<em>Date: April 21, 1838</em><br/><br/>It's my birthday today and the first time I'm writing in a journal because of what my dream was like the night before. I saw a great celebration, even though I thought humans are more excited about their children turning 18 instead of 17. I guess we underdwellers have different traditions and customs. My parents and even the elders seem to be expecting something great in my future or so they hope.<br/><br/>Oh, right, my dream. I dreamt of a great celebration, but something goes awry. Someone decides to celebrate with a bunch of light and sound and lights an relatively harmless firework. He burns his hand when it goes off prematurely. I so did not want to see that right before my birthday.<br/><br/><em>Date: April 22, 1838</em><br/><br/>This is freaky. My dream from a couple nights ago, the one where someone burns their hand while lighting a firework... I happened to be within sight of it and then it happened... exactly how it was in my dream.<br/><br/><em>Date: May 29, 1838</em><br/><br/>The word is out and I think it was my parents. While not thinking it, I received a vision after I was scratching my forearms and back for over an hour. It was a trivial thing really, where my father would say something to my mother. I tried to warn him not to say it, but he did it anyway, and when my mother lashed out at him like I said she would, I guess he was amazed at my foresight. Again, I was not thinking of it and this happened only a few days ago.<br/><br/>Today, the elders visited my house, saying they were expecting a gift like mine to arise in the population. It would spell greatness in the coming future. It would be an honor and a great responsibility. Isn't there a human saying that there comes huge responsibility with great power? I don't think having visions of what will happen the next day is such a great power.<br/><br/><em>Date: November 1, 1838</em><br/><br/>First day as a priestess. It was an eye-opener for two situations. The first was informative. A gift like mine has not been seen in hundreds of years, though they were tight-lipped about the previous... Oracle... as they called him. The priestesses-in-training told me they are brought up in this field of study at a young age, hoping they could somehow inherit this gift once they turned of age. I think they are jealous of someone who had no interest in the gift in the first place.<br/><br/>They showed me tools that they employed to help encourage visions to happen, rather than having them randomly occur. Some used popular divining tools such as tarot cards, dowsing rods, and crystal balls, but none of them tickled my fancy and none of them “spoke to me,” like the other priestesses said they would.<br/><br/>I took a browse of their storehouse to see what unique tools I could use to bring forth visions. I picked two. The first was what they called a type of grimoire, a book used for spell-casting. This was not a traditional book with a front and back cover, a spine and numerous pages. This was more like a scroll, at least it rolled up like one. When it was unrolled, it somehow became perfectly flat, even if laid on an uneven surface. It's construction and method of use was a series of rotatable circles. Different configurations formed different types of runes across the surface. I would need to study what these runes are and what they do. The second was a pair of metal balls that supposedly came from the continent of China. When struck together, the balls chimed, triggering something deep within me. They were supposed to be rotated around each other in a user's hand and when I tried it, the chimes seemed to resonate and almost trigger a vision. I stopped before anything happened.<br/><br/>As a show of my abilities, the head priestess wanted me to try my luck at inducing a vision. I laid out the grimoire and rotated the rings so they formed a set of runes, runes that I had no knowledge of their meaning. The head priestess told me to clear my mind of any thoughts and emotions and once I was devoid of anything in my mind, I was to slam my hands upon the grimoire. Just like she had said it would, it worked.<br/><br/>My eyes opened (though, in actuality, my eyes went white to those who were observing me) and what came to me was a different vision. It was not trivial and surely not happening the next day. It was filled with chaos, and confusion, and maybe even the sight of molten rock. That is the extent of what I would record in this diary entry, as I did not even divulge what I saw to the priestesses.<br/><br/><em>Date: December 25, 1938</em><br/><br/>It's supposed to be a time of celebration in the human world and as the days go by, I feel like it is calling me. This gift I have is more like a curse, as I continue to see tragic things rather than trivial, joyous moments. The elders are expecting something great from me, but what I have seen seems more like doom for my people. We are supposed to be Lemurians, as great as the Atlanteans, but from what I have foreseen, we would be more like lemmings, unknowingly falling to their demise. I believe chaos and confusion would happen right as I tell them this vision and that is why I'm deciding to withhold them of such information. They are better off not knowing.