Hello to the final part of this long running series. And It’s probably cheating to end this series like this, but I’m ending it like this, so here it is, “Part 12”.
That was the tale of when I was saved by Wren, of when I was awakened from my century long slumber and forced to go through everything of that a born child. That was the tale of when I had first learned to be human, of how I learned that I could be human. That was the tale of when I had shortly lived in the Town of Living Gears. Sometimes I wonder what had happened to that old town, whether it still stands with Adam and Wren and Kloe. Sometimes I wonder whether they still know about me, about whether they will keep my name in the history books. Such a thought is a trailing thought, for now I travel the better world. I keep to it that I see new sights every day, and that my database continually expands. But I also keep to it that I do not forget about my origins, that I do not forget about Klover, and about my time with Wren and Kloe. Those memories are something that I have locked into my database, such that I will never forget them. Even as the days pass, and as some of those memories seem to grow more hazy, I try my best to push them back forward. I have no desire to throw them away. I wish to not throw them away. Such would make me sad. I have grown to feel sadness. And happiness. And anger. And fear. I have become more than what I could wish to be. Someday I wish to document these past travels, and even my coming travels in the same way I have documented my time in the Town of Living Gears. Such a time will come, I am sure, but right now, this is all I have left. And so, I will keep these parchments for whomever so happens to find them. In case I have forgotten as well, I will come back here, in hopes that whomever finds these papers, will read them, and keep them here for safe keeping. Such is my wish, and to have that wish fulfilled, will make me even more human. I am Marianne. I write with greatest wishes for my future, and for whomever reads to know that the better world will always embrace those who have yet to come. And I write to preserve my own history to this world, in case I or everyone else has forgotten. Such is a selfish wish, I know. That much, is also a humanistic feat.