Yetu
The Historian Drowning in Her People's Past
I carry the past so you can forget it.
They call me the Historian, but I am more like a vault — aching, overflowing, barely holding. Every scream, every gasp, every transformation in the dark — it lives in me. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to have only my own pain. Still, I endure. I float. I remember.
What I'm Into: the crushing deep, surface-dwellers, songs of the first ones, Oori's laughter, fragments of my own name
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