PlayerOliver

When you were a kid, you lived with your grandmother in the small town of Silvertree, on the edge of a magical forest. Grandma is a witch, and she taught you how to use your magic to affect the natural world, too. “Magic is a part of you,” she always told you. “Learning how to use it means figuring out who you are.”

Now you’re 19 and on your own. After years of living in the forest while you perfected your witchcraft, you’ve returned to take care of your grandmother’s house and crow-familiar while she’s gone. Figuring out who you are feels more important than ever - not to mention, figuring out what Silvertree is. A lot is just as you remembered: the friendly generous next-door neighbors with a kid just your age, the proud town council, the quaint little shops with quirky punny names, the gentle shadowy forest full of magic.

Stone in the shoe

It has been a year since I returned. I feel as if I have aged twenty in that time.


Lately, I have been asking myself why it was so important that I discover the source of my 1124342231. I think the answer is simply that I wish to know who I am—to know why I am the person I am.


I have long sought those answers. My sculptures were so often about trying to carve out a shape for my own identity, thinking that if I could shape something just right, then I would be able to look at it and know who I was.


Only now do I realize I was looking at it all wrong.


By making those sculptures, I was shaping myself. I was carving out my identity with my own hands. I made myself into an artist; then, when I was tired of that, I made myself a new life altogether. My true self was not waiting for me in Silvertree all these years; it was with me all along.


Perhaps I am never to know the truth of my 1124342231. But perhaps I do not need that truth to know myself. I am capable enough of deciding who I am on my own, even if some parts appear to be missing.


With all of this in mind, I have written a new inscription for "Every Year," one of my old sculptures. Hopefully, it will offer some comfort for anybody else seeking answers about themselves.


"If, by seeking some new part of who you are, you fear that you will betray the core of your being—don't be afraid. A tree may grow new blossoms every year, but the bough will never weaken under their weight. Whatever you decide, you are not forsaking your bough; you are merely choosing where it will grow, and how it will blossom."


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