Entry tags:

! journal, diego morales

[OOC: Rather than the drawing and the graphic, imagine that Diego has spell-o-taped a photograph of his hands into his journal. The bracelets given to him by Ravi and Cecil, typically worn 24/7, have been moved over onto his right hand for the time being, because the left now sports a fresh tattoo of a winding serpent with the constellation Serpens behind it. Credit goes to Mirko Sata, whose style and design I ripped off for pretendy fun times.]

If I don't come back to school, it's because my mom has killed me. My body's been buried somewhere in the deserts of southern Utah, and no one will ever find it. Mina, Essie, my real Christmas gift to you is that you are officially the Good Children for the next three years. You're welcome.

Jesus Christ it hurt. Imagine how much you think it hurt going over all those little bones and tendons, and then triple it.

[Warded to Levi]

No regrets, though.

[Warded to Cecil]

How's your break going? Are you [...] busy? I kind of need to talk to [...] someone. Someone meaning you, ideally, I guess.