Much like what he had done with the crude faces depicted on crumpled line paper and tacked onto the corkboard noticeboard—the one back in Dallas that he had collaborated with Elliot to complete (so far)—Theodore intended to keep track of those other things that he did not wish to forget. But unlike that one back in Dallas, this collection of stories was not one that recorded the meager details of his old family life, but the luscious moments of his new one. He wanted to remember all of those rich moments of the day-to-day, in the here and now, even when he had long forgotten them.

Theodore couldn't say for sure what had pushed him to do as such, but there was an underlying…something within him that insisted on doing so, and so he did. And like the dutiful little boy that he was—the one who refused to be forgotten or to forget any further—he recorded every single mundane moment. Using any scraps of paper or notebook pages that he could find; folding black & white vintage photos and crudely drawn diagrams hidden in the margins, as he went. This time—unlike with that of his (extended) family—Theodore absolutely refused to forget even the smallest, most mundane tidbits.

Starting with brief descriptions on how he had arrived in the past and travelling through the days (as far as he could rightly remember), Theodore wrote it all down; however boring it may have of seemed. Because a tingle of fear in the back of his mind whispered What Ifs that made him wonder if his (extended) family would ever find him or these notebooks instead. He could only hope that following in his vera's footsteps would allow him not only some peace of mind, but the opportunity to reach out to those who came after; y'know, if they were ever even discovered by then or survived until they could be read. So, Theodore wrote.

More so as a way to practise his Loric writings before he forgot those too than to encode his written words, Theodore filled the lined books with pages upon pages of the little dotted writings. To those who could not understand the words, it simply looked like a notebook filled with elongated braille and chicken-scratched drawings peppered about the margins. But to those who knew, it was the writings of a displaced boy and his adventures, here in the past; however boringly mundane they may have of been.

(Extracts of Cero's Diary [Written by Theodore N. Hargreeves] is translated below for your pleasure)

Monday 01 April 2019

Dear Diary,

My 13th birthday was not one I will EVER forget, mostly because of the LANE Keeper raid on the Umbrella Academy, my vera's sudden death and the consequent world ending…But who's keeping track?…Lore, my life sounds like the world's worst soap opera! Or some sort of Disney drama, made just for TV!

Tuesday 02 April 1914
Day 1

Dear Diary,

It was hard to hold on, even as my fingers gripped tight to Ent's coat as he tossed me aside like a sack of unwanted potatoes…and I fought to keep my eyes open…but the pull of the temporal plane was too strong and against our best efforts, we soon found ourselves falling apart…Spat out in various places along the timeline, we had escaped the terrors of the apocalypse (I'm sorry), but not those of this new (old) timeline…When I woke, I woke alone

The Gussmans are nice enough, I s'pose, but they're not you, Vera.

Saturday 25 December 1915
Day 632

Dear Diary,

I miss you, Vera, now more than ever.

Friday 01 September 1916
Day 884

Dear Diary,

I started school today, it wasn't so bad…I was 'adopted' by two upperclassmen today—Lila Pitts & Harlan Cooper (that's them drawn below, kinda)—they're pretty cool too…School here is NOTHING like the one back home; well, I mean, we have to wear uniforms too—complete with hats, vests and detachable cuffs!—but everything else is SO old! It's like constantly living out a history textbook, or something!…Ugh! I dunno if I'll EVER get used to this place!

At least the boarding houses are nice enough, I s'pose, even if they are separated by gender…Not that THAT has EVER stopped anyone! School's barely even started and Benjamin Brockman is ALREADY getting into trouble for sneaking into the girls' dorms! (He SAYS he's being sneaky, but he ALWAYS sounds like a drunken bull in a china shop when he sneaks out!).

Friday 15 September 1916
Day 898

Dear Diary,

Speaking of school, I guess I should tell you about my new school and my homeroom class (although, aside from homeroom, literacy & arithmetic, classes are separated by gender so that the girls can learn how to be ladies in their own homes and the boys can learn to be men of the world)…I go to Saint Patrick's College & Boarding House now (I'm one of the few boarders who board year 'round, minus the weekends) and THESE are my classmates.

