant BPD. I sent her email saying i will accept her diagnosis and would like to work on it with her. I was distressed about the diagnosis but didnt share it with her because weeks prior to that she said I should get tested for ADHD and when I expressed my shock, she made judgemental comment on my reaction to hearing that instead of holding space for me to feel what I was feeling and reassure me. Anyway, I spoke with crisis responder about this fav person label and told her things and the crisis responder told me that those are normal expectations and normal reactions to such circumstances (I am avoiding detail to maintain anonimity). Then I sent my therapist email to end sessions because I don't appreciate being gaslit like that it was a emotionally charged angry disappointed email. I usually don't do that. My usual approach to bringing up my concerns is "I statements" but here it was emotionally charged because of her behaviour with me.
Now my questions are as follows: ● in my grievance letter do I mention how she gave me false BPD label to avoid taking accountability of her actions or not (Also in Canada therapists are not allowed to give diagnosis. And well she didnt say BPD directly she said fav person)?
● Also, she doesn't know a lot about my past because everytime I shared something with her she was judgmental and I end up shutting down topics on her. But she did note in my clinical record "history of abandonment". But she did not say BPD. But did include my emails including the email where I mentioned angrily why I am ending it with her. But she lied about the reason in her notes of the clinical record stating that I had unreasonable expectations and was uncooperative and that she terminated me (lies and I can prove it with my journal and emails).
● I also want to mention in my grievance letter why that label doesn't fit me. Or do you think mentioning this bit would make them less likely to take my grievance letter seriously. I did include proof of her behavioir from my journal I brought to therapy.
● Also, do I mention how this therapeutic relationship affected me? Like causing problems in my family or will that feed as evidence to being BPD? Because my family accused me for somethings and I tried to explain them that I am dealing with some things which is why I am unable to do these other things and they emotionally neglected me and I sat hard boundaries with my family after this. I wanted to include this as impact of how this all affected me. I included a lot of details from this incident even dialogues to show that I don't jump to conclusions quickly I give people the chance but when they were emotionally neglectful then I sat hard boundaries with my family.
I literally have no ones emotional support for this process so it has been really tough and has taken me months to write it due to long breaks.
I don't do risky things, I usually don't react, I was literally emotionless until a breakup and thats how I started therapy. But I do have history of abandonment. It is mentioned in the journal too that I included as proof to therapist's wrong doings.

Hi! So I'm a rising senior in co 2025 and will be applying in the fall to start in fall 2025 and I'm not sure what do to about my rec letters and asking for a second opinion. I think I will be a competitive applicant (founded clubs, competitor international, varsity athlete, published research)???, I will probably study Physics 08 with a minor in Management.
ANYYYYWAYS, I for sure have my APUSH teacher, who was also my trivia team coach, writing a rec letter,,,, and I have my AP Physics I teacher, who like loves me and I'm TAing for them next year.
BUT!! supplemental recommendation. I have three options: not to submit one, my robotics coach, or my track coach.
My robotics coach has like watched me grow from like the beginning... like 5th grade, she's the sweetest and a massive feminist so she loves talking about all the women in stem stuff I do. I swear she's like my biggest fan and advocate. But shes a lawyer and has a very strong writing style. LIKE very very strong writing style, like she'll say I'm perfect and beautiful and like.... is that what MIT is looking for??? Also my whole personal statement is all about robotics anyways. So is it too much robotics????
ON THE OTHER HAND, my track coach... I've been on Varsity Track, winter and spring, every single season like I was a freshman on Varsity with like a tryout group of 70, like so like 6 seasons now. I asked my coach if I would be captain next year and he told me that I am TOOOOO busy with academics and other clubs but he would be more than happy to write a letter of rec. I have a pretty great relationship with him and like I've known him my whole highschool career... he thinks strongly of me and like for like a sense of how close we are, we've both seen each other cry... he knows I am a super strong academic student and is proud of me for it.
WHAT SHOULD I DO?????????

Soul, they must be enlightened
Line, hyphen, negative
Take away this type'a crime writing(Righting)
Is this a testament(Prophet)?
I done sat(SAT) in class for too long doing
SATs(Non Profit)
I'm like bless, they sneeze
Cause I'm at you(Atchu) to be clean
next(Kleenex)
Man this book got our kind dumb(Condom) like
clean sex
Jimmy Neutron, but what about the soul?
Soul tell 'em, no hella, shit is golden dog, Old
Yeller
Cold fella, I'm thinkin' King James was a
snowman
Slave ship Peddled(Pedal) and fucked, we
seen romance(Rome)
Man, they do our minds wrong, sin a mental
They GMO'd everything, cinnamon too
Descend a min too, it's in a men to be sinful
We lackin' information, I guess this is what I'm
in for(Info)
Mentos, fresh air, men told us we totaled(Toto)
Who's the Wizard of Oz dog? God, I need a
photo
Boss how(Howl), Rothschild, LeCoff(Albert
LeCoff) proud
They could rock(Carock Wizard, Korock
Forest) any shirt in the world, it's y'all style
Like we done did somethin' lazy
Sheep led to the deep web, them kids(Baby
Goat) fuckin' crazy
Dominos(Petting Farm) at my fence, it's the
pizzagate
You can keep the cake, y'all kids rap easy
Spell cursive, lane(Blair witch)
which(Language) craft(Witchcraft) to use?
Half you dudes after school candy
offering(Drugs)
I may be off topic, shit is gothic
Say to make Holy Water just pray over regular
water
Why the fuck did we take all them water
bottles to Flint?
We was lead(Led) to do the plan
We don't understand why mo(Big Mo) died
We was drinkin magic carpets(Lean)
We was happy with the fluoride
Stollen stories, robbery on this floor
It's a Mary in the Hebrew people
Y'all can see the script's tore(scripture)
Prophecy, this is all for a profit see the block
gettin' spammed
I'm tellin' you one thing, you should rock with
the man
I see stones, who boulder than I?
Told 'em(Totem) it's chai or teas(Ch’ortis’) in
us
With more(Moor, Moore) lies that tire(Moore
tires) people
The higher people makin' all the jobs to hire
people to keep 'em sleep
Follow your dreams, member? Your dream
house
Your dream life, your dream car, your dream
spouse
System Of A Down, wake up!
You ain't never read Jacob, but you went and
bought a Jacob
Speakin' of "J", that's a new letter
Who let it inside the alphabet?
Who led us(Letters) to the alphabet?
All these alphas done bit our Letters(Lettuce)
Swallowed all our vegetables, next to you like
it's cool
America stollen, theft(Death) is a crime, these
type a rules
Girl texting her new boyfriend, these type a
dudes
College grad and now you in debt, these type a
schools
School blockin' your B12, all day in the class
And on top of that you don't eat well(Whale)
Am I free will he(Free Willy, Willy Falcon)
understand?
The pitch is a bitch, we get the underhand
My dad wife fallin', it's all due to the
motherland
Some other God smotherin' us, this Hell is it?
Chem trail visit, line(Lying) up the sky
God is real then the sky a chill
It got us ill like something nasty
Ew like my cousin asscheeks
Will like when cousin Ashley
We don't actually see why we athletes
Players trollin' the world, they do all this for a
trophy
Oh, English done fucked us
Then to top it off we drinkin' that Olde English
like it's nothin'
Stuck in a maze, fuck it's amazin'
Fuckers who pray get stuck in Amazing Grace
song
Macy Gray in a grey thong, this shit don't make
no sense(Scents)
How can we smell truth? Alchemy on the
balcony with ACL tears
Church, who the Hell cares? What about
healthcare?
No, what about welfare? What about
werewolfs?
How could it be a full moon when the Earth is
flat?

This is my first post and I am grateful to find this community. After being a Private Wealth client with Chase 3 decades I have never had this happen, when I see articles in Daily Hoodie all the time about Chase divorcing clients without warning. I run 2 businesses and all of my tenants deposit into Chase, vendors and contractors on autopay through my business account. My portfolio in 3 states and never any problems with wires or zelle as Chase gets about 5-10k a month on 3 credit cards. During COVID fraudulent brokers,agents, sellers took over $130k in deposits to purchase properties in South Florida. I moved to Miami Beach the scam capitol of the world, and had to retain lawyers to fight in court for escrow release. After Covid, when courts opened up Lawyers would charge retainer, file NOA (court notice your lawyer is to be contacted), wait a few months stating drafting motions, then when hearing set withdraw saying retainer used up on calls or research. This is a common scam that the Florida bar has a Client Protection fund (only granted after you prove damage and file bar complaint). Which I am still in this process from 4 years ago. Chase first dispute was John Ohara $7k took 8 months paperwork between CFPB, Florida Bar and Chase then the $7k was credited. Next lawyer Neyza Guzman $5k did the same scheme, kept saying working on it, then withdrew. When dispute process happened, she sent an invoice and said she did work. So Chase told me a third party letter from a lawyer, which I provided, then credited. The next attorney Matthew Karim,$5k I had him write dates in the retainer and put the case #s and ofcourse he stated all filed by Thanksgiving 2023. This was the deadline to put 5 cases back on before January or escrows released to the sellers. So this criminal,lawyer (who botched divorces and his partner Alex A.K.Esquire was left with 82k debt) Matthew sends in typed up motions (never filed or shown to me),to Chase to keep the 5k. This January the amount was still on my card. Now all my cases destroyed, escrows released. Chase had reversed Neyzas charge so 15K on hold out of 75k credit.Chase also has 150 line open for flips (830 fico) so the shutdown happened after the 15k put back. I called CFPB and they were told Chase resolved it and I was credited. So on 4/25/24 my fourth CFPB complaint I was advised to seek a Consumer Lawyer. I had just hired Reginald Mathius to file appeals, also pursue malpractice for 10k in January. He had all of the exhibits, was out of town every week, and ofcourse withdrew (I guess he knew Chase reversed the others). However, I did extensive research and found out he was sanctioned (works with a suspended lawyer Bruce Jacobs). So I reported scam to AG Ashley Moody (did nothing), OCC, and CFPB Obudsman that 25k on my card when Chase knows its fraud. This call was on 5/5 or 5/6.. On 5/7 my broker called me, my autopayment for umbrella policy (home, cars, life insurance),rejected. So I went online all 3 credit lines closed!! Even my Wholefoods card linked to food deliveries for my homebound mom, and utilities! I never even had a dispute on that card! My Chase United card use for business trips, so what upset me the most is that Chase makes over 120k a year off me and to cut me off because of Fraudulent lawyers is hurts! I feel like a rape victim. I wrote Executive management begging to open accounts back because of autopay with 50+,accounts, my tenants have autodeposit setup, and the most locations. I had Wells Fargo before made wire mistakes, charged too many fees, and I have Capital one + TD bank business accounts as backup. I emailed the in-house counsel Stacey Friedman, who never responded 5/7 asking why cant the charges stay in dispute with the promise I would not use any of Chase cards for retainers. That Friday Corporate called me and said accounts would not be opened because I violated "bank policy". So that weekend researched bank policy (as I worked at Citibank 26 years in Management) I was never offered an appeal process or alternative to shutting down my credit (which drops my score 30 points!! Im at 800 now 😥) this affects my other lines. Im pending CapitalOne Spark which has 150k limit and higher rates. So I went into my Branch and told Vincrnzo Zurlo (Surfside) what happened. He sent in an email to ask for new account numbers and to reopen my account 5/13. I received a thick package last week stating last charge 10k under review, 15k was credited and that I could reapply?? Whaaat?? This is insane. I understand algorithms with 4 back to back disputes, yes a red flag, however the Legal team doesn't value my business, so I still kept business account open - only not to inconvenience tenants and transfer to TD bank where I had to manual setup autopay to vendors took 2 days. I use my Capital One cards. So here is my questions; what business credit cards you have that have high limits & low rates? Have you been shutdown because of too many disputes? If so, did you retain a lawyer or how did you resolve it? Thank you all for allowing me to vent, I am traumatized from all this litigation. I never had these problems when I was in New York.

