Sirene Utopia

March 13, 1895

3 days have passed since I arrived at this manor. I was a bit nervous coming to this place and being forced to mingle with other participants. I’ve settled in a bit since then. Still, whenever I hear a knock on my door alerting that a letter needs delivering I find myself flinching. The rule of primarily using writing to speak to each other calms my nerves but this has been the most intimate I’ve been with other people since boarding school.

The other participants in this experiment seem similar to myself, Reserved, Anxious; I can see it in their eyes. I am not letting myself be fooled though. Often times a timid facial expression is only hiding deep malice. I’ve seen plenty of guys like that during my time spent working for “big daddy”. The people who accuse others of lying are often liars themselves.

A deep part of my consciousness craves to let someone through these barriers I’ve formed. To be able to let my guard down in the company of a friend.

I wish to be understood one day by someone who is the same species as me. That is why I accepted the invitation to this strange place after all. I remember it very clearly. My heart beat fastened and a wide smile came across my lips. Somebody was trying to reach me? Trying to talk to me? In my preferred method of communication too? It awakened a dormant emotion in my amygdala.

One of the contestants seems to be infatuated with me. These notes he sends me are more like letters in their complexity and his eyes seem to never leave my face. One might think that perhaps he is just that type of person to write long messages and to not know an appropriate amount of eye contact, which is what I thought initially. Mr Aesop Carl is his name. Despite me and Mr Carl sitting side by side at the dinner table (arguably the most unconvinient position to be locked on somebodies face) he seems to never look away. I have never seen Mr Carl give the other two contestants the same staring treatment.

I’ve always been quite sensitive to people’s eyes on me so this activity of my horribly obvious stalker had heightened my anxiety, making It hard to enjoy meals the manors workers provide for us.

Despite the discomfort Mr Carl has been causing me during our time face to face I enjoy his “letters” a lot. The attention he puts in every paper revokes the emotion I felt when I first received the letter from the manor owner. I haven’t felt this seen by another person in a long time.

I have a feeling that behind Mr Carls strange mannerisms he is just like me. Longing to connect with another human but not being presented with the correct opportunity to do so. Underneath Mr Carls mask I believe he’s just trying his best and has all good intentions in his heart.