My name is Aniamha. I am Sylvari. I awoke in 1325 AE, on the 12th day of the season of the Zephyr. I am of the Cycle of Night. My Luminary is Malomedies. Although darkness may follow me, I will find my way through it.
I had a journal like this once. A first one. It belonged to a Sylvari who had no experience, but a purpose. As a Valiant of the Hunt, this Sylvari believed that she could do anything, as, in her foolish youth, she believed all Hunts came to be.
I lost everything that day: my love, my friends, my mind, my connection to the world. I became Soundless, terrified of the idea that Mordremoth would return, even in my nightmares. I cut myself off, dove into each library head first and made cartography my only focus. I did not see anyone, did not meet anyone. I became of Night. Truly, of Night.
But over time, I learned. I still bore shame for my failure, and in my stupidity tried to hide it upon joining a group for the first time since Maguuma: the Kindred. They welcomed me, accepted me into their ranks. Their Herald, most of all, is the one who brought me to realize how foolish I had been all that time.
I learned in my failure. I would no longer hide my pain, I would no longer lie in shame. It is so that one must learn to move forward, even after having lost so much, if not everything. I believed I was in for a long, lonely way back up to what I was meant to be. Whatever that was.
I was wrong.