<br/><br/><em>Date: January 21, 1939</em><br/><br/>A good friend of mine and someone who was arranged to be wed to me is helping me with my exile. The more I'm here, supposedly under Mt. Shasta in the Alta California territory belonging to Mexico, the more the elders pester me with requests of the future. I think they are distracted with my upcoming wedding with Toshi, at least that is what they currently call him. My name will probably be different upon our union, but the both of us do not want that.<br/><br/>He probably has genuine love for me. He didn't like arranged marriage as much as I abhorred it. To say that your fate is pre-destined. I have only seen what is destined for Lemuria and only Toshi knows the details and believes with me gone, he could help set it right and prevent it from happening. He is worried that I'm exiling myself to the human world. I would be called an Earthroamer, something no parent would want their child to become. Tomorrow is the day, the day I make the trek to the portal to the surface of Earth.<br/><br/><em>Date: March 27, 1846</em><br/><br/>I almost forgotten this diary and it pains me to be reminded of why I'm a young Earthroamer. The last seven human years was wild and nowadays, there is a war between the United States and Mexico. I have found refuge among the indigenous peoples of America. The foreigners incorrectly address then as Indians and somehow the name sticks, out of ignorance. I have learned to live off the land, but more of that land is being encroached by the incoming battles and the wagon trains of settlers from the east.<br/><br/><em>Date: February2, 1848</em><br/><br/>This two-year long battle between the United States and Mexico is over, or so I hear. Living outside of the battle I could only imagine the horrors the soldiers faced fighting their enemies. The land that is called Alta California is still a wild place and the elders of the tribes I find refuge in forbid any of their tribe, especially the women, to go near any of the gatherings of miners. There is talk of gold being found and flocks of people are rushing to stake their claims. Gold is nothing to me, as there are statues honoring some long-lost individuals made entirely of gold. Maybe these people should invade Lemuria instead of California. If they could only navigate the portal to our lost continent.<br/><br/><em>Date: September 1850</em><br/><br/>To think I could hide with the many tribes I've encountered on my exile and not see any of these men from the United States encroaching on their territory. Stories say the indigenous peoples are occupying land that they want and they will do anything to stake their claim. They are such a ruthless bunch.<br/><br/>I am writing this in a peculiar cave in the mountains of what is called the Sierra Nevada. My hosts are a peculiar bunch and though they do not talk, I can understand them very well. The folk living in the world call them by many names and the one that sticks here in America is Bigfoot. Yes, they have big feet and they tower over my smaller near-human frame, but they are more skittish than anything. Even squirrels cause them to frenzy.<br/><br/>I unfortunately was part of a group of native women who were ambushed by a group of settlers. They had killed their chief and their husbands and would soon be violated and raped. One decided to fight, encouraging the others to do so. They would be shot like animals and I was the only one to make it out alive, but barely. The gunshot wound to my leg is still healing. These creatures treated it with natural ingredients, but the healing process is long, as I do see myself in these circumstances for a good year or two. The winter is coming and thus the creatures have gone into a special process of hibernation. As an act of goodwill, they provided me a place to hibernate as well and it's done not like bears do. It's more like how frogs do it.<br/><br/>I'm set into this pool of gel-like liquid and once the winter passes over, the liquid freezes putting me and the creatures in suspended animation. I think I'll wake up some time in 1851.<br/><br/><em>Date: Spring of 1900</em><br/><br/>When I wake, the cold is bitter, though I'm blanketed by fur rather than the shaggy mane of those creatures. I feel like I'm in the back of a wagon and when I open my eyes, I see the canvas of a wagon. How long did I slumber? And why is there no cave around me? And whose wagon am I on?<br/><br/><em>Date: April 21, 1900</em><br/><br/>It's my birthday today. My caretaker, a banker in the city of San Francisco, who “rescued” me from a cave in the thaw of spring, thinks I'm around the age of 21. I'm actually 79 human years old, but yes, I may have the energy of someone around 21. The wound I suffered almost fifty years ago is gone and there is not even a scar to remind me of what came to be known as the Trail of Tears. I sob in the bathroom thinking of the families lost in that time. All because modern folk wanted land and would do anything in their power to claim it for themselves.