About

Lethe's Personal Diaries is a work of fiction told entirely as a journal. She falls asleep during a Sydney downpour with unfinished dailies on the screen, and wakes in a collapsing building under a bruised orange sky: small, porcelain-skinned, horned, tailed, and unable to stop hearing what everyone around her is thinking.

What follows is measured in months rather than dates. 1096 is infirmary lights, landship corridors, a diagnosis with arithmetic attached, and learning to walk in a body that keeps its balance with a tail. 1097 opens on a cafeteria clock with no celebration under it, and widens outward — Trimounts, Siesta, drone drills, a family that assembles itself, and the harder lesson that carrying someone's fear is not the same as taking it away. 1098 is the third year: a fourteenth birthday counted against what the Oripathy keeps erasing, a mother who walks without a limp, a freight run that mistakes her for cargo, and — briefly — peace.

Entries are ordered by in-world time, not by when they were written: the whole run from the January 1096 awakening to the ward bed in December 1098 — 26 entries, 396,759 words, roughly 1725 minutes of reading. Start at January, 1096? and read forward, or use the timeline to jump.