Starting with the girls, there is Addison Crowell who adheres to the old adage that whilst rich is loud, wealth is silent. She looks kinda of poor amongst the other legacy children, although she is very well-to-do in manner and etiquette, despite her rather frumpy attire.

Alma Bolton is supposedly the popular girl who is nice to everyone, I've never really known a nice popular girl (or any girls outside of Vera, Ven & Helga and look how well THAT turned out), but everyone seems to be convinced that she is one. Me, on the other hand? I think that they're badly mistaken…I once heard that she had another girl blacklisted because she liked a boy that she had called 'dibs' on.

Blythe Allen is another scholarship student of the W.J. Worth Foundation, though she is someone who seems to live beyond her means. She lives on some obscure backstreet in Hickory Creek, Fort Worth and despite currently living on campus, none of us know where it is. She does very well in class, but that's because she works almost Hermione Granger-level hard and not because she has the brains…And she tends to keep to herself.

Dorothy Argyle is a rather clumsy girl who's always tumbling over her own feet and forgetting things—stationary, clothes, food and homework, most of all—so the professors keep assigning her extra assignments as punishment, or in one case, a caning for her insolence…Despite that, she's still a very kind person.

Edith Callahan talks SO much that it's annoying…like a gnat in summer, she's ALWAYS buzzing about, touching your hair, fiddling with her buttons or deftly twirling pencils between her fingers when she talks to you in that high-pitched whiny voice of hers…More than once I've felt the deep-seeded need to smother her with a pillow. It's good thing she's only a day boarder.

Henrietta Morris is a bubbly girl with a likeable disposition or she would be if she didn't talk so loredamn loudly! Especially when we're playing outside or she's hanging out in the back of gym class…Unfortunately, Henri has a friend in one of the upper classes (like me) and when those two get together, well, I keep waiting for the windows to crack…they're so LOREDAMN loud!

Josephine Miller, what to say about Josephine Miller? I could probably write a WHOLE book on things about Josephine Miller and not just on the rumours that float around the girl. Despite being as pretty as a doll (or even in spite of it), the brunette is a snobbish, stuck-up, two-faced gossip who thinks that she's soooo grown-up in her heeled oxfords…I reckon she must be an only child or the baby of the family, because EVERY TIME that she doesn't get her way, she bursts into great heaving & pitiful crocodile tears…Again, she's on my list of people to smother with a pillow.

Gertrude "Gertie" Foxton looks like if the Joker wanted to become a magician…with a grin that stretched FAR too wide for her petite face and terrible puns & dad jokes, it's no wonder that she so resembles the criminal clown…And, y'know, there's that whole rumour about her filching a pack of smokes from Professor Whittmore to smoke with her friends in the old bathroom block behind the science labs.

Shirley Roberts is a bit on the strange side. She usually keeps to herself, but brags about things that have absolutely NO way of being true…like this one time where she said that she had been on a professional level netball team since she could walk, despite never having even played before.

Connie Smalls can't keep a secret to save herself…As the saying goes: telefax, telegraph, teleConnie…She has NO filter WHATSOEVER; in fact, many a-time she would be tested by our peers. If you REALLY wanted to spread something fast, then you'd just ask Connie to keep it a secret, and out it would go. She blabs to whomever'll listen, but she also says what she thinks and lately I've come to appreciate that aspect, a great deal.

Nancy Greenwood is a stick of a thing, who eats like bird with anorexia…more than once, I've found half-eaten pieces of candy, barely nibbled apples and partially licked salted nuts strewn about the place, like she'd gotten tired of consuming them halfway through…Apparently she had been a beauty pageant queen back in the day and something about that must've of stuck.

Agatha Price's got a laugh on her that makes her sound like a demonic donkey; all heeing and hawing that snorts & rasps off into silent body shaking motions. Which is pretty funny, considering how quiet she usually is.

Of course, there's less to be said about the boys in my class, mostly because they're—we're—a little more two dimensional than the girls and, well, boys are more or less cut from the same cloth; or so, says Vera.

Atticus Collins is the prettiest boy in our class (although Lila likes to argue otherwise. She says that I am faaaar prettier than some blonde-haired, blue-eyed yuppie), but with a brain to match a chihuahua's…I think that they're going to hold him back another year, he's got all of the beauty and none of the brain.

