Letters Lost in Time - Karl Jacobs

Diary Entry #???

I'm starting to see why the mysterious want to move the library makes sense.

The new nation is a bit further away from the mainland, but it's pretty open and has plenty of natural resources around it so I'm not too worried. This also means the new library is going to be a lot bigger than before, and honestly that's a relief considering how it was starting to get cramped in the old one. There's going to be more room for shelves and books, and a much cozier lounging area with all the space we can work with. We've done a few basic architectural plans, and so far it seems like it'll be an easy and smooth sailing journey. Honestly, I'm happier with the move than expected. I thought change would be a hard thing to go through, would be a hard thing to adapt to. Well, it's not like we have room for that with the ever dynamic problem growing just beneath our feet.

The egg and its crimson is spreading quickly, more than I had even anticipated. Just a bit longer and it would've completely taken over where the old library stood. Judging from what I've seen of it in the past, it can also take over people's minds and control them which is honestly quite troublesome. Though it does beg the question of: is this really the same egg from all those years ago in Sir Billiam's mansion? I'll have to look into that soon enough, maybe even personally visit it. It has a number of unique properties, and in order to fight it I'm going to need substantial knowledge. It's almost impressive, really, if it weren't so clearly dangerous. In just a few days, it had spread so far and fast without prior notice...

Has it really just been days? Or has it been weeks, or months? I don't know. I don't really know how much time I spend on my travels, or in the inbetween. It's pretty obvious that the time that passes by while I'm travelling doesn't correlate to time on my main timeline. Sometimes I could go through several days in the past when it translates to only a few minutes in the present, or I could go through a few hours in the future and have it become apparent weeks of absence in the present. I'm not entirely sure what day it is; time doesn't even feel real anymore. I guess it makes sense when my perception of it is so warped already.

I don't care that I can't tell time anymore. I care that I can't remember the date, can't remember when I had last seen them. I care that I don't know how long it's been since our anniversary, or how long it will be until their birthdays. I care that I'm missing holidays, skipping important events, forgetting special occasions. I care that I can't remember the last time Quackity took my hand and led me to have a calm walk with him, can't remember the last time Sapnap pulled me into bed and hugged me tight until I fell asleep. There's so much to lose and too little I'm willing to let go of.

I care that I can't make new memories with them to replace the old ones that are slipping from my grasp.

...

Regardless, it seems as though I have someone on my side looking after me. At the very least, I know I have people to help me with the big things like moving the library and starting the new nation. George and Sapnap... they're trying their best to help me with this, and I can only reciprocate their efforts in full. There's people I can rely on, and I have to ensure they can rely on me too. It's all the more reason to try and get out of this area. Start anew... and bring everyone I can with me along the way

There has to be a future where we can all live in peace. If there's infinite alternate timelines, surely one of them holds a good ending of sorts. If there's infinite possibilities, surely one of them holds an outcome where everyone is alive and well. I can only hope my efforts will eventually bring me there. After all, if I try infinite times as well then I'm sure to reach it someday.

Til next time. Remember who you are.

−Karl

-

"Did you change your clothes or something?"

He blinks, footsteps slowing down as the man in front of him comes to a stop suddenly and turns back to look at him. Stray strands of dark hair fall over piercing hazelnut eyes as they peer into his soul, and it feels like he's being scrutinized down to his very core. He breaks eye contact first, staring at the distance as he fiddles with his hands. There isn't much to look at, only destruction and the impending doom of crimson vines snaking over what remains of the land. It makes an uneasy feeling rise from the pit of his stomach.

"What do you mean?" He mumbles nervously, not exactly knowing what to say. He squeaks when he's suddenly grabbed by the shoulders, the warmth of strong hands permeating the fabric of his sweater. The silence between them is thick, atmosphere heavy with some kind of tension. Although he has no idea what's going on, he's not daft enough to miss that it's an obvious pivotal point of some sorts. Maybe he should write this down later, so he doesn't forget.

"Your shirt looks different." The other man finally says after a few moments, and a hand under his chin urges him to make eye contact once again. There's concern in the fire in those eyes, there's a comfortable warmth he's so familiar with and thus he gets lost in it. He feels fingers trailing down the brightly colored fabric of his sleeves, watching as James? Mason? Sapnap's face twists into an unreadable expression. He doesn't know what the big deal is, really.

"No?"

"I think you did... those colors aren't the same anymore."

"What are you talking about? It's literally the same..." He trails off, glancing down to look at himself. The front of his right sleeve is a soft pink with the back being a pleasant purple, and the front of his left sleeve is a calm yellow with the back of it being sky blue. His torso is predominantly teal, with a purple swirl sitting right in the middle of it.

It doesn't feel off at all. It feels completely normal. Was there something off about it? Should he be concerned? It's what he's always worn, from the very beginning. It's not like he has any alternate versions of this particular piece of clothing. In fact, he doesn't think he remembers wearing anything outside of this general theme in the first place. But he knows his memory isn't the best, and he believes this person knows more about him than he ever could. If he says its odd, then it must be, right? But then that would tear down a notion he's just accepted as fact for so long. If he can't even trust what he expected to be the constants, then what else could he believe in?

He doesn't know. He doesn't know. He doesn't know. He doesn't know. He doesn't know anymore.

Why is it that when things feel right, they're apparently wrong?