Time before departure

I can't keep my mind from spinning, all these questions with no further answers, all this time and focus I need to spend bettering myself before the journey ahead. I'm finally about to move forward into the unknown world ahead, towards somewhere new and maybe... just maybe I'll search for the answers of my own origin bound within that named book, but, for some reason, a rising doubt beckoning from the depths of my mind tells me that it won't be that simple, Arthur did say that all he knew of this was from stories his parents had told him within his years of youth, from his gray hair, and withered skin I wonder just how long ago that was... could all of this just be a dead-end? No, I should be optimistic, there's a possibility to know, to make sense of all of this, of me... and maybe... Harry. The days passed from then peacefully, Mary still look at me with a gaze of worry but as long as I can show her I'm fine it should end soon, a few days back I even managed to get out of bed without the aid of that rolling chair, I believe they called it a wheelchair? Which does seem quite fitting, more so than my word for it. It is strange to think that it has almost been two weeks already, time seems to pass just so much quicker here, maybe it is due to my state? All that I've been able to learn whilst bed or chairbound? Or perhaps it all stems from how open and bright everything seems to be? Everything is just so much more firm and tangible, the air, the smells, the bright visions of a constantly changing sky draping over these manteled hills, even the faint bustle from that distant town.

Acclimating to this I've grown less restless, but my curiosity is flowing more than ever with the possibilities lined ahead, there's just so much new to look forward to, Mary kept telling me stories from Ashwood, even if she makes it seem like it's not much I can tell from the glimmer in her eyes whenever she tells me that its a home she got great attachment too, it truly is something special, somewhere loved by the families which funded it. She's told me accounts of her times at the local lake, and stories told by her mother at the bedside, tales of her hometown's myths and legends, that makes me think... what really lies within a legend? Could it be that all tales have their roots within real beings and events? Aren't I living proof of that? And that thing... Occulus, the solitary one, that strange being morphing shadows around its spherical eye. What is it? And what purpose does it serve? Why would anyone try to appease something so intrusive and scary? Ugh, I won't be able to find that answer here or within myself, I'd just go in endless circles, better to stop for now and look forward to what's coming... speaking of which Mary seems to be late today, could she perhaps be somewhere upstairs? Abel and James both headed upstairs when they left me and Mary alone, maybe I should try finding her? I know I shouldn't be straining myself, but I've regained enough strength to walk for a little bit, it should be fine.

My left leg still feels shaky, I shouldn't put too much pressure on it, the wounds are almost healed, after all, tearing them up would just be a bother for James, Abel, and Mary, I should not bring more trouble, they are after all taking me under their guard, allowing me back with them to their home, one that could become a place of belonging... belonging huh? The sense of somewhere someone feels at place, a place not unfamiliar to home. That bright white wall, I should lean on it so I can keep most of the weight on my right leg, it'll steady me especially when I face that daunting task down the hall, the climb towards the second floor. The steps feel coarse against my bare right foot, tiny needles flaking from the form, almost trying to grab hold of the skin beneath my sole by every stride pulling myself higher and higher up.

There's a door close to the edge of the stairs, looking to the side there seems to be another corridor filled with doors harboring strange sometimes spicy scents, they are all so different I wonder what purpose they serve, they remind me of the garden outside, could it be that they are separated inside based on their use and property? Could be. That door in front, it's closed but I swear there are muffled voices speaking somewhere behind its frame, maybe it's Mary? No, as I get closer I can tell one of them is Arthur but the other... I don't know, it seems soft, too high pitched, and gentle to be either Abel, James, or Mary, Mary would be more filled if that's the word for it? Her voice carries and her words got more energy to them even at our first meeting when she was nervous her words weren't this faint, should I enter? Would I be intruding? But then again Arthur is there and he surely knows, it would be quicker to ask than to limp around searching until I find the right door.

The door swings open with ease, almost no resistance from the light wooden handle, at the other end of the frame lies a room lined with strange equipment, and numerous books lining the wall to the left lit up by the fiery sun peeking through the window within its center, the sounds generated by the voices fell still as soon as the door gave a single audible creak, did I perhaps disturb something that I shouldn't have? I was right about one of the voices belonging to Arthur, he seems more perplexed than surprised seeing me standing here leaning against the frame, my face is probably blushed from exertion, I can feel the heat rushing under my cheeks, but the other one, the owner of that soft second voice is sitting up in the bed lining the right wall wearing an absent almost stunned look of surprise, a pale boy with dark hair and bloodshot eyes ending in dark blue circles.