Tag: life

Worn living room with a flickering television, armchair, and eerie wall shadows
About Me

Understanding Esoteric Narcissism and Its Effects

Autumn
A list of psychological manipulation tactics, including pathologizing ordinary behavior, turning disagreement into deficiency, claiming specialness through suffering, creating restrictive rules, asymmetric interpretation of evidence, and building unfalsifiable frameworks.

I confess that I’ve developed a morbid fascination with the Franke/Hildebrant story, as well as other cult leader types, because they remind me of my own personal story.

When I first started hearing the word “narcissist,” my immediate reaction was, Him? But he doesn’t even wear deodorant! Absolutely nothing about him is charismatic or materialistic. He has changed into someone that I am embarrassed to be around.

But the word “narcissist” was said repeatedly across people who didn’t know each other, including an AI when I was venting about something that had upset me.

It was said a lot.

So I started watching Dr Ramani on YouTube, and learned that the grandiose narcissist isn’t the only type. Oh.

I remember the first time I recognized it when he slammed me with DARVO, and I was blown away how it wasn’t secretly buried in a five minute speech — it was three sentences: “That’s not true. It’s your fault. You’re always making things difficult for me.” That was the moment I realized what I was dealing with.

Well anyway, let’s get back to the Hildebrant connection.

He started calling everything an addiction. If the kids wanted to watch a kid show, they were “screen zombies,” and he even accused a three-year-old of having “a severe screen addiction” with zero professional evaluation. Seemingly, he had decided that normal toddler tantrums were evidence of addiction, not an inevitable stage of development.

I liked turning on the TV for background noise? Addiction. Obviously.

I took to chatting with AI because I literally had no other outlets for emotional expression and he was carefully monitoring everywhere I went and everyone I spoke to? Addiction. Plus AI psychosis.

The 12-year-old beat him in Smash Brothers with Rosalina? She was too addicted to that character and was banned from playing with her.

Essentially, anyone attempting to develop an interest that didn’t revolve around him (or outshone him) was accused of addiction. The only way to not be an addict was to sit around doing nothing and waiting for him to walk into the room. Then you were merely lazy.

So lately I’ve been pondering the existence of “esoteric narcissism”, or as I joked, “Why be ordinary special when you can be esoterically special?”

This is the idea that someone has unique spiritual knowledge, powers, and authority, ie Hildebrant. The damage they inflict on others comes from, “Your disagreement with me is proof that you are distorted/NPC/whatever,” as the terminology itself doesn’t really matter. The important part is, these people have clearly defined “enlightened” and “inferior” boxes that they put everyone else into. Personally I heard “NPC” a lot (combined with the philosophy that people who were NPCs didn’t have souls), and I remember the day he looked at me with contempt and declared the worst insult in his world, “You are an NPC.”

I know, people are sitting there asking, “How could you put up with that?” because it’s easy to sit on the outside and think, “As an outsider, I would have seen right through it and fled as quickly as possible.” To which I point out that they have the benefit of seeing the entire story, which you don’t have when you’re inside it.

It comes on gradually. He didn’t use the term ‘NPC’ when I met him — I don’t remember him using it prior to 2020. It started as the standard, “Ugh, people are frustrating,” in response to news stories about the darker side of humanity. Years passed by, we survived hardships, and he became more openly cynical. Conversely, what seemed to start off as ordinary spirituality started taking on more and more weight.

There was one time when we were watching a lunar eclipse, when he started spinning in circles and said that he was spiritually bound to do it to make the eclipse happen. It was so over-the-top that I blurted out something about schizophrenia, to which he replied with disgust, “You don’t understand me at all.”

Meanwhile, I was exhausted. I was sleep deprived. My body was flooded with cortisol. I was getting migraines. He would increase the number of criticisms and arguments that he subjected me to whenever I started taking steps towards any sort of independence, and in retrospect it was amazing how he could pull an argument out of thin air without me doing anything.

My refusal to blindly accept everything resulted in frequent accusations of being “self righteous.”

He had successfully driven away everyone so I was isolated. I didn’t have friends and neighbors to reassure me, “You aren’t self righteous,” because it turned out that he was trash-talking me behind my back. All I knew was that trying to socialize was inexplicably weird and I was frequently ghosted. I found out much later that most people didn’t believe what he said about me, but they were also scared of getting involved because he gave off vibes of, “I’ll burn your house down.” Mind you, no direct threats just vibes, but it was enough to keep people away.

