Journal Entry – Day? I don't know anymore
So, they didn't feed me yesterday.
That's new.
Maybe they're upset I haven't been writing? If that's the case, here you go—hope you're happy.
Honestly, I haven't felt like journaling. I've been busy. Training takes up most of my time now. I just have this feeling that they're going to let me out soon. Don't ask me how I know; I just... feel it. Like an itch you can't scratch.
Maybe the lack of food is punishment for the dents I've been putting in the door. It's not like I'm trying to break out. Hitting the door just makes more sense than punching the walls—I don't want to accidentally bust a pipe and flood this place or get zapped by some hidden conduit. If they're bothered by it, they could at least give me a proper training dummy. Or a punching bag. Is that too much to ask?
But I guess talking to me is out of the question.
Anyway, since it's been a while, here's a recap.
I've built up some nice callouses on my right hand—the knuckles, the palm, even the edge. Same with my feet. Hitting that door has its benefits. I've worked out a routine: strikes, blocks, footwork. I can work through the forty palms of wrath and the ten basic forms more rapidly than I ever could before, I can even mix them… I wish I had something new to learn, but Sister Helena always did say it's the basics that count.
I can run twenty-five thousand laps now before I start feeling tired. In this tiny room, that's got to add up to... well, a lot. Probably more than I ever ran back at the Schola. My augmetic arm feels perfectly balanced again, like it's truly part of me now.
Oh, and about this shift they keep giving me—it's too small. I've grown, I think. It's tight across the shoulders and rides up when I move. It itches like crazy when I sweat, which is all the time now. If anyone's listening, a bigger size would be nice. Or at least something that doesn't scratch. And maybe another tube or two of protein paste wouldn't hurt. My muscles are back, and they need feeding.
My hair's a filthy mess, too. Keeps getting in my eyes. If you won't give me a hairband, maybe just shave it off next time I'm out cold and you bathe me? Otherwise, I'll keep tearing strips off the bedsheets to tie it back.
I've read The Rule of the Sororitas: Order of the Sanctified Shield cover to cover a dozen times now. I think I get why I'm here, and why they left me the book.
There's a canticle by Canoness Jessamine Hallas that stands out:
Canticle 187: A Call to Vigilance
"Idleness is the garden where heresy takes root.
A soul at rest invites corruption's pursuit.
The faithful must toil, from dawn until night,
Lest shadows consume the Emperor's light.
Evil is evil, in grand deeds or small,
A seed in the heart leads to the fall.
The heretic's nature is stained to the core,
No mask or pretense can hide it anymore.
They walk among us with smiles and lies,
But corruption leaks through their clever disguise.
In words and in deeds, their true selves betray,
For darkness cannot long suffer delay.
The faithful stand vigilant, eyes open wide,
For signs of the tainted that cannot hide.
In prayer and in labor, we sharpen our sight,
To uncover the heretic's plight.
No thought left unguarded, no task left undone,
For the war against evil is never won.
It's a battle eternal, both outward and in,
To cleanse our souls and keep us from sin.
Beware the idle who linger and pause,
For they are the ones who forget His cause.
The heretic falters, in duty and prayer,
Revealing the taint that they secretly bear.
So work without ceasing, keep your spirit pure,
In service and faith, you shall endure.
The Emperor's gaze pierces flesh and bone,
He knows His faithful; He calls them His own.
Let not your hands idle, nor your mind stray,
For heresy breeds in the effortless way.
Stand firm in your purpose, let your heart be aflame,
And the heretic's schemes shall wither in shame."
Sixteen verses hammering home the idea that heresy can't help but show itself. That no matter how hard someone tries to hide it, their true nature will slip through.
So, putting two and two together, I figure this whole setup is a test. Stick me in a box, watch me, see if I reveal myself as a heretic.
What did they expect me to do? Scratch unholy symbols into the walls? Start babbling blasphemy? Maybe smear filth everywhere and laugh maniacally?
Or was it more subtle? Were they reading my journal, hoping I'd spill dark secrets or confess impure thoughts? Waiting to see if I'd neglect my prayers, wallow in self-pity, or let my training slide?
Well, if that's the game, then they've had their fun.
To whoever's out there watching—you're cold-hearted, you know that? But I guess being cold-hearted bastards is part of the job description. Probably why Sister Helena's so good at it.
...
I think I'm done with this. You can keep me locked up forever, starve me, whatever. I'm not playing along anymore. Journaling, pondering what you might think of me—it's distracting. I've got better things to do. Training. Studying the sacred texts. Strengthening my faith. Remembering to be your little pet project is distracting me.
If you're so indecisive that you can't figure out what to do with me by now, that's on you. Seems like a waste of the Emperor's resources to keep this up. Maybe you're the ones failing Him, ever think of that?
So go ahead. Keep wasting time. I'll be here, doing what I need to do.
"Emperor, grant me perseverance to endure this trial. Give wisdom to those who hold me here, that they might see clearly. Watch over Sister Helena and Valeria; I hope they haven't suffered because of me. Your will be done.
In His Light."