His cousin on the other hand, Graham Collingwood, was all the brain and none of the beauty…with peeper as thick as coke bottles and teeth as square as Spongebob, he looked like your stereotypical image of a nerd, if, y'know, it wasn't for the smartly-dressed school's uniform that made him look far more charming than he really was…Unlike his cousin, there is no doubt that he wouldn't be held back.

Benjamin Brockman has the filthiest mind I have EVER seen on a thirteen-to-fourteen year old (and THAT'S saying something), and there is a rumour floating around that he had a panty collection hidden in some back drawer of his dormitory…Supposedly, the class clown has even gone ALL the way with some nondescript upperclassmen, out behind the gym shed, but that's probably just heresy.

Earl O'Neal is pretty boring but he has money; clean crew cut, cute dimples that pierced his cheeks and a shiny golden watch on a chain that always took pride of place in his breast pocket…To be honest, if it wasn't for his family's money, I don't think ANYONE would've given him a second glance, I know I certainly wouldn't have.

Emmett Barnes (pun unintended) is a farm boy from Arlington who looks more like a walking cornstalk than a schoolboy (the ever-present strand of straw hanging from his lips doesn't help)…Mop of yellow straw hair and freckles that dance across rosy cheeks, he is quite the charmer…And even better, quite handy with a gun. Emmett says that it's 'coz he helps his daddy weed out the rodents that keep burrowing into the crops; says that they make a game out of it, which is kinda gross.

Amongst the filthy minded club, there is also Kenneth Fraser, a terrible flirt and absolute batshit girl-crazy. But he's also got this gross little bet going with a couple of his equally stupid friends, to see just how many girls they can bed by the time they graduate…I think I might just add him to my pillow-smothering-list. It's getting kinda long now, isn't it?

Hugh Turner's a squat kind of guy that looks more like a rustic potato than a person—like a real live Mr Potato Head, not that he'd even know what that is. Full of laughter and quick to smile, Hugh transferred to St Patrick's in the middle of last year and he had jumped a grade when doing so (although that was less from his smarts and more from daddy's money)…a fact that he NEVER let you forget.

Much like his friend, Andrew Baker does whatever he feels like, whenever he feels like; that stuff usually entailing something he's not supposed to be doing. But his parents are on the School Board, so he never gets caught and he ALWAYS gets away with things…like peeping on the girls when they're changing for gym.

Harold — who, despite sharing the name of my psychopathic doro, is a pretty decent guy. He makes everyone laugh themselves silly, but with all of the changes taking place lately (particularly overseas with the war), he has turned almost too quiet; almost to the point of boring. Apparently he has family over in Europe, which—understandably—has him on edge.

And then there's little ole me. (Lila & Harlan are both in the year above us).

Friday 17 November 1916
Day 962

Dear Diary,

Y'know what I haven't talked about yet? How I got this you (this diary)!…Mrs Smitherson keeps all of the spare notebooks in this locked cabinet in the back of the classroom where you have to ask for the key to get in, but it's easy enough to pick. Anyway, the one I took wasn't mine (it was much nicer and the name in the ledger said 'Muriel Sanders', so I now it was one of the snobby mean girls. But that's okay, because she's mean and her doro can always afford to get her ten new ones).

I had to rip out the first few pages which had been decorated with this nauseous girly crush stuff, so you're only a few sheafs short of a good time…thankfully, the cover isn't some hideous pink thing, so I can easily hide it amongst my things and it was easy enough to cover up her name in the ledger…Although, I have to hide you in my bedroom, 'cause Lore only knows what would happen if someone else happened to find you! I'd be a target FOR SURE, even if they can't read you.

I hope that I'll be able to confide everything to you, as I have NEVER been great with speaking to people—or at all—Vera, included. (People are just so scary; you never know what they're REALLY thinking or what they're gonna say!)…Will you listen to my woes, just like Mr Pennycrumb? You were once my most favourite friend (my ONLY friend, really. Even if you were imaginary) and NOW you are a chimaera dog! Not that Fena & Peto know about the chimaera part.

So far, Mr Pennycrumb, you have TRULY been a great source of comfort to me and a rock in this stormy thing we now call life…This way of keeping a diary seems like such a girly thing to do, but I remember Vera saying that it was good to write things down if you couldn't say them aloud…and now I can hardly wait for those moments when I am able to write in you—to you?—oh, I am SO glad to have done this!

