This is adressed to all who know me: my family, my friends, those who
love me, those who watch out for me, those who smack at my hand when I'm
bad, who comfort me when I've gone and wounded myself again. This is
also for those who have been a victim of a monster I shall hereby refer
to as Mouth.

Mouth is a beast, a cruel monster who feeds off of anger and hurt. Mouth
came to me years ago, and has been living with me since. Mouth is what I
say, the words that flow from my mouth when anger pours into my body and
wrath takes over. The hissing, spiting, cursing, wailing, screaming...
they are all products of the dreaded Mouth beast.

Why did Mouth come to me? Sometimes, I wonder if it was carried along by
the first pangs of heartache. Maybe it's from losing a best friend, or a
sister, or a mother. I don't know.

Speech is inarguably an art when placed in the proper hands. When placed
in the hands of a bitter, jaded broken-hearted druidess, it's a creature
of it's own wrath and will, harming even the master which harboured it's
miserable hide for so many long years.

I am sorry to those of you who Mouth has hurt. I am sorry for my words
of anger, and disquietude, and idiocy. I am sorry to those I've angered,
and those I've disappointed. I never meant to hurt you. And now, at such
revelations, I turn Mouth out of my care. Wounding myself and frothing
at my enemies is one thing, but when this dread beast turns itself
against one I love, there is no other option.

outb sileris
apply sileris it were, it might be a blessing to many, but from this
moment first, I shall mute myself for two Achaean years. No word will
come from my mouth, lest it be to the Divine, or, if need be, on another
plane where Mouth will not somehow catch sent of some hidden, buried
angers.

I forsake you, Mouth.

I'm sorry.

Chammilla

Penned by my hand on the 15th of Mayan, in the year 316 AF.