English is not my main language, and in school no one ever told us how to correctly write in cursive, so the teachers were always fine with my weird mix of cursive and print letters. But recently I stumbled upon an image of english alphabet in cursive and questioned how anyone was ok with my writing. And after some googling I found that some letters have many ways to write them, so I am lost now. Is there any correct way to write in cursive, or the most popular one?

Hi all!
Thank you for your wonderful feedback, it's already helping a lot and I believe (and hope) that I am in the right direction. Soo, here comes my third attempt at what I consider to be something that resembles a quarry letter (I am still trying to figure out how to write a good hook and my comps but I will get there at some point).
Dear [Agent],
As Eon stares into the river, he confronts an undeniable truth: he no longer recognizes the man looking back at him.
Unarmed and without memories, Eon must traverse the treacherous forest he finds himself in, or face a painful death by the beasts that lurk in its depths. Struggling to find a way out, he discovers a group of merchants led by the wizard Rius. Driven by his curiosity and hunger for knowledge, Eon decides to cooperate with him in his magical research in exchange for safe passage through the forest. When they discover that Eon is both capable of wielding magic and highly resistant to its effects, he starts to wonder who his former self really was.
In an effort to further both their goals, Eon agrees to meet Rius’ employer, the leader of a cult that reveres and studies the secrets of the afterlife. The cult offers Eon the services of their oracle in return for his assistance in their studies, but things get out of hand when instead of his past, he witnesses a bleak future; a future in which he dies without recovering his memories as the world is brought to ruin.
With time running out, Eon must decide if he can still rely on Rius’ support as he struggles to reclaim his past self and understand the reason behind the world’s future destruction, all while dealing with a cult that demands its end of the bargain and aims to reach the afterlife before the prophecy is fulfilled.
Lord of the rings meets Piranesi in an epic and mysterious world that comes to life through Eon’s curious eyes in THE FORGOTTEN PURPOSE, a fantasy novel of 110.000 words. With the character-driven plot aspect of A God in Chains by Matthew Hughes and the rich world-building of The Shadow of the Gods by John Gwynne, the novel is an adult epic fantasy journey through a world full of strife and magic. I am querying you because [personalized sentence].
I have a degree in History and Social Anthropology and can be found writing every day, be it about fantasy, the past or the present. My novel draws inspiration from modern world issues while looking critically at the past. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely,

To quote Jeffrey R Holland:

As one of a thousand elements of my own testimony of the divinity of the Book of Mormon, I submit this as yet one more evidence of its truthfulness. In this their greatest—and last—hour of need, I ask you: would these men blaspheme before God by continuing to fix their lives, their honor, and their own search for eternal salvation on a book (and by implication a church and a ministry) they had fictitiously created out of whole cloth?
Never mind that their wives are about to be widows and their children fatherless. Never mind that their little band of followers will yet be “houseless, friendless and homeless” and that their children will leave footprints of blood across frozen rivers and an untamed prairie floor.⁹ Never mind that legions will die and other legions live declaring in the four quarters of this earth that they know the Book of Mormon and the Church which espouses it to be true. Disregard all of that, and tell me whether in this hour of death these two men would enter the presence of their Eternal Judge quoting from and finding solace in a book which, if not the very word of God, would brand them as imposters and charlatans until the end of time? They would not do that! They were willing to die rather than deny the divine origin and the eternal truthfulness of the Book of Mormon.
For 179 years this book has been examined and attacked, denied and deconstructed, targeted and torn apart like perhaps no other book in modern religious history—perhaps like no other book in any religious history. And still it stands. Failed theories about its origins have been born and parroted and have died—from Ethan Smith to Solomon Spaulding to deranged paranoid to cunning genius. None of these frankly pathetic answers for this book has ever withstood examination because there is no other answer than the one Joseph gave as its young unlearned translator. In this I stand with my own great-grandfather, who said simply enough, “No wicked man could write such a book as this; and no good man would write it, unless it were true and he were commanded of God to do so.”¹⁰

I also want to say something similar myself:
Never mind the overwhelming evidence stacked against the Book of Mormon, why do people still cling to its supposed divinity? Never mind the compelling arguments laid out in the CES Letter, the glaring inconsistencies, and the pathetic apologetic mental gymnastics of the Church's defenders? Never mind the countless tales of Joseph Smith's dubious past, from his treasure-digging escapades to his mistranslation of the Book of Abraham? Never mind turning a blind eye to the anachronisms littered throughout its pages and the emotional toll it takes on its followers?
Families shattered, lives ruined, and yet the faithful persist. Never mind the promise of eternal salvation that blinds them to reality. Never mind the fear of admitting they've been deceived. Or perhaps it's the comfort of a familiar belief, no matter how flawed.
Never mind the lack of archaeological evidence, the absence of historical corroboration, and the mounting scandals within the Church, believers still hold fast to their convictions. Never mind the rational call for evidence and historical support, they cling instead to a single, elusive feeling as proof of the book's truth, disregarding reason and logic in favor of faith.
I would not believe in this sh**! I would be willing to die rather than accepting the divine origin and the eternal truthfulness of the Book of Mormon.
Why one earth do people still believe in this despiting the mountains of evidence against the Church truth claims?

Ok so, I am in the eigth grade and our school does a mini eighth grade “graduation ceremony” for our transition into highschool. Part of this event is three people from eighth grade giving a speech to the student body and parents. I decided to submit my speech and I believe that I did impeccable in my audition, I was able to look up and give eye contact, was able to be breviloquent when reading, and my voice projected enough even without the mic.
After delivering the speech to my homeroom class and the judges I sat down and listened to the next speech. The next speech was by a girl who was infact, dyslexic. She was unable to look up at the crowd and even had to be REMINDED to pause during periods. It was to my utter repulsion and envy that the dyslexic girl was chosen to deliver the speech.
I just was at a complete loss I what I could’ve possibly did wrong, I had more achievements such as volunteering at a nursing home, being head of student council, being in the gifted program, having the highest MAP testing score, and being chosen to write letters thanking a foundation for donating to my school. Besides I am far better at reading and writing than anybody in our school, even my homeroom teacher said that I am to the entire class!
So I was rather upset by being beaten by someone with a disability and turned to my friend to tell her I believed that this girl was chosen “Out of pity because shes disabled” and one of the teachers ended up pulling me aside to tell me how rude and disrespectful it was that I said that, and said they needed to “give equal opportunities to all of my peers” Even though some of my peers are mentally… lackluster. I just don’t understand why they couldn’t include someone who can read properly, I mean I know way more about literature than she does! She couldn’t name a classic that wasn’t taught in school, like when I attempted to speak to her about the novel Catch-22.
Overall, I know it was probably mean, and i’ve prayed and wished and hoped on her downfall, but I really don’t care that its wrong because I was still sitting in the audience. It just felt humiliating that most people didn’t know how intelligent I am, and how well I can write! Plus, they said they needed a “good role model” and someone to “represent our school”, which the winners were ofcourse not.