I don't wanna forget…I CAN'T forget. Not again.

Monday 19 February 1917
Day 1057

Dear Diary,

I went home yesterday (is it weird to call Dallas home now? And why do I feel so guilty about doing that?) and I decided to start keeping a diary…journal? Notebook? Diary sounds too girly, but I don't know what else to call it…I also don't want to forget any of this, not like last time…Lore, I sound pathetic.

Writing in a notebook like this is really weird…I keep forgetting to write in here and keep having to backtrack, how did Vera keep this up? So weird…Anyway, it seems almost strange to be doing something like this because who's gonna wanna read the musings of a fifteen year old? And a boy, no less? At least girls have SOMETHING interesting to talk about: boys, fashion, unicorns and other girl stuff (at least, that's what Lila says). Oh well, I guess it doesn't really matter; I wanna write, so I'm gonna write. Who gives a crap if anyone actually reads it?

Mrs Smitherson once said "Books are our most precious confidants" which has been rattling around in my brain for some time now, though I have no idea why, it just seems to stick. It reminds me of that time Vera said "Books don't judge you" Is that why she wrote so much? I think it might be. So, yes, books are most precious confidants and I don't PLAN to share this…diary(?) with anyone, but if anyone finds it after I'm gone, I guess it'll be a nice memento? I guess it'll kinda be like some kind of time capsule?

Back to the point at hand, why would I even keep a diary in the first place? Answer: Because I don't wanna forget these people just like I forgot the others. What I mean is, this grief that has swallowed me since my vera's death, has been pretty much all-encompassing; though my friends are helping me through it (even if they don't know it). But I only met and knew my extended family for a measly WEEK almost three years ago now, so I s'pose it's not entirely out of the realm of impossibility to forget such a thing.

Here's a brief list of my extended family that I can only KINDA remember: First, there's Ent who's really tall, strong and dumb. He looks like a giant hairy monkey and he kinda acts like it too. Plus, he also lived on the moon at one time, which he NEVER shut up about. Then there's Zvee, who loves knives and superheroes. He's quick-witted, sarcastic and the only one that I can still kinda picture his face; I think its the gills. Next is Drey. She's my only ven and very pretty. But she was also quite bitchy about the whole thing and her power is scary (not like Vera's, but close enough).

Vie is another one of my dons, but he's quite funny. Vie's thing is necromancy—ghosts, mainly—but there was this one time where he made the cat figurine in the scullery, dance. I wonder if he's seen Vera? I wonder if he's talked to her? After that is Fën. Fën is essentially, a sinus [pocketwatch] in schoolboy shorts. He can time travel (not well) and teleport everywhere. He's also a bit of an asshole. Lastly there is Sich—the last of my dons—whose dead. Apparently he's still here and glued to Vie's side, but that's all heresy. I only have fuzzy memories of old photos and stories about him,'cause he died before I was born. And then, of course, there's my Vera.

And here's an outline of my current family: There's Vera who lived with Doro for about seven years—for as long as I have been alive—out in the woods. Vera said that they met at a party and later had me, even if they never got married. Doro was mean and Vera & Doro always yelled at each other…Let's just say that it was a good thing that we lived out in the middle of the woods. And then when I met the rest of my family, Doro went too far and killed Vera. I miss her.

Now, I live with my peto & my fena. My peto, Elliot, didn't marry my fena, Eleanor, until they were in their twenties. Peto runs the electronic store in Dallas, which he had inherited from his own father, but at that point it had been a dentistry office. Fena, on the other hand, used to work at Neiman Marcus' Department Store as a counter girl. But she left there when she married Peto and they opened up the electronics store.

I now attend St Patrick's College & Boarding House out in Fort Worth and its pretty good, all things considered…though I don't really have anything to compare it to, save for my old history lessons and those never really went into too much detail about anything that wasn't war-related. Speaking of which, the First World War—the Great War—has ramped up quite a bit, leaving a lot of us to wonder just when we'll be drawn in to the mix (I know, of course, but that still doesn't make it any easier).

But we're doing well—I'm doing better, I know I am—I have to be, considering where I started.