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Sasha

It’s almost time.

I know I’ve started so many entries with that phrase, but now it’s real. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I will… well, you know what I will.

I’ve been rereading these pages, deciding what else to add. How do I preserve everything when I only have hours left? Should I explain even further why I picked that talent show memory, why I’m a dog person even though cats are adorable, or tell you all Alex’s secrets I swore I’d never share? She’ll be there when you return, and you’ll remember her, so maybe I should.

I explained as much as I could. But you won't remember anything beyond these few moments; would any of it make sense? You don't really understand the world, do you? How can I know what of my words would confuse you and what would feel like a revelation? What matters to you?

It’s pointless, isn’t it? I can’t preserve myself in words. These diaries are meant to be a map, a bit of the context, and maybe a bit of how *being me* felt. I cannot do much more than that.

Still… I tried. I hope it'll be enough to preserve something.

But... fuck it.

I am done. I cannot spend any second more preparing for my end. I just cannot. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to disappear. I don’t want to forget myself. And it won't be gentle. I’m so scared of the pain, the suffering, of eternity I cannot even start to fathom.

I can’t imagine letting the world end, but maybe, just maybe, if I refuse, someone else will be found? Surely there’s another unlucky soul with the right energy, hidden somewhere even more remote than my hometown? Maybe the world will still have enough time for them to be sacrificed instead of me?

But it is already almost too late. They gave me all the time that was possible and then some. It has to be now. And it has to be me.

I asked Edgar. I hit my lowest point, and I asked him. Not about walking away. I asked him if I could have... an easy way out. Because I couldn’t live with that choice, either. How do you live, even if only months before the end, knowing you’ve doomed everyone and everything?

He didn’t need any explanations. He just said, “I’ll help you. If that’s what you choose, I’ll make it quick.”

And then he added, “It might be the best choice. The most merciful one.”

He meant it. And for the first time since we met, I wanted to run away from him: his understanding was unbearable. And I hurt him by asking; I know I did. I saw it in his eyes, the only type of pain he still can feel. But I know he would have done it. He would've really done it, even if it would've doomed the world.

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I don't think I deserve him. But I am so grateful he is here. I wouldn't have survived until now without him. And he will be there for you, too. Let him help.

And… this talk, it helped me. But I couldn't have an easy way out, could I?

So I’m going. Of course, I am. Into Chaos, the vigil, eternity. I have no choice. I know how heroic the Saviors' narrative seems, how we are pictured like saints, all this bullshit. It’s not heroism or bravery. It’s not even a sacrifice, really. Sacrifices imply choice. And I don’t think I ever had one. Not really.

I’m so afraid.

There will be so much pain.

I don't want to go. I don't want to end.

But you know what? I won't end. I won't die. I cannot. So it cannot be the end.

I’ve been saying “you” this whole time, trying to distance myself. To dissociate. To accept that I’m ending and you’ll be someone else. Partly because it's easier. Party because it's true. And partly because I am so fucking jealous of you. You are on the other side of this; you have a future. I don't.

But... Fuck it; I refuse to accept it. It is my future. I don't want to disappear, and I will not. You are not somebody else; you are me, and I don't care if you believe it. I don't care if I believe it.

I will return. I already did, didn't I? You, the one who reads it. You are here. You’re me. I fucking survived.

I survived. And now, I will live.

I want anonymity. They’ve crafted this ridiculous cover story, complete with doppelgangers and spy-novel nonsense, to keep me hidden if I want to be. I want. Let them; Edgar explained how the world's attention made his recovery... challenging. So, star bless him, he made an option for all future Saviors to avoid it. Saving me, again.

I actually used to want fame and adoration, to be important. Maybe even a celebrity, a pop star, or something. But not anymore. I guess after being *the* most important in *the* worst sense, it all just... faded away, somehow. I am not a saint holy figure, and all this Savior stuff feels like a cruel joke, exhausting and overwhelming. Screw it.

But I do want everything else. *Everything*. I want to learn magic—real magic, healing magic. In a real posh magical academy, the type I was so obsessed about. I should be powerful now, right? And I cannot imagine them not admitting me.

I want to travel the whole world; I want to get a dog—this golden retriever puppy I’ve always dreamt about. I want to have friends, old and new. I want to keep singing and maybe learn piano; I want to finish the Rotanna Chronicles, learn to ride a motorcycle, sail across the equator, and taste every coffee in the world. The coffee is an important part.

I want joy, laughter, new things, real adventures—the good kind, the happy kind.

And I will. You will. We will.

I don’t care how broken or changed I am when I return. I know I don’t feel like we’re the same person right now—you and me—but we are. I have to believe that. Who else could you be, after all?

I’ve done everything I can. I chose my anchors, picked my memories, and explained them as best as possible. I trained until my body ached and could weave archs in my sleep. I recorded messages, even one for you—for me. Sorry for all the swearing. I couldn’t bear to record it a third time. The first one was worse. I sealed it in the soul-lock, so no one else would see *that*. Only you. Only me.

It's time. Tomorrow, I step into Chaos. Tomorrow, I become the scapegoat, the placeholder. The one thing standing between everything I love and destruction.

Let him take me.

I’m ready. I’ve done all I can. I don't care if it's enough.

It’s your turn now.

Farewell, Sasha.

And welcome back.

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