Grian claims that he cannot read, but it is certain that he can write.
After escaping the Watchers, the Grian has spent his silent hours putting the names of all those that he had Seen, that he had let die, that he had stood idle to the sufferings of.to paper.
He remembers everything- that is the gift of a watcher, there is a part of their mind, infinite as void, that allows them to recall every second of it all, every detail of one’s existence.
He writes their names, and every little detail of who they once were, and who they had hoped to be.
He doesn’t organize any of it, there is no rhyme or reason to their placement in a time because to him they simply need to persist. To exist outside of himself, to be found again.
There are tomes now, tucked neatly into his enderchest. Hidden in shame.
He reads them every day. He Sees them in his sleep.
One day, he will share his books. One day, someone else will remember, too. But for now, his inked guilt is what forces him to survive.
Is it better this way?
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