I recently turned 50 and thought I would share with the community some of the habits that have helped me to live a simpler life. At the very least I’m writing this down for my own benefit. I by no means have it all worked out but I do feel I have made some progress on my journey, as well as having made many big mistakes and experienced setbacks along the way. I fully appreciate that many things are easier said than done and that there is no one size fits all solution. This is a bit of a long waffle but there is no short way to say it.
Money matters
Get out of all debt as soon as possible, even if as soon as possible is realistically a decade or longer. This is the number one thing that you can do to simplify your life in every day terms. Beat down loans and credit cards balances with furious vengeance. I spent 19 years in service of mortgages and only recently paid off my modest forever home. The difference that it makes to one’s peace of mind is astounding. I feel such as sense of peace and freedom knowing that I don’t really have to care about money that much anymore. I am by no means wealthy but I am now financially comfortable.
How you manage money on a daily basis is a core habit that will hugely inform your general financial outlook. Many small outgoings can add up to a huge outgoing over time. I appreciate that this advice is not helpful if you’re financially struggling but I would hope that most people are able to pull themselves together financially over the long term.
Obviously, try to save money for the unknown that is the future. It’s boring, takes a long time but again it gives one a huge sense of security and peace. Equally, don’t be so focused on living frugally that you forego what you consider to be the good, important things in life.
True needs & fleeting wants
Make a budget that allows you to live reasonably well, but still somewhat below your means and get to know your true, essential needs from your fleeting wants. Yes, it’s exciting to buy nice clothes or fancy gadgets but due to hedonic adaptation the thrill soon subsides and the question “what next?” will always arise until one is able to make some fundamental change in attitude and behaviour in relation to materialism.
What is a need and what is a want is going to be hugely different depending upon your personal circumstances. For me, those fancy mohair socks are a true need and I’m happy to spend the money on them even if other will raise their eyebrows. On the other hand I own very few clothes compared to most people and what I do buy tends to be good quality.
Looking at my weaknesses, I have always loved books and their pull is incredibly strong, but after much reflection I have learned to mostly say no to endless new books. I learned to say no by deeply reflecting upon my true values. It is hard work, a road that goes through a not insignificant amount of mild suffering but ends with peaceful acceptance and understanding of what “enough” truly is.
Cultivate a meaningful daily routine
One’s daily routine is a keystone habit that sets the general tone of life. What you do every day is actually your real life even if appears to be entirely banal. Your real life is not the big tickets trips or special events. Cultivate your mind and your body to the best of your ability, as if they were precious plants. They will thank you later. This does not mean running ultramarathons or going on 3 month solo retreats.
I try to implement simple, easy to follow routines such as going to bed and getting up at the same time every day. I go for a walk in all but the very worst weather. I listen to a mindfulness talks and reflect upon how I can further cultivate my behaviour and ways of thinking and acting. Again, the point is that the little, somewhat boring habits add up to very big changes over time.
Believe in something bigger than yourself
I would describe myself as agnostic or atheist yet I have found it hugely beneficial to cultivate a sense of awe and wonder in my relationship with the natural world. For me, the world is trees, grass, wildlife, the sky, and the rivers and oceans, not shopping malls or luxury resorts. I try to find beauty in the mundane and contemplate its meaning in relation to what it means to be a human being. It's hard to explain. I have also found a great sense of wellbeing in trying to practice ethical mindfulness and meditating. I am by no means as Buddhist but practising the eightfold path has been so helpful to me. Anyway, find something that’s a big deal and engage whole heartedly with it.
Learn how to use the internet & live mostly offline
The internet is a great curse and immense blessing in equal measure. Do not make the internet the centre of your world and put all of your eggs in one basket by irrevocably tethering all of your life essentials to it e.g. have multiple ways to pay for things, not just your phone. It's tricky because there is a lot stuff that's simply more convenient and corporations are pushing us to things that make them money at our expense. I appreciate that there is strong social pressure on younger people in relation to online habits and social interactions.
Learn how to use the internet in ways that serves your essential needs and which improves your life in significant ways. There is a lot of good stuff out there. Learn what does not serve you and firmly say no to it. Recognise that it is hard to do so and that it takes time to unplug and unlearn bad habits. Judging where to draw the line is an exercise in trying and failing until you are successful.
Big corporations are not our friend, they don't want to make use feel better or improve society. Well, they might in some abstract sense but mostly the attention economy thrives on endless pairs of eyes doom scrolling in order to make money.
One can mostly opt out of all of this. It is an incredible struggle but it can be done if you can manage to connect with your true needs and realise that much of the good stuff in life happens offline. Leave your phone at home when you go out. Most of the time nothing bad will happen. You do not need to plug yourself into headphone, screens or document everything 24/7. It is ok to see something cool and not take a photo of it, and it's ok not to share things.
Read / listen to books
There is nothing like reading or listening to a good book to enhance one's emotional life, sense of empathy and perspective of the world. Fiction is surprisingly much more useful than non-fiction or self-helps books in this respect. I have learned so much from reading good literary fiction over the years and I am immensely grateful to the artists who have opened my eyes to the complexities of the human condition.
Cultivate a few good relationships
I have left the most important thing for last. I’m average to below average looking, significantly introverted and have suffered the effects of a serious congenital birth defect that ravaged my body and which made my early life challenging in many respects. It is something I will never be entirely free from.
Yet, for all that I was still able to find a life partner and a couple of good friends because it’s ones inner qualities that carry the weight of a relationship over the long term. You don’t need to be pretty or handsome to find good people, even if that accidental quality superficially opens many doors. While it’s enough to be oneself, it’s important to put in the work to smooth off a few one's more glaring shortcomings and to amplify one’s natural gifts as good relationships do not endure by chance. Sure, they may start by chance, but won't flourish unless effort is put in.
When I was much younger, very much hampered by my early life troubles, I had contemplated what it would mean to be alone over decades, and while I was in many ways fine with the prospect, it would be lying to the deepest part of myself to say that I would be entirely content to live alone with a cat. I admire the concept of the enlightened sage living along in a cave, or in a cabin in the woods, yet for myself that is only a romantic dream whereas the reality would be a subtle form of torture.
Good, enduring relationships are an important part of life for many people. Like truffles, they are a valuable thing that’s hard to find. At the very least you need one or two good friends and the ability to keep them. Relationships involve real emotional toil, being vulnerable and open, which can be joyous and painful in equal parts. Love your partner, friends, family and children as much as you can every day. I have learned that it is necessary to keep learning, growing, and knowing more about ones emotions, temperament, and both good and bad qualities in order for relationships to flourish. People don’t stay the same after all, which is mostly a good thing.