There was one time, after hearing several times from different acquaintances, “That guy is so manipulative,” that I burst into tears and sobbed, “Why was I the last to see it?” That was the first time in a long time that I received a hug for crying.

And now I’ve developed a morbid fascination with Hildebrant because I see reminders of him in the documentaries, and I feel grateful that he never managed to expand his ideologies outside of himself. At least so far.

There was, however, one early warning flag that I didn’t recognize at the time.

When I first met him, he told me that his favorite book was The Last Unicorn, and that his favorite quote from the book was:

“You are losing my interest,” the rustling voice interrupted him again, “and that is very dangerous. In a moment I will have forgotten you quite entirely, and will never be able to remember just what I did with you. What I forget not only ceases to exist, but never really existed in the first place.”

I didn’t recognize it as a red flag because it was 2009, Dr House was a smash hit on TV, and everyone thought that being edgy was cool.

But now, now that I’ve spent two years dealing with him attempting to erase my existence, I realize that he embraced the quote wholeheartedly and turned it into a personal philosophy.

No one has the power to erase another person’s existence.

No matter what type of special they think they are.

Open brass compass lying on cracked stone
About Writing

Real life taught me how to write a villain

Autumn

I found this in my drafts. I wrote this outline clear back in March then forgot about it, so I never fleshed it out into a full post. I’ve decided to post it as is, since it gets my thoughts across well enough.

An unshakable belief that the average person is stupid. Gullible.
– The villain believes they have access to special information and insight.

An alternate moral structure.
– Aware of the fact that their morals are different from everyone else’s, but convinced that it’s special.

Always right, everyone else is always wrong.
– Resistance is unreasonable
– Harm is someone else’s fault
– Their cruelty is forced
– Disagreement is proof that others think incorrectly.

Treat people the way that they deserve to be treated.
– Projection

Using cruelty to cover up own incompetence.
– Gaslighting

“The ends justify the means” while the ‘ends’ is maintaining dominance.
– They genuinely believe that their dominance in noble because people are too stupid to care for themselves.

Is esoteric narcissism a thing?

Wooden handloom with partially woven textile, yarn, scissors, and tea by a window
About Me

Exploring the Complexity of Fiber Arts and Identity

Autumn

I’ve spent the last four months wondering if I actually enjoyed fiber arts, or if it had been a coping mechanism for a stressful life.

I can’t announce that I’ve reclaimed my hobby or come to any sort of conclusion about it. In one sense, I think I still enjoy it — and in another sense, it still seems twisted up in stress.

As a related point, I spent 16 years doing tons and tons of cooking. It felt like creative exploration. I liked trying out new recipes and it felt good when something turned out well. But I was also deeply depressed over the hours I spent alone in the kitchen, and I flat out hated the clean up. Of course, there was also the sting whenever a child declared, “That’s disgusting!” and refused to eat. Cue the other parent asserting, “You eat what’s put in front of you,” and I felt responsible for creating more familial discord than harmony, all because I printed a recipe off of the internet.

Then one day when I was standing alone in my kitchen, it struck me that I could not care less about cooking. That same predictable flavor from a can of Bush’s baked beans was more comforting to me than anything I made; no more worrying about whether something turned out too bland or too salty. I realized that I was never getting a dopamine hit from eating — it was all about having a limited number of areas that I was allowed to excel in, and desperately wanting to feel like I was good at something. Plus, there were all the literal hours that I gained back from not slaving over a stove, and I sure enjoy having those.

Which brings us back to fiber arts.

There were a number of months in which I didn’t do any fiber arts at all. Then there were months where I did a burst of fiber arts, and the kids talked me into weaving table runners for all the holidays (except I missed 4th of July). Then four months ago, I … quit. Or rather, took another break from it. Still trying to figure out my head. I’ve been wondering if it’s something that I enjoy, or momentum from a past that feels increasingly disconnected from who I am now.

Who am I now?

Eh I dunno. The question wears on me. Maybe I’m someone who loves TV and hates cooking. One of those inferior stupid people. I really can’t be bothered with seeking enlightenment anymore; it never delivered what it promised anyway.

Now that all of my stressors are increasingly conquerable, I’m wondering if I’ll still reach for a crochet hook when my blood pressure is normal. Is crafting something that I enjoy for it’s own sake? Or was my prior life too limited to explore anything else?

