Morganite lied flat on the floor, amongst her towers of Japanese language books, novels, and manga she could not yet read. Forming the base of one of those columns were at least three different volumes on kanji alone, each purchased with a promise written in false gold on cheap paper that, with this book, she would be able to become proficient in reading. It was the same optimism that led her to buy several other books written entirely in Japanese that now composed sections of those towers.

They were so much larger than her from the floor. The stacks looked like skyscrapers.

Morganite's finger touched the unlined paper of her journal. She had a pen in her right hand as well, but the cap remained on. At that moment, she brought it to her lips and bit down hard with her teeth. The plastic shell of her blue ink pen grew a couple of indentations. The cicadas hollered outside.

Entry 1: I've elected to record my adventures here on Earth inside this journal. I figure it might help me keep my thoughts together and perhaps even maintain some level of sanity since there are no other gems in this country (at least to my knowledge). It's my fourth day here and I'm experiencing plenty of culture shock, but I still feel somewhat optimistic. From what I can tell, my powers don't work on humans. I've brushed hands with a few of them and even ran into them on the street, but the result was nothing more than just a bump. Maybe this planet will be the perfect place for me after all.

Those thin pink fingers flipped through a few more pages and before the ex-aristocrat began to read again; her teeth left a few more scars along the body of her pen. The light changed from the window, and her eyes, with all of their multicolored facets, caught a pile of her drawings sitting in a corner across the room.

The colored pencils were in a haphazard, offensive pile that needed to be picked up, but Morganite's level of motivation left her stranded in the center of the carpet. She could barely coerce her hand into writing. All her right fingers could do was bend up the corner of the page she had stopped on as the light rained down from the window and slowly washed out the solid black letters.

Entry 15: It's been about two months and I'm having a hard time adjusting. The novelty of this country is wearing off, and this seems to be something of a blessing and a curse. Some things I'm getting used to. For instance, I quite like the candy here. There are so many different kinds, and there are quite a few flavors too—some that are very unique to Japan (Like cherry blossom flavored chocolate). Though, at the same time, it's hard not to be homesick. The technology is primitive, something that would certainly drive Peridot mad if she had to contend with it. I thought I might be fine since I find such things to be quaint, but the adjustment is proving to be more difficult than I imaged at first. So is the language. I have a fairly decent background in linguistics from numerous different planets, but Japanese is proving to be quite a challenge. It's amazing how much time I've poured into studying kanji alone, and I only know about a fourth of the characters I need to be able to read. I don't understand how this writing system came to be this way and why the Japanese people elected to keep it, but it truly is quite frustrating.

I think I might feel better about things if I had a friend. Much of my time is spent in this apartment, by myself. My mind always goes back to Jasper during periods like this. My only hope is that she be alive and well, and that Yellow Diamond hasn't had her executed for going against orders and sparing my life. Some days I miss her terribly. Even so, I've decided to remain optimistic. If Homeworld attempts to gain control of this planet, I may very well see her again, somehow. I might need to hide myself. Sometimes I forget I'm a refugee. But I would be happy if we were able to meet again, even if it was only briefly. I want to thank her, and not even just that, but see that she's doing well. I miss the sound of her voice.

Morganite sighed and turned the pages.

Entry 32: It seems that in my solitude I've become obsessed with reviewing the events that lead to my exile here on earth. Because of this, my mind has been clouded with images of both Lapis and Jasper. I've come to the conclusion that if I hadn't lied for Lapis' sake, I would likely still be on Homeworld, perhaps slightly miserable under Yellow Diamond's command, but definitely happier than how I am now. I've been sleeping a lot lately. There's not much else I can do with no friends and little motivation. In my dreams, I keep finding disturbing images of both Lapis and Jasper, locked in a watery prison together, fighting. Is this supposed to happen when one dreams? I've never slept this often in my life, but I'm beginning to worry. This doesn't seem normal.

I'm beginning to think that I shouldn't have helped her. I'm certain Yellow Diamond would have found some other reason to order my execution; she's never liked me all that much. But I still can't shake the feeling that something is wrong. Maybe I should try to go outside a little more and befriend some of the humans wondering around out there…

Morganite sucked in her lips and turned through the journal until the text stopped and there was nothing but blank pages. They were full of potential, but she continued to chew on the pen cap. The ex-aristocrat even set the tip against the first line of the next lank page, but the ink only collected beneath the pressure of the pen being pushed into the paper. The only thing Morganite wrote was a large blue spot.

The color was more optimistic than it had any right to be.

From it she produced:

Entry 68:

Pause. The cicadas just kept on screaming so loudly, they might as well have been directly in her apartment, in a huge tree that broke the ceiling, centimeters from her face.

A bead of sweat rolled along the curve of her cheek.

I don't know what more I have to say.

The expanse of pages were beginning to look like fields of snow. They went on forever, without any other colors of anything at all. Just barren deserts of off-white frost that captured her eyes and did not allow them to leave.

A few more words:

I miss Homeworld. I miss my few friends. I wish I could go back, but I probably never will.

Before the ink dried, she closed the book and tore herself from the floor before any more time could pass.