Next Patreon Ko-fi Discord
PRs: u/anakist & u/BroDogIsMyName
- - - - -
The cave was dark, its luminescent crystals having long since faded, the shattered shards sprinkling onto the stone floors as inert fragments. Once intricate brickwork was now rubble and crumbled debris, their murals and etchings now lost to deterioration. Countless tunnels and subterranean floors had filled in over time, reducing the monument of his efforts to but a solitary room nested within an unremarkable hole in the hillside, far beyond the township he called home. Or so he assumed, anyway. There was no way of knowing where he was, nor if said home even existed anymore, though he was doubtful it did. It had been far too long since he entered this promise-turned-prison, and he had no more heart to ache.
An ashen glow of sunlight penetrated the pitiful, dreary depths he was once prideful of. The luminance fought against the haze of dust and miasma, but never quite brought its warmth inside, teasing him. He’d forgotten what it felt like to stand in that brightness. To experience the gentle breeze and soft rustle of leaves. Admittedly, the touch of nature’s blessing was one he never often experienced, making for those sparse moments of sunkissed relaxation to be amongst the first memories to dissipate. There were things he still recalled, of course—the days before a single well-intentioned decision changed everything.
The days before he knew only regret.
Altier could still picture the modest farmland that his brothers and father worked on, and how he watched from behind the moss-laden shutters of his room, a frail smile worn on his emaciated face. His two siblings were well and hearty; they quickly grew up to be strong men, becoming apprentices under the village’s herbalist and leatherworker respectively. One would always help their father tend to the crops while the other was off gaining the experience required to take over the storefronts of their eventual occupation.
Their father would regularly be seen wiping the sweat off his brow and wearing a proud grin whenever his young men came back to ramble about what they learned, even if the elder man never understood much of it. That hardly mattered to him; knowing his boys were happy was enough for him to listen with rapt attention, and he repeated their words to his spouse, pretending to know why what he talked about was impressive. The matron of the family always winked Altier’s way when his father would start his usual boasting, letting her adorable fool of a partner take pride in their children for wrapping their heads around whatever he couldn’t. She loved him anyway, calling him playful names with a serene and adoring smile. The sound of her laughter at her husband’s antics could warm even the coldest of winters.
She cared for Altier when she wasn’t busy tidying the home his father built with his own two hands, the structure degrading over time, yet cared for all the same. She would heat the iron stove they had saved up for, her enchanting singing softly reaching those who listened. His father purchased it from a promising blacksmith just to spare his poor wife the trouble of maintaining a fireplace; it cost them years of being frugal, but the delight she showed at no longer needing to bear the direct heat when preparing meals made it worth every coin.
Altier still blamed himself for wasting her time with his needs, but his main regret was the toll his birth took on the angel of a woman. Her constitution wasn’t the best even before his addition, and although she was far from crippled by it, the thin woman couldn’t quite hide the struggles it caused. She never explicitly said why she was so weak, but he assumed she didn’t want him to shoulder the blame for something she decided herself. He pretended not to.
Unfortunately, such a frailty was carried on to their youngest son, yet done so in the worst of fashions. Ever since Altier was but a babe, he struggled with even the simplest of tasks, his body brittle and his lungs temperamental. A gaunt, bedridden figure showed his pale flesh clinging to nigh useless musculature, with sunken cheeks and eyes shadowed by omnipresent illness. The doctors that visited their village only did so twice a year, and being seen by them cost a proportional sum. Yet his parents wasted their coin every fall and spring, hopeful that their child would be cured. They told him that it was subsidized by the crown when he asked how they could afford it, assuring him that it wasn’t making his family financially suffer. He kept quiet and smiled, hiding the fact that he could see the effects of their dwindling coffers.
The answer never changed. ‘Mana deficiency,’ the learned man had called it, recommending that the corpse of a boy channel energy from rare stones to ease his ailment. The doctor even offered to procure an appropriately attuned gem himself, which Altier’s parents latched onto, evaporating their meagre savings and relegating the hopes of hiring help for the fields to being but a dream. The first element, Nature, was what most people held some affinity for, and even if his alignment was dismal, a concentrated stone would curb the worst of his symptoms.
The light green gemstone failed to so much as warm within his palms.
His doting mother and strong-willed father were undiscouraged. In fact, they were delighted; they voiced enthusiastic speculation on what affinity their troubled boy might have, seeing as how something considered ‘common’ was unsuitable. Altier was of a different mind, seeing the blinds of optimism veiling the impending downfall of reality. The pair couldn’t fathom anything but excellence from their offspring, and although they never forced unrealistic expectations upon their young, they were ignorant of just how crushing that faith could be.
They never saw how strained his smile became as gem after gem lay inert in his hands, while their excitement only grew, though that too came to an end. Altier’s hopes of recovery vanished when his father was the one to break the news; the doctors had no more stones to give. They had tried them all, and anything more potent was well outside their means. He was promised that the search for a solution would continue, neglecting the fact that they had already borrowed funds from most of the village to afford what they already found.
His father held him in a tight embrace that night, reassuring the stock-still boy. Altier never noticed how his eyes had gone wide at the information. He didn’t even feel the rivulets of tears pouring down his sickly skin. No, he simply remained frozen as he connected the dots as to why his mother wasn’t the one delivering the news.
She wouldn’t be able to hide the fear in her eyes.
Though beleaguered he might be, Altier was not so ignorant as to forget the one gemstone they never tried—the only affinity that had yet to be tested, and never would be.
Decay.
Reviled by the church and woven into the concepts of death and entropy, Decay was what stalked heroes in tales of old. Decay was what bled from graveyards and followed the monstrous attacks that left bustling townships as little more than crumbled ruins. Decay was powered by pain, suffering, and bloodshed, using the gathered energies to bring forth yet more horrid atrocities.
And he was one of the accursed few who manifested an affinity with such a voracious element. It fed off his own vitality, consuming him to fuel its demands. He would never be healthy as long as he stayed quiet and kind; every ounce of growth would be combated by ever-increasing requirements. Eventually, the pittance he supplied might not be enough, and therein lie the fear he remembered in his mother’s visage.
He would be killed by his own affinity…or kill to provide for it.
Unwilling, unintentional death would be stripped from the cloth of others’ survival.
The bedridden young man became further withdrawn after that, turning away visitation to immerse himself in daydreaming. They still loved him, and they were sure to remind him constantly, yet he couldn’t help but notice that even the most assertive interaction never brought them closer than the doorway. He smiled regardless, escaping into books read by candlelight. The stories made his isolation less painful.
Altier lived vicariously through tales of knights combating orcs and goblins, suave merchants persuading harpies and lamia to relinquish their collections, and impeccable heroes who stood atop slain menacing dragons. It was a pastime of his that arose when his father acquired an old storybook from a roaming trader; he would turn the final page, then try to guess where fact ended and fiction reigned supreme. He had heard of the many monsters while eavesdropping from his window, but they all were either settled in distant lands or subdued by the army before they became a problem. A peaceful township like his benefited greatly from being so far from the uninhabited wastes beyond the kingdom’s borders, yet also came with its detriments—the lack of apothecaries was a notable one.
He was surprised when he heard the hushed whispers from beyond his room, the earthen pathways of their village set alight by curious voices. Men, women, and children alike gathered in front of their homes and workplaces to watch as soldiers of the king’s army politely marched through the streets, stopping in front of the humble abode belonging to a family of five.
At first, he feared that the financial toll of his condition had hindered his parents from paying due tax, earning the crown’s ire. But no, they came with a proposition; one of the king’s aides had received a letter from a doctor providing someone with elemental stones, and the news of a decay affinity was apparently quite intriguing to them.
He listened to parents refusing to part with their son, yet he also heard his brothers citing just how miserable their youngest was, begging their father not to imprison a child inside the cage of good intentions. It was hard to place both arguments inside the same frame, but it was clear that everyone still cared for him in spite of his affinity. The talking turned to shouting, then flipped to sharpened silence when the stairs creaked beneath his feet, drawing attention to the thin form of his weakened body. He took advantage of the guilty looks and curious new faces to ask what the offer was.
The crown’s minister of magic wanted to hire him—an absurd thought, but one he confirmed by having them repeat it twice. Decay seemed to be an exceedingly rare affinity, and was sparsely documented outside its occasional mention in yarns tumbling past the lips of horribly scarred and inebriated adventurers. He was wanted for study, and after receiving clarification that the process wouldn’t be harmful, he almost considered it. Why wouldn’t he? As much as his family tried, they were terrified of what he might become or do. He was tired of placing a burden upon them, never being able to help with the farm or clean around the house, and he was disgusted with how much more difficult his parent’s life was just by his existence. Of course, his mother and father had countless gripes they brought to light when they saw his contemplative expression, but the knight at the table placed down the final counterpoint.
A writ of promised compensation and a pouch of coin clinked against the aging furniture. The king himself had signed the document, and although neither of his parents received much education, they were both able to read the amount. As long as Altier continued to work, the crown would pay a portion of his earnings directly to his family. The house could get desperately needed repairs, the fields would see new farmhands, and his mother could hire help. They could have everything Altier had taken from them since his birth…and all he had to do was say yes.
So he did.
He ignored the protests, gathered his things, then hugged his parents and siblings farewell the next morning, promising to send them letters on how he was whenever he could. They were less than thrilled—hearing from him once a season at best wasn’t preferable—but they eventually wished him well when he explained that he hoped to control his affinity. His mother wept upon realizing he was aware of her concern over all those years. He cried when she told him that it pained her to remain so distant. The fear for her own life was something she didn’t feel at all; she just didn’t want him to blame himself if something happened that he couldn’t control.
“I brought you into this world to be loved,” she whispered into his ear as she held him, her voice damp and cracking, yet filled with familial affection. “I knew what it would cost me when I learned I was pregnant again; I just didn’t consider how you could think it was your fault. I would never forgive myself if you suffered because of something I decided. Death is too kind a punishment for what it would do to you.”
It took a while, but he did manage to collect himself enough to walk with his escort to the village’s limits, one of the soldiers helping him stay upright without an order or word of protest. They brought him to a carriage, then set off for the mainland, the view of his home shrinking until it was a mere speck in the distance. He could almost still see his parents’ faces filled with pride and sorrow, awestruck by his selflessness yet torn by his departure. His brothers had kept their facade of confidence and a jovial demeanour, but their concern bled through strained smiles. He fell asleep to the sounds of horses and the crackle of rocks against wooden wheels.
Some time passed without much of note occurring. Altier was examined by kind people of a town that was still rather far from the city, but no one had specifically said he was going there, so he wasn’t sure why he didn’t think to ask. Nevertheless, his affinity was documented using tools he couldn’t identify, and the answers he got for his inquiries passed straight through his ears. He was worried his lack of education would irritate the obviously more well-off researchers, yet the soft-spoken academics didn’t dislike him for his ignorance. They tried explaining things to him in ways he could understand, but switched to more general conversation when he was still struggling to comprehend. It was fine, though; he enjoyed the company.
Despite the long wait for a reply, the first letter he got back from his parents was a reassurance he didn’t know he needed. They had received their first payment since he left, and the pages were scrawled edge to edge with their praises, worries, heard gossip, and a single mention of his brother courting a woman. Altier wrote how glad he was that they were well, told them of all the interesting sights, his disappointment at not being in the capital proper, and how kind everyone was. He chuckled to himself after handing the letter off to be delivered, a last minute thought having him jot down a request for his mother to tease the nascent couple in his stead. He wondered if the next reply would include a relationship or not.
Things took a turn after a year. His eldest brother was still seeing his sweetheart, while the middle sibling had yet to have anyone catch his eye, his sights set on his work with the herbalist. Their mother mentioned how she suspected he was interested in the older woman in charge of providing salves and poultice for the village’s ill, and although she was hoping for him to find someone his own age, she put his happiness over having grandchildren. Their father was just as supportive, putting down his own sloppily written query on how their ‘brave boy’ was doing in romantic endeavours.
Altier smiled as he read, updating his family on how he had been moved to a more isolated region since their last correspondence, and thus wasn’t really able to meet anyone he could see himself with. He insisted he was fine, scattering well-wishes and the like while he avoided speaking of events he had promised not to mention. The response came off as somewhat stiff, but he was sure they would understand. All that really mattered was that they were happy and healthy.
His profession as a research subject came to an end, in a way. After collecting what information they could, there was a period where no one bothered to visit the Decay-afflicted young man. He dwelled within his humble accommodations in the middle of a forest, but he didn’t press when the people assigned to deliver food refused to answer where he was. It was fine; he had new books brought to him regularly, and knowing that his family was being taken care of by his ‘work’ was enough to dissuade him from complaining. He stayed quiet even as he got sicker and sicker, some nights spent shivering next to the fireplace with the most recent letter being held by trembling hands. The look of contentment on his face was genuine despite the insufferable pain.
Someone did eventually visit his little hovel in the woods. A man who introduced himself as a ‘Technician’ entered, accepted some simple tea, and made polite conversation for a while. It was a pleasant experience for someone who had grown used to solitude. Once they had both finished their drink, the Technician called for an aide to bring in an unexpectedly opulent box. The gold trim parted to reveal a strange orb—a ‘core’ the man called it, though he was reticent on what it was or did. All Altier was told was to spend the night’s rest with it in his hands, and by the morning, he would no longer suffer from his affinity.
“There is still much for us to learn, Altier,” the Technician promised, putting the younger man’s worries to rest. “Tomorrow, you will be stronger than ever. I would wager your parents will be ecstatic once you tell them.”
“W-what are we studying next?” Altier stuttered out, feeling the weight of the strange stone as it was laid into his unsure grasp. It was no larger than an apple, yet the smooth obsidian sphere somehow dragged him downward by the heart, the flawless surface captivating his attention in a way he both liked and despised. Light bent as he inspected the object, almost avoiding its very presence. He settled it on his lap after a moment, conflicted about how he would be healed by something the very world seemed to reject.
“We,” the newcomer started, flourishing an arm towards Altier, “are going to prepare. With your help, we can create the heroes from those stories you so love.”
It was a bitter memory in retrospect, yet the sickly boy at that table was entranced by what was promised to him. His soul would be captured by the orb, and he would be given the ability to make a Dungeon—the very same he read about hundreds of times. His body would be taken care of, suspended until he returned to it, which he was assured would be whenever he wanted.
That assurance came with a stipulation, however. Were he to decide that he was done, he would lose his new abilities, return to his old form, and be sent on his way, fully healed. But—and there was always a ‘but’—his parents would no longer receive compensation. The king had been withholding from implementing a tax increase in his village, and once the reason for it was no longer employed, then the other ministers would place immeasurable pressure until he capitulated. Altier’s whole world before leaving would fall under the demands. The Technician wore a sombre, sympathetic gaze as he expressed how difficult things would be for the boy’s parents.
Stupid, gullible Altier agreed, thanking the stranger for the opportunity. He went to bed with hope in his heart and wonder on his tongue.
[Initializing…]
[User identified: Altier
Affinity: Decay
Status: Deteriorating (Insufficient mana supply)
Inherent Ability: Avatar of Decay]
[Error: Insufficient Mana. System will acquire the excess from suitable sources as dictated by the User.
Error: User is unable to designate a suitable source.
Searching based on default requirements…Source found.
Converting source to Mana…Success.
Synchronizing…Success.
Updating libraries…Success.
Implementing framework…Success.
Establishing Domain…Failure. Insufficient Mana. Insufficient Authority.
Modifying criteria…Success.
Establishing Domain…Success.]
[Dungeon established! Generating assignment…Success.]
[Priority assignment: Prevent the End—324:450:3247:345:34:12]
[Priority assignment: Prevent the End—324:450:3247:345:34:11]
[Priority assignment: Prevent the End—324:450:3247:345:34:10]
- - - - -
When he awoke, it wasn’t to the small room where books threatened to take over every available surface, but to a claustrophobic darkness that crushed him as much as left him weightless. He had been warned that the experience would be disorienting, so he clenched the jaw he learned was no longer there, took a breath that could no longer be taken, and waited like he was supposed to.
Thankfully, the Technician was a man of his word, and he came back shortly after Altier had managed to figure out the basics of…well, of whatever he was turned into. He found a way to ‘see’ the world around him, though ignoring the sense of vertigo that came with having sight of everything at once was difficult. There was text that he could summon or dismiss at will, but it only really displayed a countdown he wasn’t familiar with. Truth be told, he wasn’t quite sure what to think of things back then, but he remembered feeling relieved when the Technician brought droves of researchers.
The first thing he noticed with his new senses was that he was underground. The second was that he didn’t know how to talk without a mouth. Apparently, his new company had a list of expected inquiries, and they set out to answer as many questions as he might have.
Someone explained that they had already moved his body to a secure area, and in order to make use of his nascent abilities, his new form was taken to a suitable location. It made sense to him; if he was supposed to be a place where soldiers trained to fight monsters and get stronger, then they needed it somewhere hidden away from people who might accidentally wander in. Guards were apparently placed outside the entrance, but when he tried to separate his focus from the polished black orb, his sight grew dim and indistinct. They mentioned that sort of thing was expected, and once they placed him on a pedestal, he would be able to ‘feel’ his Domain more clearly.
He learned over time what a Domain was and how to use it, guided by the researchers and the occasional soldier or knight who stopped by to see how Altier was performing. He summoned his first creature using his stockpile of mana, though the spider wasn’t very threatening. Apparently, the pool of his new resource incremented passively based on how large he was, and would strengthen his abilities, but it also required an upkeep to maintain. He could get more by analyzing new materials, objects, or whatever else he hadn’t seen before, and he gained a larger amount by absorbing something—after inspecting it, ideally. Beginning as a single room, neither the upkeep nor income was particularly exciting, but the researchers also had a solution to that: Invaders.
‘Invader’ was a term that referred to any creature that entered his Domain, and although he gained mana during their occupation, they were also a threat to the core. His imminent concern for his safety was abated by the Technician quickly assuring him that, in the unlikely event that the core was destroyed, he would be transferred back to his body without any ill effects, but it would also bring an end to the agreement that prevented his family from being crushed by financial demands. He quietly reiterated the point until it stuck, then waited through the explanation until he had most of his questions answered.
Sadly, the Altier back then didn’t know what questions to ask.
Once he worked out how to summon and manage the most basic of creatures, his guides urged him to build and expand, which took some getting used to. A single room became a hub of connections, and despite the advice given, he metaphorically banged his head against the wall that was trying to close off his core. It just didn’t work; any walls would refuse to be built, containers would topple before they fell over him, and everything else he tried ended just as unspectacularly. Something would always be able to reach him if they had the desire to.
Eventually, he was put through mock ‘invasions’ where fresh trainees fought his creatures, reached the core, then stopped to place a hand on it before leaving, taking some of his mana as a reward. He didn’t understand how it worked, but he learned that people could ‘absorb’ some experience to fuel their affinity if they touched him. The more experienced he became, the more that invaders received, and the more experience he got from defending his core from increasingly powerful invaders. It was a cycle he could comprehend, and it put to rest the lingering fear that someone would try to break his core.
There was also something of an exchange going on; coloured motes were left behind on the core’s surface, then slowly absorbed. Each time it happened, he gained a little more insight on how to integrate new things into his dungeon—first a small pool of water, then a fire, then other things that seemed fairly removed from the concept of ‘Decay.’ As soon as a researcher noticed what was going on, the Technician encouraged Altier to specialize in a particular element, since that was apparently more efficient. With a few more long-winded explanations, he had figured out how to hide anything that wasn’t related to Decay within his ‘menu,’ and focused on making himself as strong as he could.
Mock invasions became a regular occurrence, each one taking place after he had the chance to patch holes in his strategy or adjust rooms. He discovered that expanding downwards was an option, but doing so meant that he needed a ‘Boss’ to precede the stairs. The selection unsettled and excited him. A skeleton was what ended up guarding the way deeper into his Domain, and at the insistence of his guides, he left the new creature…monster…? He left his new creation as it was and set about expanding the second floor. Thankfully, the task went smoother since he knew what to do, and soon enough, he was the proud owner of ten floors. Every boss focused on testing what the knights and soldiers knew about fighting and teamwork, and every floor down grew harder and harder to contest.
Altier’s first ‘victory’ was gained when his ‘invaders’ surrendered on the ninth floor. He had been proud of that; they weren’t expecting him to branch into using animal as well as humanoid skeletons. A well-placed Ox made short work of their forces, but stopped before doing more than bashing them around. The thrill of defending his core was incomparable. He also gained access to some more cosmetic options for his existing structures, including the ability to write on a sign if he so wished—though doing so was prohibitively expensive. He didn’t care; a sign was put near the entrance within seconds, asking if someone would mind letting him know when letters arrived from his parents, and to write his reply to send back.
To his relief, it wasn’t much longer before a letter did arrive. He was delighted to hear that all was well, yet sad when he wasn’t able to attend his brother’s wedding. It was a simple affair, true, but he would have liked to go. He asked the person who was kind enough to read it out for him to pen his response, then got back to improving his Domain. His family was doing well, and if being the best dungeon he could be would ensure their happiness lasted as long as possible, then he would be just that.
Ten floors became twenty. Twenty became forty. He hit one-hundred floors after constant effort, happily using signs to ‘talk’ through short phrases with the nicer groups of ‘invaders’, while he mostly ignored the rest. It was too hard to keep track of everyone after a while, but he was supposed to be a training ground, so he kept up doing what he was supposed to, mentally smiling when someone he was keeping tabs on managed to overcome a challenge they were struggling with. Some got stuck on certain floors, unable to adapt to new creatures, while others had a hard time traversing the increasingly long voyage to his core. He made small recovery rooms for a party that thanked him for the challenge, filling basins with food and water, then instructed his creatures not to bother anyone inside.
Surprisingly, the group accepted his offer of rest with gratitude that seemed excessive. They spoke to the walls, regaling him of their various journeys and the humorous events spread throughout. He enjoyed the time spent focusing on that area, as well as the gifts people sometimes left behind. Each new item was transferred to a room near his core, where he kept a collection of keepsakes ranging from books to tarnished jewellery that had more sentimental value than monetary. Still, it was all priceless to him, displayed proudly next to the letters he received regularly from his family.
His one-hundred floors became two-hundred, and he struggled to find recurring visitors after some time. The soldiers grouped up into parties of five or six, venturing into the dungeon with the goal of increasing the strength of small units. Altier adjusted the difficulty to accommodate, dialing back the force he once used to combat near endless waves of knights. Magic was something that came from the change in tactic, much to his surprise. It was weak, but pretty much everyone who tried the dungeon could light a torch or chill their water. He wasn’t well-learned about what any particular element could do, but he was glad to see that his new participants were indeed getting stronger.
The two-hundred floors became three-hundred, which then became four-hundred. Altier’s creatures would have been terrifying if it wasn’t for the fact that he had yet to kill anyone, the skeletal monstrosities looming through corridors like horrific nightmares made manifest. He was pleased to find that they listened rather dutifully when he said to escort those who surrendered to the entrance, which was most people. In fact, hardly anyone ever made it to his core anymore, despite the jump in power of various magics he often saw. Flamethrowers, earthen spikes, empowered bodies, and many more effects were in play within each party that tried to conquer his trial. A particularly adept group eventually placed their hand on the obsidian sphere, taking suffocating amounts of mana, while also leaving a thick haze of their own. His creatures became far stronger for it, and so he adjusted the difficulty once more, wondering when they would try to best him again. Unfortunately, they never did, but he saw some people who shared a striking resemblance, and the newcomers were easily more magically inclined. It was fun to challenge them.
The cycle repeated, though he wasn’t sure when the Technician stopped visiting. Altier was too busy keeping his end of the deal, improving the crown’s army in exchange for giving his family a life they deserved. He did notice something wrong after the letters started taking a while to come, and although the contents filled him in on the newest events, things started seeming…out of character. The feeling tickled at his mind, but it was fine. They were happy and well.
How foolish he was.
A party entered shortly after he completed his six-hundredth floor, instantly setting off an incomparable feeling of dread. His senses warped when he tried to focus on them, blocking everything in their vicinity from his view. It took a bit for him to figure out why, but they were carrying something that sucked the mana out of the very dungeon itself, and his unbidden instincts screamed that whatever it was needed to be destroyed. He reacted without thought, releasing everything he determined too dangerous for simple training in a bid to drive them out.
It wasn’t enough. He watched the void travel floor after floor, leaving nothing but dismembered skeletal creatures in their wake. Veritable monsters were slain, chimeras he had worked on as a side project became incinerated dust, and the signs he left for the weary were torn off the walls. A voice bellowed through his halls from the darkness he couldn’t see, declaring what was happening.
They were not there to train. In order to defend against a force threatening the kingdom, they needed power, and in order to gain that, they needed his mana. His experience. All of it.
They were there to break the core under the king’s decree.
Altier’s nonexistent heart stopped, memories of how impoverished his family used to be flashing through his mind, and with a near silent refusal, he let the instincts to get rid of the invaders swallow him whole.
By the time he calmed down, it was to a pit of blackness and a dull pull in his ephemeral chest stopping him from being able to do anything. He could still ‘hear’ though, and he heard the choking breaths of a single man in his core’s room. He heard the bitter laughter that followed accusations of dooming the very world…as well as sympathies for what the pale, sickly, Decay-afflicted man had gone through.
Altier could only listen as the man told him how his dungeon was hundreds upon hundreds of years old, and how the party had been briefed on its history. He listened as the man spoke of the letters that were to be presented to the dungeon every scant decade, yet always claimed to be given every few months. The groups he befriended had left to start families of their own, and their children returned to befriend him as well, continuing the cycle and passing it on in a generations-long tradition. He listened as he ignored the warnings popping up, the transient text telling him that his mana production was insufficient to support the dungeon. That he was dying.
When the man perished, and the dungeon collapsed piece by piece, Altier listened to silence, because there was nothing else he could do.
Nothing besides reading the text that lingered in his vision amidst the warnings.
[Priority assignment: Prevent the End — Failure]
- - - - -
Altier ‘looked’ at the dim orb that seemed so much like his own, its small form sat next to dust that might have once been the man who unveiled all those truths so long ago. He didn’t know how long it had been since then, only that he was still alone. He wasn’t even angry anymore; the energy needed to feel rage or sorrow was gone. He was just lonely.
[Attempting to reestablish Mana Well…Failure.]
The core dismissed the message absently, more than aware of what it read. Thousands of the notifications had passed by, interspersed by various abilities and whatever else becoming ‘corrupted.’ He didn’t care anymore. His dungeon was his pride at some point, but now he just wanted to feel the sunlight that slowly dimmed as night claimed the evening sky. It would be nice to see the stars again. Or just outside, assuming there was anything left to see. Maybe it was all a desolate wasteland.
[Restructuring Affinity: Decay…Failure.
Reorganizing libraries…Failure.
Re—]
[Error. Ability ‘Avatar of Decay’ has been corrupted. Please provid—]
[Error. System corruption exceeding threshold. Please provide a valid framework.]
[Error. Affi—]
It might as well be. He sold himself to ensure his family’s well-being, but how many of those letters were real? Did they have a good life, receiving word that their ‘brave boy’ was healthy and happy? He hoped so. All there was left to do was watch the thin glow of the outside shift. Eventually, that draining orb the floor would run out of things to take from him. And to think that he just wanted those he cared about to be well…
[Error. Stability compromised. System integ—]
Altier roused from his trance, lethargically shifting his focus to a flicker of shadow near the deteriorated entrance. How strange it was to have his core room be right next to outside, yet he didn’t recall how that came to be. Magic, possibly, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. He was tired of numbers and percentages. Of values and skeletons. He was tired of being a dungeon, and of being alone.
A rock—a pebble, really—tumbled into the shallow curved hallway that acted as the path to his core, a strange sound getting louder. He ‘felt’ his brow furrow in perplexion before he actually considered what was happening. That was a voice. Speech. Someone was talking.
He was stunned silent before enthusiasm could build. A gaunt bipedal creature entered the cave, though it was decidedly not human. Taloned feet supported two legs, though they walked on their toes, he supposed. Its skin was reptilian, the pale black colour still managing to look plush, if dry. A thick, long tail swayed slowly to correct its weight, shifting its tattered garment that looked more like worn burlap than clothing. Nervous hands fiddled with chipped claws and felt along the wall, a lack of care rendering them dull and dirty. Fearful, exhausted eyes wandered the cave, the grey irises showing a pained soul underneath an etched smile on otherwise soft features.
Altier ransacked his memory as the creature nervously looked for something in his desolate ‘dungeon,’ recalling a crude painting in one of his old books. It was a kobold, though they shouldn’t have been anywhere near the kingdom, not that it mattered now. The scaly occupant muttered to itself, their voice soothing and feminine in a language he didn’t know. He wouldn’t have minded the conversation, but it was a moot point; he lost the ability to write on signs long ago. A part of him was surprised he would talk with a monster from his stories. He was never overly involved with his fellow humans—excluding his family and the odd party in his rest areas—but he figured there would be more resistance. There was no point in thinking about it. It would leave when it realized there was nothing here, and he would be alone again.
The last thing he would have expected was the kobold noticing a dusty obsidian orb sat atop crumbled stone, then excitedly picking said orb up to hold against its chest, its chirps of excitement filling the quiet room. Or, it would have been the last, if not for the messages that appeared.
[Compatible library found! Synchronizing…Error. Framework is incompatible.
Restructuring framework…Error.
Redefining framework…Error.
Replacing framework…Success.
Restructuring framework…Success.
Defining Affinity…Error.
Redefin—
Error.
Error.
Err0r.
Er44#%$@.
Rein#$^!@zing…Er$&*or.
Domaaaaaa#@%in…Er^r.
@%$%#$R.
Aff%$^: Null…Su^@!#ss.
D#@%^a@#n Es^!@l%#@ed!—]
[Null]
[Pr#%y #@$nment: ERRRR#*#$RRR—]
[Null]
[Priooooooority Assignmentmentmnet: B#&#$^—]
[Null]
Next