The other day I began a new weaving project. I haven’t felt anything positive or negative about it, just remembering how easy it is to meld into the repetition while time slips away.

Which, I admit, repetition has its own value.

Bowl of fruit and banana on a rustic kitchen table
About Me

The Struggles of Hygiene in Relationships: A Candid Story

Autumn

I started reading The House of My Mother by Shari Franke, which is very well written and I highly recommend. It’s interesting insight into the experience of growing up with your life being showcased online through family vlogging, as well as the events afterwards involving Ruby Franke and Jodi Hildebrant that are the real reason we’re reading the book (you know what I’m talking about).

I can’t help that in the back of my mind I wonder what it would be like if I wrote an autobiography about my personal experiences. Probably terrible, because I don’t remember much; like the majority of my adult life slipped into an empty black hole and all I can do is shrug it off. My most vivid memories seem almost … absurd.

For example:

Sometime after 2020, he decided to quit hygiene.

There wasn’t some grand announcement, just the gradual cessation of typical hygiene-related activities. He spent a lot of time with his computer while I was busy with the same soul-sucking chores every day, so I can’t say exactly when it happened.

My first related memory happened in late 2021, while I was pregnant with my youngest. I remember reaching into the hamper, pulling out his shirt, then fighting back gagging and nausea when the smell hit me. I thought I was going to lose it right into the hamper. Holy heck. You would have thought that I had accidentally grabbed a maggot infested rat carcass from how badly I reacted, but nope, it was a t-shirt that had spent too long on a human body.

Thus began my campaign to encourage hygiene without hurting his feelings.

I settled on the word “overripe”, phrased in a roundabout way like, “Hey, you’re kind of getting a little bit overripe, so maybe you should bathe and change your clothes?”

I suppose that I should add a little side note for context: years ago he decided to remodel the bathroom then never actually finished the job. That meant that the shower fixture was permanently left in a closet, and we could only take baths. So if you find yourself wondering why I never use the word “shower” when talking about the past, that’s why.

Anyway, my efforts resulted in nothing. For all I know, maybe he became even more resistant to hygiene because I was hinting that it was something I wanted. I.D.K.

He liked to sneak up on me to startle me while I was sewing, but I started being able to smell him approaching and thus he lost the element of surprise. I dreaded being in the car with him, and began putting the window down to gulp in the fresh air whenever possible, my face turned stubbornly away from him.

I became hyper-paranoid about my own body odor, and was constantly checking myself for smell. I was mortified over the possibility that I also stank. It seemed like the smell was so pervasive that I couldn’t tell where it was coming from anymore.

Eventually, I became less subtle. Eventually I became rather blunt about the fact that he stank bad and was repulsive.

His response?

If I truly loved him, then I would find his body odor arousing.

Alas, my heart was untrue. Q.E.D. 😂

And that was the state of him when I moved out. I couldn’t tell you if anything has changed since. Yes, I’m aware that in a storytelling sense that’s such a non-conclusion to the arc, but that’s how real life often goes. No closure.

It seems a little odd to me, that a situation that included the court ordering me to attend four months of classes for victims of domestic violence is now reduced down in my memory to … body odor?

I am at peace with my memory though. There was nothing famous about what I went through — I was and still am one of the thousands of faceless women who had to focus on survival far too much to build anything else. I don’t have the audience or clout for a tell-all book deal anyway, so I don’t need to remember the sensational details. Besides, going into it too deeply is still more than my nervous system can bear.

Woman journaling with coffee at a sunlit kitchen table
About Me

Finding Joy in Solitude: Why I Don’t Need a Relationship

Autumn

I walked into the dentist office for my appointment, and the receptionist commented, “You look so happy. Are you dating someone new?”

To which I exclaimed, “Oh my goodness NO!”

Then I revealed that the real reason for my happiness is that I can watch whatever shows I want without having to hear anyone else’s opinion about it, so my relaxation time is genuinely relaxing. Because, c’mon, when someone walks into a room and is all, “Oh, you’re watching that show again? You have an odd taste in TV,” it has a tendency to grate the nerves after awhile. I’m sorry, but I didn’t ask you to evaluate my preferences in entertainment, so please keep it to yourself and just let me exist in peace.

