Brianna the Handmaiden

[...oops.]

[The writing picks up, a little messy and splotchy.]

I have returned. I do not think words will do much good, but I am sorry that I died. It was [paaaaause] not what I expected to happen.

So far, I seem to remember. Time will show if I have forgotten anything.

How long have I been dead?

[tap tap tap.]

There is one more thing. My name is not Handmaiden. It is Brianna.

It seems my arm is well enough to write with again, so long as I do not overtax it. I did not think it would be so difficult to refrain from this form of communication.

Sylvar, are you well? I believe we should explore this world that has appeared in the Wilderness, but it would be prudent to travel separately. We might learn different things and minimize the risk of [pause] learning too much.

I also have another question for you that I would like to speak of privately.

I

[there follows a mass of scribbled out words and ink spatter.]

Is there anyone here who knows of the meaning of dreams?

[added after the conversation with Dash.]

Code. I need to speak with you.

[ooc: The writing is a carefully-written but still somewhat messy print--as though the writer is not used to writing by hand.]

Thank you again for your assistance, Flight.

I was just born into Edensphere. But I do not believe that is an accurate term. I will call myself Handmaiden until I remember my true name.

I see these voices are not an isolated phenomenon. They are somewhat distracting.

Is this journal how most people communicate?