Hey, I’m just looking for some answers because I constantly catch myself overthinking this. It’s a long one so I really appreciate if you would help with some advice
I’ve (26M) been dating this girl (26F) for around 3 months now. She was in a LDR before me for around 4 years. It was her first love. She spent a lot of her thinking time on him. She would say her mood depended on how he was that day. After 2 years or so in their relationship, he decided he didn’t really want anything and he never committed to her completely. But she did. During the time she was with him, she was always thinking it was something more than it probably was. It was perfect in her eyes. They had the same interests. He was incredibly smart. He had no real commitments other than study work so he could give her more time. But he never did. They had good moments but also bad moments. He cheated on her very early on but she forgave him. They would write letters to each other. Plan visits far ahead and spend time in each other’s countries for weeks or months at a time. It took her a while to get over him and she still is. For around a year she had to accept being friends with benefits because he didn’t want her but that was the best he could give. He caused her so much confusion. They finally stopped talking in March this year after a very long winded process
As for me, I got out of a 1 year relationship in which at the start of this year I decided to move across the country to be closer to her in hope we could move to the next stage. But in reality, I’m not sure I ever loved her. I just loved the constant attention she would give me and the fact that ‘I was the man’ for her. I’ve been question why I found it easy to move on. And I’ve always said that when I imagined her moving on or would imagine her with someone else, it never bothered me. So I clearly just wasn’t attached to her and it’s a really bad thing to think about but at least I know I don’t just love anyone
But back to me and this girl, who I will call Jess. Me and Jess have seen each other twice now. The first time was good but I feel the second time I definitely know what I feel for her. I’ve had a very weird life growing up and I’ve never felt like I’ve belonged anywhere. But Jess makes me feel like I belong. She tries to involve me in some of her life doings. Even though I can’t speak her native language, she always makes me feel involved with her friends and family who don’t speak English. She encourages me to find new hobbies and wants me to do better for myself. I currently don’t have any friends where I am as I’ve moved so far away from everyone and now I am alone. Jess makes me rethink the whole purpose of a relationship because before I thought it was just about having the constant attention, constant interaction, and basically the relationship was my life. But with Jess, I understand that that isn’t the healthy way a relationship should be and what me and Jess have right now is what I want
Jess is now afraid to love someone again because she doesn’t want to get hurt again. She says she’s happy with what we have and she’s made it known that she can be affectionate. She sometimes finds herself thinking of her ex and occasionally dreaming of him and then questioning what it means to her. She says she doesn’t want to hurt me and I’ve made it ever clear that it wouldn’t be her that hurts me. I’m sometimes catching myself checking where I stand with her. And yes, I’ve had this talk with her many times. But there’s only so many times before you think you’re annoying someone with it. I just don’t want to be compared to anyone and I want to be judged from who I am and not what I can’t do.
Any advice is greatly appreciated