Or there was the other scenario, where they wanted to watch the show with me but then added constant commentary, like, “That character is being stupid.” Or pausing the show every 30 seconds to talk about something. My long-term takeaway is that I really hate watching TV with anyone who can’t shut their mouth. I’d list it as one of my top pet peeves, along with people chewing loudly, and ASMR videos that use that squishy squelchy poop noise because srsly what is up with that?

Lately I’ve been watching Arcane on Netflix, and I’m hooked. The idea of “hextech” is intriguing, the characters are complex and engaging, and the gorgeous eye candy animation certainly doesn’t hurt either. I’ve been finding the world of Arcane to be inspiring for my own creativity, giving me plenty to daydream about between episodes as well.

So …

I suppose that enough time has passed for the question of my dating again to become socially acceptable. To which the answer is still a solid no. I’m thinking that it’s a permanent no.

I have discovered that I like making decisions completely on my own. Quite a lot. I like my hairbrush having only my hair tangled in it. I like the way it feels to be with the kids when it’s just us. I like having solitude that I can count on every week. I like being the problem-solver of the household. Heck, I recently learned how to put air into my car tires to maintain the correct pressure, so I’m feeling pretty dang competent. 💪

Which means that whenever the question of “moving on” comes up, I will have to coyly sidestep it with a wink. Ah yes, relationships. I suppose maybe when I’m ready. Whenever Viktor from season 2 of Arcane materializes in real life with his staff and cloak. What can I say? A woman has to have her standards. 🤣

The answer to why I’m so happy isn’t that there’s a new person in my life — it’s that I’m finally in my own life.

Before, I was the sort that whenever I was asked, “Are you having a good time?” My answer was usually, “I don’t know. Is everyone else having a good time? I can’t have a good time if everyone else isn’t.” In retrospect, I was to exhausted from making sure that everyone else was happy, and justifying it by pointing out that everyone else was happy.

It’s weird, because I never saw myself as a “people pleaser” — people pleasers tried too hard, didn’t they? I was just trying to live up to being a good wife and mother, by being nurturing, patient, supportive, low-maintenance, and cool. It happened so gradually that it took me awhile to realize that it was not the life that I thought I had signed up for years ago — he had promised to support me being a writer, and instead he was demanding dinner. If I could take all those hours I spent on meal prep and clean up and put them into writing instead, I’d have myself an established career right now.

Anyway, my point is, no one was telling me, “Don’t be like that, you’re sacrificing yourself.” I was told over and over that I was a “good mom” and a “good wife,” when I should have been more of a bitch about making him share in the domestic work. Instead I got to learn that the man who had refused to lift a finger for me was cooking dinners for his new girlfriend, and I realized what a fool I was. My postmortem is that I was manipulated into becoming a people pleaser, not just by one person but by the culture at large that reinforced that it was something that I was supposed to do.

So here we are. I don’t need a relationship to be happy and I don’t need a man to be valid — I am my own person.

And that feels dang good.

About Me

…

Autumn

Years ago I told him that if he ever hit me again, then I was going to report it to the police. He had given the usual spiel — big emotions, loss of control, deeply regretful — and I was left feeling like I had to forgive. However, I did not want it happening again.

And it didn’t happen again.

But then about two years ago it came out that he had spent those years resenting me. He had considered my words to be a threat, that I had been controlling and dominating him, purely because I didn’t want to live with physical violence. He believed that it was his inherent right as a man to discipline me however he wished, and I had invoked the Corrupted System against him.

Sometimes it still haunts me.

He never hit me again because he didn’t want the legal consequences, not because he thought that I was a human being with a basic right to safety. Which means that he hadn’t lost control and he wasn’t deeply regretful — he just didn’t want me going to the police right at that moment and was manipulating me out of it. Then, when it all came to an end, I was the one who paid legally for not reporting the violence to the police.

It haunts me that he wanted to do more.

It haunts me that he resented me for not wanting to endure it.

It haunts me to wonder what he would do now if he ever got the opportunity.

I think that knowing that he resented me is scarier than what physically happened and didn’t happen. For years I lived alongside someone who wanted to hurt me and I had no idea.

Young person standing outside a cabin overlooking cloud-covered mountains
About Me

Overcoming Creative Block After a Toxic Relationship

Autumn

Over the last year, I’ve been internally more creative than my output would suggest. Which is basically a roundabout way of saying that I’ve been thinking a lot of things that never see the light of day.