<br/><br/>Since telling my caretaker, whose name is Mr. Vega and is 40 years old, that it is my birthday, he has gathered a small party to celebrate. The feast brought in is called a potluck and had food from cultures I only heard about from other Earthroamers, but they were Earthroamers out of duty, not by choice. I think I liked the Filipino food the best, from a former neighbor of Mr. Vega, a Miss de la Cerna. She is a single mother with one child, Freddy, who is four years old. Out of all the partygoers, it is Freddy who stays near me, like a puppy would. As a passing comment, as I carried Freddy in my arms as I walked about the flat, Mr. Vega said I looked like a mother. I could only smile at the compliment.<br/><br/><em>Date: April 21, 1906</em><br/><br/>Today was supposed to be my 80th birthday, but this year there was no celebration. I should have used my powers for good. Shortly after the celebration last year, I received a chilling vision when putting Freddy to bed. His mother and Mr. Vega are actually courting and Freddy has readily accepted Mr. Vega as his adoptive father. I think that makes me his auntie. Auntie Danielle. It sounds nice for the moment.<br/><br/>The vision was of Freddy in the ruins of a collapsed building, surrounded by fire. And that is how I saw him three days ago. Mr. Vega had perished in the arms of Miss de la Cerna, who also succumbed to smoke inhalation, but fortunately, Freddy was in the next room crying. I picked him up and carried him across the city, finding refuge in a school that was turned into a makeshift hospital. Now he is like me, orphaned in this crazy world.<br/><br/><em>Date: November 29, 1927</em><br/><br/>It's getting hard to conceal my identity to those close to me. Freddy and I have been living together. While I ready the apartment and cook his dinner, it's apparent that I'm no longer his supposed aunt. As a Lemurian, I wouldn't age past this youthful look until I'm about five hundred years old, but by then, I would look like the aunt I was supposed to look like. By then, Freddy would have died some three hundred years earlier. I'm thinking of leaving. As an Earthroamer, I think that is my fate, never able to find a home in this world. He is a grown man, 31 years old and already a banker like his father, Mr. Vega, was. He stays quiet about my youthful look, though he threatened to marry me one of these days. On the outside, it would look like we could be a happy couple, but I senior him by about 80 years or so.<br/><br/><em>Date: December 23, 1927</em><br/><br/>It was so heartbreaking leaving Freddy a couple days before Christmas. I hope he doesn't take it hard. His father and mother left him 21 years ago and now his constant companion for the last two decades has abandoned him. The more distance I put between him and myself, the better, I believe.<br/><br/>I'm taking a boat to Hawaii, which should look nice this time of year, despite it between wintertime.<br/><br/><em>Date: December 7, 1941</em><br/><br/>I knew my exile would be hard, but as I have been living among the humans, I am also living through their tragedies, their struggles and even their wars. There was a massive attack on Pearl Harbor today. So many dead, the majestic ships that were stationed in the bay, either in flames or sunken to the sand below. From what I hear on the news, there are still sailors trapped in the hulls of those ships.<br/><br/><em>Date: February 1942</em><br/><br/>I was a single nurse living in Hawaii. I had a proper way of speaking and did not have an accent at all, but with my physical features having a resemblance to many Asian Americans, they rounded me up with them and transported countless Asian families to the mainland.<br/><br/>The U.S. Leaders thought among the Asian American families living in Hawaii and the West Coast, there could be saboteurs and spies leaking information to the Japanese, whom President Roosevelt declared war on a couple months ago. I was put into an internment camp in California with other single women.<br/><br/><em>Date: New Years 1945</em><br/><br/>I cannot believe it. To spend three years in this camp, under curfew and threat of being taken advantage of by the guards, is utter hell. It was more like prison. After New Years Day, they ended the internment camps and released everyone. I had nowhere to go, but waiting for me outside the gates was a familiar face. It was Freddy, who now likes to be addressed as Mr. Vega, like his adoptive father. While I have not aged, as he had expected, he is nearing the age of 50. He is rich and owns a large house, but something is missing. He doesn't have a wife nor any children. He says he stayed single and celibate, not for religious or health reasons. It was because he was hoping he would find his first love. He says he imagines the century of strife I had been through and yet to see me coming out of this camp with my head still attached is a good sign. He desires to be like Mr. Vega to his mother in 1905. A benefactor.