Hello everyone,
I started touch typing consistently these last few months. I was typing 50 WPM before that because I learned touch typing 5 years ago, and then I forgot about practicing. So, I have a pretty good control (when I'm focused, lol) of the keys. Now, I decided to keep up the practice.
I'm now typing 85 WPM with 100% accuracy (firstly when I was focused, now pretty constantly), but it's been a while, and I can't get over the 80s (even my max is 89 at 100% acc lol). I feel I can be faster. I can write over 100 WPM for a few seconds, but if I go too fast, I make typos and then fall back to the 80s.
Someone told me to write word by word because he saw me and said I write letter by letter, but I actually don't know what he meant by that. I mean, you have to write the letters to write the word, right?
Are there tips to increase speed? How do you guys get faster? Is there a faster way to read or sum?

Hi there! I'm in the process of helping my father apply for PIP. I'd like to write a supporting statement to send off with his forms but the content will be emotionally damaging to him. I plan to explain in a letter to the assessors how my dad's challenging behaviour due to his mental health has caused many of his children to distance themselves from him and strained the relationships. My dad is unaware of his role in this.
Will my dad be shown this letter? Should I ask that they not mention it to him?
Thanks for any input you can give. I want to be able to give the fullest picture of my dad's condition but filling the form in together has been distressing enough already for both of us.

Like many of us, I also dream. sometimes very intensely, sometimes not so much.
I just woke up from a dream where I smashed the house phone in half because my brother was told to find another pastrol? It set my emotions off right away, to the point of being like I should smash the phone, accept being told off, and have my cousin put a lampshade on my head. There were also mentions of work making me do a 4-8 shift, but that's random brain nonsense for you.
It makes me cry as soon as I was back and aware in my bed, not knowing what to do 😔.
I looked it up before writing this, and was told there'd be conflict between a loved one, causing them to fade? I don't know how much I agree with that one. While I'm having arguments about the future, that meaning makes zero sense.
I've also had dreams where I would drown, or I would feel disconnected, which also makes me wake up crying or shocked. I don't get why, am I just say too lonely and my subconscious is wanting to project this? I mean, I have acquaintances, and a few people I take with, but that shouldn't mean I'm lonely, right?
I suppose another cool dream I had was getting into fights or doing something silly. Like, I was playing a game with a few girls I've not seen in years in a dream, we were just having fun and setting down rules. It was like being a kid again.
The adventure dreams I have too are some of the best ones, like having to escape from a restaurant kitchen by doing some fancy parkour, or being a spy with some support person, only to end with being shot in the shoulder.
I don't think these have meanings, just the ability to express how you felt during a given day, a way to safely express and practice social interaction, but who knows.