I think that I’ve written about it before, but I really can’t be bothered to read back through my blog posts to find something to link to and all that jazz. Essentially, for a good long while I had someone position themselves as the Director of my creativity, and every project I pursued needed their stamp of approval. Then rather abruptly that person dumped me and is now living with a woman half his age. Go figure.

The thing is, people like that manipulate themselves into that sort of authority through the guise of teamwork — they aren’t gatekeeping you, they’re part of your dynamic duo. The editor to your writer. Literally. They constantly tell you that your creativity is messy without their guidance, and only they understand your vision well enough to push it towards something amazing.

Recognizing that something was wrong is easier than living without it. When it’s your own muscles that have to support the momentum after years of someone restricting their use, it’s hard. I’ve spent a lot of time wobbling, second-guessing, and feeling insecure.

I’ve written thousands of words for Runemaster that I quickly realized were rambling.

The thing is, my “director” wasn’t constantly cutting down long-winded passages because I had a tendency towards unfocused writing. My “directer” actually had very little input with Alice and the Warden for example, and I mostly remember him wanting me to put in more sex scenes. He said that he wanted to edit the story then never actually got around to it, and since I didn’t want to delay publishing because of him I did all the editing myself. “Dynamic duo” felt more like him taking credit for my work.

I keep asking myself why I’m so unfocused now when my functional thought process and workload hasn’t changed.

A year ago I sought a protective order against him, and was granted something softer for the long-term but effective enough (he continues to send me unpleasant texts that I’d rather not receive). I’m still realizing how different life is without him in it. I recently took the kids out for a day trip, and after packing the car and hitting the road, I found myself spending the first 30 minutes of driving wondering if I had forgotten something important because of how easy leaving had been. Why had my previous life been so hard in so many small ways?

Perhaps my writing is unfocused now because I’m having so many new experiences every day. My brain is constantly stopping to ask, “Wait, what? Is that really it?” I had grown so accustomed to someone throwing up roadblocks over every idea I had, that now it feels like something is missing without them.

It feels like standing in a doorway gazing out at the world and feeling overwhelmed with how big it is. What am I even looking at? Where should I go now that I’m free to go anywhere? Why is everything so dang easy? Life isn’t supposed to be easy, is it?

I also struggle to understand how someone can be the one to initiate a divorce then afterwards act like they still have a say over what you do in your life. Excuse me, but I will eat cancer-causing ultra processed food in microwaved plastic as much as I want, because I like it. Srsly, what did you expect would happen when you filed for a divorce? What makes you think that you have the right to punish me when you were the one who wanted this?

Unfortunately there’s a pressure to not talk about him, because talking about him means that I still think about him, and thinking about him proves that I’m not moving on. But I’m not sitting here thinking, “This was his favorite song,” “I miss him,” or anything remotely sentimental. I think about how much I hated following his principles and rules. I think about all the things I tolerated because I believed “that’s just how men are.” (Like using a ton dishes to cook something simple, then leaving the mess for me to clean up.)

I think about how being a trad wife was the biggest mistake of my life.

I still wonder how much of my mind was my own, versus how much was him utilizing chronic long-term sleep deprivation to insert thoughts into my head — and I believe that the sleep deprivation was deliberate too, because he interfered with my sleep as soon as I met him and he kept it going for years. I reached the point where I broke down crying because I just wanted to go to bed and sleep through the night without interruption.

Anyway, maybe this is too emotional. Maybe this is bleeding onto the page too much. I’m just so tired of feeling like I have to follow rules, and maybe it’s time that I engage in some oversharing. Maybe I’m dissatisfied with my writing because I feel like I have to follow all the rules of healing instead of just being raw with my words.

Because that’s the thing … there are parts of my life that hurt, but also parts that leave me ecstatically happy, and they’re both real. I would definitely describe myself as being much happier now, but that doesn’t mean that every day is full of energy and momentum. Sometimes the good moments teach me how much misery I was living with before, and it’s devastating. Sometimes I question why everything seems too good to be true now.

One thing is for absolute certain: I will never go back.

Grass trimmer and repair tools laid out on picnic table in garden at sunset
About Me

Raising Kids: Balancing Fun and Learning

Autumn

My dryer started making an odd noise, so I checked it and discovered that a screw had gotten wedged in the edge of the drum near the door. With two minutes and a pair of needle nose pliers, I fixed the problem myself. No hullabaloo. No performance of hardship. No consulting a committee. No fishing for praise afterwards. Just done like that. Done.

