Return Post.

Quite simply put, it's time to put all (or most) of the cards on the table. I've been dangling hints and fucking around instead of coming out and telling the truth. Well, I'm tired of it. first off, the dreams? They're scrambled up memories, though not necessarily mine. Mine, yours, the kid next to you that just got sliced and diced, and hell, that favorite blogger that you like so much? theirs too. living someone else's life vicariously (especially the dead or soon to be dead ones) is enough to send someone a tad insane. It's because of this I won't be apologizing. I also won't be feeling guilty for the long absences, the lack of details about my houseguests, or about the amount of angst.

Second, yes, my houseguests are gone. All of them. There's blood on the walls, broken glass, and a few suspicious burn marks on my property, all thanks to them. My computer has been returned, obviously, with a nice little post it note on the top, " Apologizing for the Inconvenience", with a few hearts drawn on. A few bundles of cash were next to it with ANOTHER note on top of them. That one just thanked me for my hospitality. Whoever's responsible, for once, I'm not pissed. I'm just going to accept it, start blogging again, and use the cash to repair the property damage. Lord knows there's enough of it, despite my Ladies' best attempts to fix the situation. Oh well, spilt milk and all that.

Third, you will be getting some more details fairly soon. From myself, and from the others, though I can't guarantee when. But you will not be getting the full story. You just won't. Look between the lines, be a shipper, and look at all the tension. You should be able to figure it all out if you're smart. Stop being lazy and start asking questions, if you really want to know more.

Fourth on the agenda! For the ones that have figured it out, yes, I do have a bit of a past. Everyone does. I just happened to dance around the sides of the fight without getting recognized. I killed a few (or maybe quite a few) people, lied about who I was, and generally made all this 'secrecy' you all seem to think you have look like a big fucking joke. A short, dark haired girl that had a smile like sunshine disappeared (or died) for many of you this summer. Most of the ones that would remember are dead by now, thankfully. I showed up shortly afterwards, with a batch of fake memories and a little too much knowledge about the Fears. Is this a coincidence? Of fucking course not.

There are no coincidences in the Slenderverse, or really in the outside world in general. Fact is, I tried to retire from a position at the Lonely Hearts. My handler smiled and handed me a pocketwatch. He told me all my troubles would go away if I simply used it. Looking back, I was a bit of a twit to believe him, but hindsight's 20x20, right? I gained a couple months of 'peace', until my encounter with David. I probably would have gone on with all my suppressed memories quite nicely if he hadn't found me. He wanted me to be more genre-savvy, more thick-skinned, and more dangerous. It worked. He knocked that 'Dia' mask right off my face, and cracked that persona right down the middle. Corrupted that pocketwatch's effects, until the damage from him and the watch were twisting and combining to make one big, fucked up mess of my thoughts and emotions. Whoops, eh?

I started dreaming, and sleepwalking, and almost spilling secrets while I was awake. so, when I was asleep, I started writing to warn myself. I would leave pages of my writing scattered around my house, but I.. didn't recognize my own writing? Then other pages started showing up, and shit started happening that I know I didn't do. I mean, I know some of it was me, that much was obvious from the writing and the wording. But... someone else came into the picture, and I still don't know who. I'm frankly.. a bit worried about it. I can protect myself from.. myself, but someone else? Not exactly. Whole new territory. For the record, I think David knew exactly what he was doing. that 'talisman' of a memory I mentioned? The one that kept me somewhat sane was the 'true' memory of the aftermath of the torture and.. everything else David did to me. The pocketwatch was the token from the first dream.

David didn't call my family when he was finished. He didn't call a co-worker. He called a.. friend, one of the few that knew back then who I was. A wonderful secret-keeper, he even kept it from me, even when we met again. There was arguing, but at the time.. there wasn't any choice for my friend. My concocted 'family' wasn't real, my true relatives were all dead, and most of my former friends either thought I was dead or would stab me on sight. All the 'new' followers at the time were too far away to help, either, and remember.. I was technically bleeding out rather heavily.

I.. I thought he was an angel, my savior, my friend. Gold and silver and white, smiling down at me with a light shining behind him. Telling me everything would be okay as he unbound me and checked me for injuries. He, well.. in a way he WAS my Angel. Out of all the dreams of pain, death and torture he was my sole happy 'memory.' I didn't want to believe it was true, because.. I knew he was a proxy. He thought I was incoherent as he mumbled about how he hoped this would never happen, trying to talk about happier times. About how I used to be and how I could be again if I just held on. that everything would be okay. I believed him, even through all the subsequent pain and the doctors' prodding. David called a monster to help me, knowing he was the only one who could.

He opened my Pandora's Box and giggled with glee as he watched all the demons and turmoil spill out. Fucker. -sigh- Remind me to retuurn the favor if I can. I hear he's getting married soon. Heh. Maybe I'll be a party-crasher? Anyway. All of this rambling, and still I manage to avoid telling the truth. Well, I can say freely what I'd been poorly hiding. My handler is dead, as are most of the people that could connect me to my old misdeeds. My face is not so well-known, and hell, if you do connect the dots, all I need do is claim to be lying. Only one person in this world has concrete proof my visions, my words, or hell, even my past are true. He's sure as hell not telling. Fuck, he's not even speaking to me. Maybe that'll change after we speak again. Maybe he'll tell the story of how we met? My Angel, my friend, yes dear.. I do know your name, but I won't say it unless you prefer it.

I thought I was going to die as well, until I did some research once I got my laptop back. It's an occasion I believe I've been able to put off, thanks to all the ties that have been cut between myself and the organization. Yes, the paranoid kiddies in the back guessed right. I was (am?) a Gatherer, and I worked for the Grey hats, the Lonely Hearts. They are either the best or the worst of them, and I've dodged a bullet with their not realizing the bloody effects of the pocket watch. I'd be their pet, their guinea pig again. After collin died, I lost all reason to play the pawn. I answer to myself now with all the 'fun' side effects and loyalties that go along with it. So I'll tell you what, followers. I'm tired of writing about my past, about my angst. It's boring and trivial, and it is really just that. The past.

So, I'll start writing about whatever the flying fuck I want to again. Not that there's anything you can do to stop me. If any of you want to continue with your death threats, have fun. I don't care. to put it bluntly, "Not a single fuck was given that day." We've come full circle now. You know more about me, and I know much more about all of you. (More so than I really want to. -.-) Idgaf what you all think, as I'm a bit desensitized from all the threats and blood. Finally, I'll be writing to please myself again, just like I did in the beginning. I think I may try to make a difference in the verse soon, but maybe not. I'll need motivation, and possibly bribery to go near/stick my neck out for any of you after all of this.

One life debt remains, and to someone that wants me dead as well. Fuck it. Maybe I can help find a way to end his pain, maybe not. Fucker better stay the goddamn hell off my property from now on. Cannot get rid of those fucking scorch marks for ANYTHING, and I don't plan on adding to my beautiful little collection of scars anymore than I already have. (By the way, did you really have to drag me through the broken glass and fire? Were you really that sadistic of a bastard? Oh wait. Nevermind, Ferus, I forgot who I was speaking to.) So I suppose this is a return to the old ways until I figure out what the fuck I'm going to do next. Ask your questions, be a shipper, judge/condemn me all you like, kiddies. This post is over. Maybe now I can get some sleep. >.<