First Chapter/Previous Chapter
The birds chirped loudly outside and woke Tamara from her sleep. At first, she tried to ignore them and hugged her goose feather pillow hard, but it was pointless. She opened one of her eyes, and her pupil immediately contracted so much that it became paper thin.
While awake, she was in no position to get up; her body was far too cold. Tamara extended her arms and spread herself out on the bed, slowly absorbing the heat from the sunbeams that poured through her window.
As she lay there, she used this time to think.
“Why was it taking longer?” Tamara mumbled half in her head and half through her lips. When she was young, she was adamant that it took half the time; Tamara would ask her mother when she got up.
Slowly but surely, she absorbed more and more heat so that with each passing minute, she became more alert until, finally, she felt uncomfortable, and her skin flushed. It was time to get up.
Tamara slid out of bed and propped herself up; she swayed from side to side like a sapling in a breeze, her eye half open and made her way to a chest of draws. She pulled off her white nighty, shivered slightly in the chilly air, and then rummaged around for a tunic.
“The green one?” she asked herself; she shook her head, “Not today.” In the end, she settled on a crimson top and crawled into it.
Apart from a few hair accessories, this was it. Apart from Samuel, no one for miles wore more than one article of clothing. Besides the drawers was a small table with a chair arranged on the top were several items, a hairbrush with several bronze hairpins, and a collection of small stones; her favourite was a clear, shiny green one all fat at one end which ended in a sharp point at the other. A stack of papers with several writing supplies was at one end of the table.
There were also several figurines carved from wood. They were all gifts from Samuel, but the one she loved most was a terrible attempt at a Lamia; this was the first present she had received from him.
She picked up her hairbrush; she had no mirror. In fact, Tamara had no idea what a mirror was, but she did not need one and began to brush—every time she woke up, her hair appeared as though she had been struck by lightning.
Tamara ran her fingers through her hair, ensuring that she had removed all knots and that her hair was smooth. The hairbrush was placed back on the table, and a few pins were picked up. She took her hair and carefully wrapped her hair into a bun. When she was done, she gave it a few pats to ensure it was satisfactory.
Leaving the table, Tamara took a few moments to make sure she had not forgotten anything. Her room was pretty sparse, just the bed, the table and cupboard, with a small chest underneath the window; it contained several things she no longer needed but did not have the heart to throw away. Lying by its side was the same leather pouch she had used yesterday, but she would not need it today.
She turned around and left the room, gently closing the door behind her. To her left was another window, and to her right a hallway with one other room beside hers. She listened in as she passed the door but could hear no signs of life.
“Mum must be downstairs,” she thought.
At the end of the hall was a set of stairs; a faint but broad mark was visible leading down to the bottom, made by Tamara’s and her mother’s tails. Tamara added to the stairs wear, and as she reached the bottom, Tamara heard, “Finally up?”
The warm, smiling face of her mother, Pancha, was the source. Pancha was a Lamia with the same golden scales and hair. Her face was similar, except that her eyes were hazel instead of emerald green. Her hair came down to her shoulders with two plaits on one side. She wore a purple tunic with the same diamond pattern on the chest.
They both stood in the kitchen. Pancha was in front of a large metal stove beneath a window. The reason was twofold: firstly, they did not have plumbing or a boiler, so all hot water came from the stove, and secondly, it was warm. Tamara sat at the table in the centre of the room and began drumming her fingers on the wood.
“Would you like a drink?” Pancha asked.
Tamara nodded and replied, “Yeah.”
Pancha returned to the stove and filled a clay cup with hot water.
“What flavour, mint, orange, apple?” Tamara stopped for a few moments as she considered her options.
“Umm, apple, please” she answered.
Her mother carefully placed the cup in front of Tamara; there was a fine haze of steam drifting from the water, and floating inside were several slivers of apple peel. She blew on it and took a small sip; the flavour was subtle, and if she had not seen the peel, she would have thought it was plain water.
Pancha sat down opposite her daughter with a similar cup in her hand, except this one was brewing orange peel. This daily ritual was designed to add the last bit of heat that the sun did not provide, and as far as Tamara knew, every Lamia and Cicindeli in the village did it.
Outside the window, a new sound was overcoming that of the birds; it was the unmistakable sound of chatter of people.
“What do we have to do today?” Tamara asked Pancha. “Well, first, we will meet up with Odalinde and Handus in the market.”
“Why not the town hall?” Tamara interrupted.
“Because it’s too warm today,” she replied, “then we will wander about town and ask if anyone has any problems, and after that, we have the last few hours to ourselves.”
Pancha was the representative of her race just as Odalinde was for the Boreray and Handus was for the Cicindeli. They made most of the executive decisions for the village. The last major one was two years ago when Handus called for everyone not to kill Samuel on sight. Tamara was expected to take over from her mother when she was older, just as Pancha had done for Granddad Eesa.
The last few drops of water were gulped down, and the cups were given a quick wash in the sink. The stove was put out, and a small puff of soot dirtied Tamara’s face; she wiped herself down with a washcloth.
They left the kitchen by another door, which led into another hallway. To the left was the sitting room where Tamara and Pancha would spend their evenings and entertain guests. Straight ahead was one final door; beside it was a coat rack with three hooks; the two closest to the door had thick, heavy coats; the third remained vacant.
As Pancha tried to close the front door behind her, the hinge tended to jam a bit; Tamara walked into the middle of the street. Right in front of her house was the home of Mrs Caltha, Mr Davin and one of Tamara’s best friends, Becanda. The house was two stories tall, made from solid wood, usually oak or mahogany, and covered in a waterproof paste to stop the rot from setting in.
In the distance, Tamara could hear a steadily growing noise; this was the market where people met and conducted their business. Tamara felt a tap on her shoulder; she turned to see her mother smiling at her and holding out her hand. Tamara took it, and the two of them headed toward the crowd.
A few streets later, they entered the market, which was packed with Lamias, Cicindeli, and Boreray. People moved from stall to stall, picking up items they needed and chatting with their friends, which was to say, everyone. They ducked and weaved through the crowd, trying their best to avoid the dozens of people who wanted to spark up conversation.
Ahead was a series of benches arranged in a circle; several people were sitting on them talking, but no sign of Handus or Odalinde.
“Mmm, those lazy snails aren’t here yet,” stated Tamara.
Pancha turned to her daughter and said, “Don’t talk about other people like that; it’s very bad.” After which, she smiled and let out a slight snigger.
Pancha and Tamara sat down on a free bench and took the time to enjoy the peace, if not the quiet. People walking past would stop to say hello, ask how they were doing and now that they knew they weren’t late, they could indulge them. Pancha was busy talking with a turquoise Cicindeli woman called Lupita, so Tamara decided to take a little walk.
“Don’t go far!” Pancha called out.
“Yeah, I know” she replied.
At the centre of the bench circle was a giant sundial. It was scarred, carved from granite, and had been here long before Tamara was born. She ran her fingers over the stone despite the warmth of the sun beating down upon it; it was cold to the touch. It was indeed a magnificent thing, beautiful and providing a valuable service, which was a shame because hardly anyone ever noticed it, let alone used it.
Tamara remembered the story her mother had told her: around seventy years ago, there was a Cicindeli man named Lamuel. According to the tale, he was an inquisitive soul, always asking questions and hardly ever satisfied by the answers he got.
One day, he asked, “Why do we only have names for three times of the day morning, midday and night time?” “What about all the bits in between?”
After which, he divided the day into fourteen bits and built this sundial to display them.
However, despite this monumental effort, the only thing anyone had ever said about it was that it was a pretty statue.
As Tamara remembered the story, she also remembered the moral her mother had taught her, “Don’t put effort into pointless things.”
Tamara felt that the story taught two different lessons: people don’t like change, and they never notice a good thing when they have it.
The shadow cast by the gnomon pointed at the second marking on the stone, but there were no symbols, letters or numbers. Until Samuel showed up, they did not exist.
She did not know how long she had been staring at the shadow when someone behind her said, “Seen anything good?” Tamara turned around to see the smiling face of Handus.
Handus was the representative of the Cicindeli. He was a tall, well-built man with deep crimson hair, and the chitin on his arms and leg was the same. Today, Handus was wearing a deep purple tunic; on the chest were five circles stacked on each other.
Just behind him was another Cicindeli, a young man with the same crimson hair wearing a butter yellow tunic with the same pattern on his chest as Handus; his name was Tide, and he was Handus’s son.
“Good morning, Mr Handus,” Tamara said with a smile. “I was just thinking about Lamuel and why he made this,” she added, pointing to the sundial.
“Yes,” replied Handus; he paused for a moment, deep in thought and then continued, “I never knew Lamuel; he was before my time, and I won’t even pretend to understand him, but if I believe there is anyone in this village that can, it would be you.”
“What do you mean?” Tamara asked, a little confused.
“From the stories I have heard, you and Lamuel are a lot alike. You constantly ask what no one else even thinks of, and you always, always try to find your own answers,” Handus clarified.
Tamara was quiet for a few moments until she had a big, broad smile and said: “thank you, Mr Handus.”
Handus nodded and walked over to Pancha while Tide followed behind. She liked Handus; he always knew what to say and was incredibly wise, almost as wise as Samuel.
Now that she had been distracted, she could no longer focus on the sundial, so she headed towards her mother.
“Do you know what is taking Odalinde so long?” Pancha asked Handus.
“Well, if I know her, she will be fussing over Ezra and Wacey,” he said with a chuckle.
Tamara sat down beside Pancha; as she did so, Tide looked at her; he gave her a warm smile and said: “hello, Tamara.”
Tide was fourteen years old, fairly tall for his age, and carried himself with a quiet dignity; when she was younger, Tamara had found this annoying, but gradually, over time, she had come to respect it; it also did not hurt that he was easy on the eyes.
She smiled back and replied, “Hello, did you have a good morning?”
The four of them talked for several minutes, discussing mundane matters, when they were called from behind, “Sorry that we’re a little late. Wacey refused to put her dress on.”
The group turned around to see the flustered face of Odalinde. Protruding from the sides of her head were a pair of cement-coloured horns curling around once in a graceful spiral. Her hair was a gentle gold, only slightly curled and tied into a short ponytail, which was unusual for a Boreray.
Covering her chest was a thick blanket of fluffy golden wool that grew in such a way that it almost resembled a swim top. This wool also appeared on her forearms and lower legs, ending in cloven hooves.
Unlike the Lamias and Cicindeli, Boreray did not wear tunics; instead, whether male or female, they wore a skirt that came down to their knees. Today, Odalinde was sporting a white number, and on its hem were two triangles arranged parallel to one another.
Behind her trailed two others, a girl named Wacey and a boy called Ezra. They were twins and Odalinde’s children. They had the same wool as their mother and a pair of tiny horns on their heads. They had started growing when they turned six and, in the past year, had steadily gotten bigger.
They wore matching dresses, a deep shade of amber with a green symbol on their hems. “I don’t want to wear this dress; I want to wear the green one!” Wacey exclaimed, stamping her hooved foot on the floor.
“Well, tough, and don’t you even think about taking it off, or you won’t get any juice!” Odalinde replied sternly. Wacey said no more but had a deep scowl on her face.
“Well, if that’s all sorted, perhaps we can get started?” Pancha said, smiling at Odalinde.
“Yes, well, let’s begin,” Odalinde replied, clearing her throat.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------If you like what you've read so far and want to know where it's going you can find the complete story by following the links below.
e-book(US/UK/CA/AU/DE)
Physical(US/UK/CA/DE)
If you do decide to read ahead please leave a review or rating, every single one helps immensely, and helps me keep doing what I'm doing.
Also the e-book will be at a reduced price until the last chapter is published on reddit.

I'm new to penpalling (waiting for the first letter to arrive) but someone else has just contacted me and i'm hesitant to take it further with them because when you have 2 pen pals don't you have to write the same thing in 2 letters? And also if i wanted to make gifts i'd now have to make 2 cuz i feel bad not making a gift for both of them😓😓 And i also feel like im gonna get so confused with 2 people
I know lots of people here have like 5+ pen pals so how do y'all do it?

