“The only place I am truly safe is inside my head…” The Traveler thought. At least, this used to be the case before The Others had ripped away all that The Traveler loved, all that The Traveler had, and all that The Traveler had ever wanted to be. Because now those memories, those remnants of a life built upon the possibility of mutual love and connection, served as a constant reminder of just how brutal this existence had become. It was enough to drive the strongest survivor mad with hate and anger. What was once a safe harbor, a home where one could escape to when the fate of reality became too much to bear, had itself become its own perverted torture device. “The mind is a terrible thing to waste.” The Traveler recalled being told once. “But if it were, even temporarily, could it ever truly be recovered?”
