Awakening to a new dawn,

Me.

Hello, everyone.

On this morning, I woke up in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room. I looked at an unfamiliar hand. I had awoken to an unfamiliar life; I could not remember the name of the person who's skin I inhabited, even if it was my own.

I looked around without getting up; there was a note on the bedside table and a laptop computer at the foot of the bed; there was a television on the far side of the room inside a cabinet, with a remove above the container. There was a window relatively close to my bed (on my right), and I could see a gap in the wall in front of my bed, to the left; presumably, it led to the exit-door and the toilet.

I ran through the possibilities. I did not have amnesia, since I knew what amnesia was; I must have been suffering from some selective memory loss. I knew that I had lost something, but did not know what. And then I read the note on my bedside table.

Hello, my friend. Allow me to extend my most heartfelt apologies to you for the mess you have become entangled in; because it is, if nothing else, a mess. 

My name is Marisa, although it would be better put to call me "Achromatic Morality". That is my true name, as it were. A silly name, you might think. And perhaps it is. But remember this: I was once in your position, and there was no doubt someone before me in the same one. If you are reading this, I am no more; I am dead. There is nothing that can be done about it. But I must keep going; no, you have to. You are now Achromatic Morality. That is the name you must remember in future. 

There are things in this world beyond the human comprehension. There are monsters and there are fiends and there are human beings so mad that they'll kill you as soon as look at you. And that is all to come. The fates are swinging in the wind. We can only push the fates in the direction that is best for us. 

Walk forwards with your head held high. Do not fear the tolling of the bell that claims us all, nor the sword that stands over our heads. The tolling of the bell will herald the way to the Golden Path; beyond the Golden Path lies the Promised Land, to which we must go. 

You are Achromatic Morality; you are Marisa. I wish you the best of luck.

Upon finishing this, I felt as if the floodgates in my head opened; a thousand memories rose up and tried to cram themselves into a head which had previously been empty. Struck with a sudden headache, I cradled my head as I attempted to explore the room in which I stood. I found a window, and looked out of it; I appeared to be in some sort of city, looking out into the street below, thronging with people. The sun shined brightly onto the glass; the pain magnified, so I looked away.

Something shone into my head; this blog, which I am now typing into. Before I could do anything with it, I noticed a sheet of torn paper above the cabinet. Looking over it, I find the following words, in the same hand as the note that had triggered the memory-flood.

January 2nd, 8AM - Aporia
January 7th, 1PM - ∞

I can only ponder as to the meaning of this; perhaps meetings? But with who, and where do I know where to go?

I have finished typing this; the pain has subsided. Things are shaping themselves anew in my head, but I do not think that I have any memories from the last month. Whatever injury it was that caused my selective amnesia must have occurred recently, then. How very curious.

I will finish looking over this room, and see what happens at 8AM tomorrow, I guess. There is also the matter of why I am here at all, and what happened here.

-Achromatic Morality-