I genuinely need to continue writing.
Otherwise I believe this island will eventually destroy my sanity completely.
Perhaps Miss DeLuna was right after all.
Writing really does reduce stress.
Though admittedly, I suspect our reasons for writing may differ significantly.
Last night, Miss DeLuna brought me to a small lake near the edge of a forest somewhere “north” of the island.
I say “north” because I no longer fully trust direction itself here.
The lake was peaceful.
Quiet.
The water reflected soft silver light beneath the night sky, faintly glowing in a way Miss DeLuna assured me was perfectly normal.
At this point, glowing water barely qualifies as a problem anymore.
We sat together near the shore for a while.
No strange councils.
No impossible economics.
No ancient intellectual warfare disguised as casual conversation.
Just silence.
Comfortable silence, strangely enough.
Miss DeLuna eventually explained that she often came here alone to read fairy tales.
At first, hearing that made my chest hurt slightly.
Because for the first time since arriving here, I suddenly understood something very simple.
Miss DeLuna may have been lonely even in her own home.
Not rejected.
Not unloved.
Just…
Different in a different direction than everyone else around her.
That thought stayed with me for several quiet minutes.
Then naturally the lake violated reality.
The water suddenly began moving against the wind.
Gentle ripples at first.
Then waves.
Then the entire surface rose upward against gravity itself.
I watched several human-shaped figures slowly emerge from the lake.
Three girls formed entirely from water and pale blue light.
Their movements were playful.
Elegant.
And deeply unnatural.
Miss DeLuna waved casually.
“Oh,” she said happily.
“Eis, Weis, Heist.”
Undines.
Of course.
After Elder Ents, naturally the next logical development is water spirits.
At this point, if Miss DeLuna introduces me to a domesticated dragon next week, I believe I will simply accept it and continue eating dinner.
The Undines spoke audibly, though their voices sounded deeply strange.
Like hearing words spoken underwater.
Or listening to someone talk while drowning beautifully.
I could not understand anything they said.
Miss DeLuna, unfortunately, understood them perfectly.
They spoke together for some time while I quietly reconsidered my understanding of existence.
Then Miss DeLuna removed a book from her infinity bag and simply began reading aloud beside the lake.
And suddenly I understood.
This truly was one of her favorite places.
Not because it was mysterious.
Not because it was magical.
But because she felt comfortable here.
The atmosphere changed completely while she read.
Relaxed.
Soft.
Even the Undines floated quietly nearby listening to the story.
Honestly…
It felt strangely appropriate.
Peaceful, even.
Which concerns me slightly considering the circumstances.
Unfortunately the island was not finished psychologically damaging me yet.
On our way home, several children wearing silver scholar robes approached Miss DeLuna enthusiastically.
Young children.
Perhaps seven or eight years old at most.
They greeted her politely as “Lady Artemisia.”
Then immediately asked:
“Can money buy happiness?”
Without preparation.
Without warning.
Without mercy.
Before I could even process the question, they began playing rock-paper-scissors to determine debate positions.
Apparently this is normal here.
The child won and immediately chose the affirmative position.
He then proceeded to calmly construct a surprisingly coherent economic argument regarding financial security, access to opportunity, and time allocation.
I was still recovering from the fact that children here debate philosophy recreationally.
Then Miss DeLuna answered.
Calmly.
Casually.
Like discussing weather.
She explained that money often consumes the same time people hope to reclaim through obtaining it.
That many wealthy people become more anxious protecting their possessions than enjoying them.
That happiness clearly exists even within poor nations.
That money creates escalating desires faster than satisfaction.
And that perhaps fulfillment and happiness are not entirely the same thing.
She said all this while walking casually down the street beside children young enough to lose arguments against soup.
Afterward, the boy who challenged her became completely silent.
Not offended.
Not upset.
Just…
Genuinely contemplating her response.
Then Miss DeLuna turned toward me with her usual completely innocent expression.
“Right, Ryn?”
At that exact moment, several conflicting forces collided violently inside my merchant-trained soul.
Because economically speaking, I disagreed with parts of her argument.
Emotionally speaking, I understood exactly what she meant.
And spiritually speaking, I wanted to lie down beside the road and let the island consume me peacefully.
I ended up nodding weakly.
Which apparently counted as participation.
Honestly, after only a few days here, I am beginning to suspect my entire career path may have been a misunderstanding.
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