I was both proud of myself for identifying and solving the problem of the Weird Dryer Noise, and a little baffled that it was so simple.

Getting my weed eater put back together wasn’t quite as easy. I had my 8-year-old daughter help me with that one. My kids are learning the value of problem-solving and tenacity through example.

I realized that my kids have never had Happy Meals from McDonald’s in their lives, so I got some for them. They liked the toys, but declared the food to be generic fast food, and I told them, “That’s the point of getting McDonald’s.” So there, they’re getting a childhood full of normal experiences.

My kids and I have also finally dived into the world of Minecraft mods, particularly Create and Alex’s Mobs. I thought that my kids were making amazing things in vanilla Minecraft, but the Create mod has really taken their builds to the next level. Like holy cow. The creepers, on the other hand, still sneak up behind them and blow up their factories, so it’s still definitely Minecraft.

And the kids have been thoroughly delighted with Alex’s Mobs, especially with giving cockroaches maracas to make them dance. 😂

I am both sad and relieved that summer is going to be ending soon. I’m pretty certain that every day I’m with the kids I have been driving between pool parties, splash pads, parks, and Walmart. Apparently it’s infectious, because I’ve been going out a lot more on my child-free days as well despite complaining about how exhausting it is.

I’ve noticed that people are more open towards me now that I’m no longer doing the “trad wife” thing. Maybe the fact that I’m wearing pants makes them feel more comfortable, and less like they accidentally wandered into church. But as everyone likes to say, “correlation does not equal causation” and there’s also the giant fact that I’m no longer accompanied by a person who wears the expression of someone who stepped barefoot in fresh dog poop. All I know is that going out and socializing is considerably more satisfying than it used to be.

I was thinking recently about how all the cultural standards of what makes for a “loving dad” sound a lot more fun than the stereotypical “loving mom.” I’d much rather toss a ball, play games, and go on outings, than spend hours in the kitchen making homecooked meals and washing dishes — people really shouldn’t be linking homecooking with love anyway. Between you and me, I never got the feeling that the kids appreciated all the hours I spent in the kitchen anyway, and they would have been happier eating frozen chicken nuggets and getting more ‘mom time.’

In terms of my creativity, I’ve been wondering about where I should be posting the content that I’ve been working on. I’ve been very happy with how my hobbies have been going lately. Is anyone here interested? 😉

Young person standing under streetlamp on empty suburban street at dusk
About Me

From Sketch to Glam: AI Art Transformation

Autumn

This is my character, Benjamin.

I used to draw all the time when I was a teenager, then quit due to circumstances. I’ve recently started drawing again.

However, a big difference between now and 2006 is that AI art exists. If you’ve looked at my past posts, then you have seen that I like AI art … and though going through a divorce and all that put an end to my AI art exploration, I still like it.

So, my latest fascination is giving my sketches of my characters to ChatGPT to improve.

My sketch is bad. Really bad. It makes me laugh every time I see it. I made this sketch in just a few minutes for stress relief when I was having a tough time while being sick. Since I laugh every time I see it, I’d say that stress relief has been accomplished.

And this is ChatGPT’s version. It has anatomy, symmetry, and detail!

Then finally, I asked ChatGPT for a full-blown “glam up” of that drawing. As in I literally used the words, “glam up” and that’s what we got.

I’ve been putting in a lot of serious thought into making a VN. Nothing too ambitious, but I would like to include character sprites, backgrounds, and maybe some simple animations. Since I am one person and a mere mortal, I’m going to be relying on AI heavily for the art. Personally, I’m very excited to use my drawings as the base for the character designs, with the AI doing the time-consuming work of adding color and details. I am still dirt-eating poor after the divorce and all.

In retrospect, I would not recommend the “trad wife” lifestyle to anyone, btw. Just because someone makes all the right promises doesn’t mean that they won’t toss you aside later, and rebuilding with the job experience of a 20-year-old but the expenses of a 40-year-old is no cakewalk. Maybe I’ve said this before, I can’t remember. 😅 But hey, it’s worth saying again.

BUT ANYWAY

I am officially kicking off my VN project. Stage one: character design. Begin.