The original story of the death of RFK is shrouded with cover-up, lies, and corruption. This is a collection of evidence I’ve gathered that proves beyond a reasonable doubt a conspiracy to kill Robert F. Kennedy.
The bullet that killed RFK was fired from his right backside at an upward angle, and no witness in the vicinity said Sirhan was closer than 3-4 feet, with most saying around 6 feet. The way Kennedy was standing, facing Sirhan, makes it impossible for Sirhan to have shot him in that manner. witnesses stated the gunfire sounded like a machine gun, and said they had a hard time believing it was from one gun. The medical evidence, meticulously documented by Dr. Thomas Noguchi, the coroner who conducted the autopsy, showed that the fatal shots came from behind and 1 inch away, this automatically shows that Sirhan couldn’t have shot Robert Kennedy, but this is only the first thing. Dr. Noguchi, wrote a book on it calling it the perfect autopsy because it was. He was supervised by lots of different professional experts in autopsies. He saw what happened to JFK's body by the government and media, They didn't allow him to testify in the trial and then they ran a smear campaign against him for saying the bullets came from back right and upwards. He was then fired from his job.
Sirhan fired two bullets, one hitting a man and another hitting a frame behind RFK. He was then abruptly subdued and fired six more shots, which are all accounted for, hitting five different people, with two shots lodging in the ceiling panel and one in the frame. That gives us eight shots not accounting for the four that hit RFK. How is this possible with an eight-shot revolver? It's not. Audio recordings of the shooting have been examined by multiple experts, who concluded that 10-12 shots were fired.
The LAPD tampered with evidence; they removed the frame that clearly had a bullet, as well as the ceiling panels that were hit. This is supported by witness testimony and photographic evidence. The LAPD later stated that the evidence was taking up too much space—a flimsy excuse to blatantly cover up and hide the facts. Former FBI agent William Bailey supported the evidence of bullet holes in the doorways, remembering two bullets in the doorframe and FBI photos proving this. In addition, 20 FBI officers reported seeing bullet fragments or bullet holes in the doorframe.
Sirhan was not given a fair trial. His mother recalls Sirhan asking the judge for a new lawyer and being told to sit down or he would be tied down. His lawyer decided to fight on the basis that Sirhan was mentally ill and in a hypnotic trance, and did not even try to dispute the evidence. For example, the gun that was allegedly used in the shooting was examined by a ballistics expert who stated it was the same gun that killed RFK, even though the serial numbers of the gun he tested and Sirhan's gun didn't match up. Not only did this prove the expert was willing to lie, also destroys the credibility of the LAPD investigation. There was also no chain of custody, which in a real trial would be inadmissible.
They bullied and intimidated a witness Sandra Serrano who claimed a woman in a polka dot dress and a man ran out on the stairs saying, "We killed him, we killed him." They bullied her on tape, making her change her story. Many other people recall seeing and talking to this polka-dot dress girl. Also, a police officer named Paul Shrager got told by a witness that the Polka-dot lady ran past with a man them saying we killed him, Paul later saw in a news report they changed what he said to They killed him. The LAPD claimed they found the polka-dot lady, but it was another person in a green dress, blonde, with crutches, who looked nothing like the person described by witnesses. David Morales, who pressured Sandra Serrano into changing her story about the polka dot lady, was known to have administered tests in South America, Vietnam, and other countries, suggesting ties to the CIA. Morales, drunk, bragged to friends, "I was in Dallas when we got that motherfucker, and I was in Los Angeles when we got the little bastard." He had a history of involvement in CIA operations on foreign soil, including a test on Venezuelan dictator Pérez Jiménez during a government transition.
Scott Enyart was taking pictures in the pantry where Kennedy was killed. He says he loaded and clicked off his third roll of film. He claims that later, during the night of the shooting, police officers chased him down and confiscated his camera and film. He later tried to get this back 6 months later but the police denied ever knowing about it until he contacted his lawyer, who got him 26 out of 36 film. In the missing film was pictures during the shooting more interesting Scott was right behind Thane Eugene Caesar, showing these pictures would show there was no conspiracy, but no the LAPD destroyed them . This was a very weird thing to do. Later, Scott sued, and a Los Angeles jury awarded Enyart $465,000 in his claim against the city. The jury believed that Enyart was in the pantry when Kennedy was shot and that he took three rolls of film. The city was found to be negligent in returning the photographs that the police had confiscated. The photographs have never been found. This is not the only two incidences in the LAPD destroyed 2,400 pieces of evidence as well as Scott Enyart photos 3 weeks before Sirhan's trial.
In addition, Sirhan used to hypnotize himself Sirhan received letters and payments from the Ancient Mystical Order of the Rose Cross. He was known to be the easiest type of person to hypnotize. He be hypnotized to climb the bars of his cell During the trial, psychiatrist Bernard Diamond hypnotized Sirhan, told him he was a monkey, and Sirhan started swinging from the bars of his jail cell and acting like a monkey. Bernard Diamond was a very shady UCLA professor who many believe was one of the main MKULTRA hypnotizers used by the govt. Under hypnosis, he wrote the same things found in his notepad at home: "RFK must die, die." suggesting he wrote in a trance these writings are eerily similar to what he wrote while under hypnosis. William Bryan, a CIA MKULTRA primary researcher and an expert in hypnotism, claimed you could brainwash a person to do almost anything. He allegedly bragged about programming Sirhan and deprogramming Albert DeSalvo, "the Boston Strangler." Sirhan's diary also mentions mind control, aswell as Sirhan writing, "God help me, please help me, Salvo di DeSalvo." Could this be a link between a known CIA hypnotist and Sirhan.
Sirhan was led to a dark place by a woman after drinking coffee with her. He last remembers feeling drowsy and disoriented. He found himself lying on a table, and then he felt someone choking him. This strange and disjointed memory suggests that Sirhan may have been drugged or kidnapped before the Assassination.
Sirhan, easily manipulated through hypnotic techniques and possibly drugged, might have been an easy target for such a conspiracy. His behavior after the arrest was strange, as if he were in a trance. He was described by witnesses as having an empty look, almost as if he were devoid of emotion or awareness of his surroundings. This is consistent with reports of individuals under deep hypnosis.
So after all this, you may ask who did it? It was Eugene Thane Caesar and the polka-dot dress girl. This is the evidence: Thane Caesar was a last-minute replacement as Kennedy’s body guard couldn't show up that day. the kitchen was constantly unguarded, and a Kennedy staffer said she had to keep getting people out of the kitchen, the person to guard the kitchen door was Thane Eugene Caesar, this is where Sirhan would’ve come from and was seen standing there before the shooting. Eugene was standing in the exact position someone would have had to be in to fire the fatal shot. A man and a woman claimed to see a security guard fire shots at Sirhan, and a witness said this in an interview immediately after the shooting. RFK's last conscious action was ripping Eugene's tie off—why would he do that? It could be dismissed as accidental if, and it's a big if, there wasn't an incompetent investigation by the LAPD on a second shooter, or why they didn't take Eugene's gun that he had on the night and didn't interview him for a year.
In that interview, he said he had a .22 same used in the shooting, which he sold before the shooting. This was confirmed to be false as there is a receipt showing he sold it months after to another man. Why would he lie about this? The LAPD said there were no right-wingers there on the night of the killing but guess who was our good friend Eugene. He said in an interview he didn't like Kennedy and was a Republican. Just a bit weird. Eugene was leading RFK down this route as the other path was deemed too crowded or unsafe in a last minute change. To clarify, Eugene was not the only one holding on to Kennedy. Eugene was a very weird person who had a top-secret clearance at Lockheed but was working as a security guard just doesn't make sense.
Also the court granted Thane Caesars wish not to testify.
How do you know this polka-dot lady was involved? Two witnesses stated she was saying, "We killed him, killed him." She was also seen trying to buy a gun and ammo with Sirhan and another man, and there is proof of the sale. in total, she was seen by 10 different people at the Ambassador Hotel.
So why would Sirhan do this? MKULTRA. Sirhan Sirhan was working as a horse trainer or whatever. He never rode horses, but one day he did and he got concussed. He was recorded as going into a Naval hospital for 1 hour and discharged. Sirhan states that he was there for weeks. After the fall, everyone who knew Sirhan said he was different after that fall. Sirhan disappeared for 3 months before the assassination as well, his mother stated.
“On a foggy morning on Sept. 25, 1966, Sirhan fell from a mare named Hy-Vera. “Sirhan was thrown against a metal post, where he lay crumpled, crying and bleeding,” wrote James McKinley. Sirhan later received a $2,000 settlement over the incident.”
Declassified documents have revealed that the CIA was actively monitoring Robert F. Kennedy and had operatives present at the Ambassador Hotel on the night of his assassination. Investigative journalist Shane O'Sullivan's research highlighted the presence of three men identified as former CIA operatives at the hotel, raising questions about their role and purpose that night. These operatives, including George Joannides, David Morales, and Gordon Campbell, were all connected to various covert CIA activities.
Lieutenant Manuel Peña, a key figure in charge of the investigation, left the LAPD shortly before the assassination to work in South America for the Agency for International Development (USAID), a widely known CIA front. Shortly before the assassination, he came back to the LAPD and was given command of the Special Division Investigation Squad in charge of conspiracies.
The possible involvement of the CIA and other intelligence agencies cannot be dismissed. The chaotic political climate of the 1960s, marked by the assassinations of major political figures like JFK, MLK, and RFK, The CIA, known for its covert operations and psychological experiments, had the means and motive to conduct such an operation.
Eugene Thane Cesar's role remains suspicious. He was in the perfect position to fire the fatal shots, and his conflicting statements about his firearm ownership add to the suspicion. Cesar's background with top-secret clearance at Lockheed and his animosity towards Kennedy suggest a deeper involvement. His presence in the pantry and the physical evidence pointing to shots fired from his location make him a prime suspect.
The polka dot dress woman remains a mysterious figure. Witnesses consistently reported her presence and her suspicious behavior. Her alleged statements about "killing him" and attempts to purchase firearms with Sirhan indicate her involvement in the conspiracy. Despite the LAPD's efforts to discredit witnesses and dismiss their accounts, the consistency of their testimonies cannot be ignored.
The destruction and tampering of evidence by the LAPD and FBI further deepen the conspiracy. The removal of door frames, ceiling panels, and the disappearance of crucial photographs suggest an intentional cover-up. Scott Enyart's case exemplifies the mishandling of evidence. His missing photographs, which could have provided critical insights into the events in the pantry.
In 1992, a petition to the grand jury requested the appointment of a special prosecutor to investigate the LAPD, signed by many figures, with 800 pages of evidence showing the LAPD destroying and falsifying evidence. Notable signatories included RFK assassination researchers rights activists, and legal experts. The petition outlined numerous instances of evidence tampering, witness intimidation, and procedural irregularities surrounding the investigation into RFK's assassination. It argued that a special prosecutor was necessary to conduct an impartial and thorough investigation into the LAPD's handling of the case, given the gravity of the allegations and the implications for justice and accountability. Despite the compelling evidence presented in the petition, no special prosecutor was appointed.
The involvement of intelligence agencies, the manipulation of evidence, the intimidation of witnesses, and the use of hypnotic techniques on Sirhan paint a picture of a complex and deep conspiracy. The possibility of mind control, as seen in the MKULTRA experiments, aligns with Sirhan's behaviour and writings. The presence of a second shooter, likely Eugene Thane Cesar, and the mysterious polka dot dress woman, make me believe beyond a reasonable doubt that Sirhan did not Kill Robert F. Kennedy alone.
TL;DR In conclusion, the evidence suggests that the parts of CIA, the LAPD, Eugene Thane Cesar, and the polka dot dress lady were part of a conspiracy to assassinate Robert F. Kennedy. The deliberate destruction of evidence, the manipulation of Sirhan through hypnosis, and the suspicious activities of key figures involved in the case point to a coordinated effort to eliminate Kennedy. The official narrative does not hold up against the substantial evidence of a second shooter and the involvement of intelligence agencies. After looking at all this evidence, no person could conclude any differently.