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June

First Entry Upon My Return to Silvertree

It may be early in the summer, but the day is getting late—and the sky is growing dark.

Thankfully, streetlamps—like little yellow fireflies—are coming into view just ahead.

The clouds are sinking to the ground, but through the mist, a weathered sign grows bigger with every step.

Walking quickly, it's not too long before the tall letters peer out through the fog, clear and familiar even in the fading light:

"Welcome to Silvertree."

It has been many years since I was last here. But my thoughts have often turned to Silvertree throughout the last two decades. More than anything, I would think of those unknowable 5315153223. I would hear them calling to me in my dreams.

I do not think I would have returned were it not for 131415's passing. But now that I am here again, I intend to stay for as long as I can.

To those who ask why, I will simply say: "I am weary of traveling and have come home to rest." But the true reason is that I have returned to make sense of my life, and all that has led up to it.

This page, I think, shall be my first step along that path.

August

Second Entry After My Return

Last night, I had a dream about the 5315153223. I barely remember the details now, but as soon as I woke up, I took it as a sign. I must begin my search now while I have time.

I should clarify that this journal will not be a memoir. If it were, a single line would suffice: "Selene Corvina was born in a country she does not remember, lived out her youth in Silvertree, married 131415 23222451421553234222 (234222434355 to his loved ones) and 352432 24 231521, and was considered an artist of some note before deciding she did not wish to be notable and leaving to explore the world."

That is all I will say of such things. 131415 and I kept our marriage secret, and I intend it to remain a secret. What I wish to write about is something altogether different, something that nobody but my father and my 231521 ever knew about. Each of them shared it with me, after all.

Of course, I am speaking of 1124342231.

It has been with me my whole life. What I wish to discover now is why.

Somehow, I feel in my heart that the answer lies in 2413251445152514131315 331545142351.

October

Third Entry

I have found the book I was searching for: Collected Myth and Folklore, my father's old edition. I thought I remembered a story he read to me that had something to do with 5145141423, and it seems I was right. "The Tale of the Moontree" is an interesting one, but what interests me the most is this line:

"Although within hours the light had disappeared, it left the shoots of new trees where it had planted its roots. By sunrise, the shoots had grown into a 331545142351."

A 331545142351 that grows overnight. Time and again I have seen this image in stories, in folktales. I feel somehow it cannot be a coincidence.

And now, having stumbled across an old map of Silvertree, I am sure it is not. For on that map, near the center of 2413251445152514131315 331545142351, there is a spot that is marked off. It is labeled: 33154514235123 2522455135.

Somewhere, in local memory, there must be some knowledge of something that happened there—something that once caused the 331545142351 to grow. If there is truth in this legend, then it may explain the connection I feel between the 331545142351 and my 1124342231. Perhaps this was the origin of it all.

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