<br/><br/><em>Date: Summer of 1950</em><br/><br/>Mr. Frederick Vega and I are a happy, yet reclusive couple. I'm relegated to hiding in his estate, making his home comfortable and helping out the cooks with his meals. The California climate of the San Francisco Bay is just right for me to grow orchids, which fill his backyard with color. He looks past the century or so I have been living in this world and chooses to love me like a normal human woman, one whose youth never grows old, even as his body becomes weaker every coming year. I'm surprised even in his old age, he still has the stamina as a 25-year-old. Maybe my near-eternal youth encourages him to become the same, despite the physical limitations of humans.<br/><br/>We make love when the need arises. He only wishes to be happy and make me happy. He does not wish for children, for the thought of bringing hybrids into this world would mean his kids would far outlive him. We use protection every time and if it seems like I've conceived, we choose to remove it as soon as we see the signs. Our love would probably only last until the end of the millenium, but that is but a long time away.<br/><br/><em>Date: September 11, 2001</em><br/><br/>The World Trade Center in New York was attacked. Planes were colliding into the towers, sending everyone running. Those two iconic buildings collapsed in fire and rubble and people are saying there are little to no survivors. While news of this and also the Pentagon are on every news channel, today I'm not looking at any television. Frederick Vega died a week ago from natural causes and today was his funeral. Only the staff from his house and myself attended, but I believe he wouldn't have it any other way. He believed his father and mother was there in spirit, as his spirit rose to meet them. They must be watching me as I carry their memory of their lives and goodwill into the coming age. It's a new day. It's the 21st century. It's only going to get crazier.<br/><br/><em>Date: September 18, 2001</em><br/><br/>Grieving is hard, yet while I'm grieving, I'm distracted from my gift, something that I've suppressed with cold showers and trips to the sauna. I've been unproductive, a recluse in Mr. Vega's estate, which was willed to me. The staff still cooks the meals, tends to the garden, and cleans up the house. If there is anyone who is deserving of this house, it's them. I'm just a long-lived tenant with a penchant for visions.<br/><br/>The staff keep quiet about my appearance of not aging and the times they witnessed my eyes going white. The head housekeeper, Martha, tried to rouse me from the floor, but I had grabbed her unknowingly. I saw a vision of her death at her own hands. The same for the mechanic, who would die in an accident. The only one who have a happy ending was the new girl. She would have to go through some troubles, but she would be come out of it with experience and a story to tell. As much as I want to be part of that story, the vision I get in an itchy stupor would propel me away from the estate.<br/><br/>The foretelling doesn't tell me much. It's in a first-person perspective. I'm helped up to my feet by a handsome gentleman and once I'm at his side, I see a billowing smoke along the darkened horizon. Then I awake from the vision. Martha tells me if I am to see more of this vision and in more clear detail, I would have to journey to the location it happens in. Seeing the vision over and over while stuck in this place is a bit like insanity. Martha is right. I would have to leave, but I would like to leave on a good note.<br/><br/>I was willed Mr. Vega's estate as well as his inheritance, but I feel like it's something I do not need. It's his staff that could use it more. It will be a difficult process, but I want it to be the last good thing I do here.<br/><br/><em>Date: Summer of 2002</em><br/><br/>Mr. Vega's stocks and savings have been loaned to the staff and their families and even the state has made his property protected. As such, their own staff will maintain the grounds, cleaning it up and tending to the extensive orchid garden I started all those years ago. Today also marks the first time I've met a supernatural, a being who could pass as human, but has powers and abilities that make them more than human. Like me.<br/><br/>She is a curator and a philanthropist, who is also what my Japanese friends call a Kitsune. As per our agreement, I've erected a secret shrine on the grounds for her in exchange of her duty as the property's guardian. The original staff have gone on their respective ways and hopefully do not meet their demise soon.<br/><br/>I travel southward, though the Kitsune says I should go more east than south.<br/><br/><em>Date: March 2022</em><br/><br/>My journey has led me to the Mojave Desert, a land that is scorched by the sun and where oases are a godsend. As a Lemurian, I am comfortable in the heat, but for mere humans, they tan and succumb to heatstroke and dehydration. I was picked up by a person travelling to Las Vegas via a camper truck with the name Earthroamer on the side (https://www.blessthisstuff.com/imagens/stuff/earthroamer-xv-lts.jpg). I'm not someone who gives into coincidences, but I wonder if this person was also a Lemurian. In the heat, it didn't seem like her sweat across her brow was any indication of being the same race. She didn't like seeing me in the heat of what was called the Death Valley and so she gave me a ride all the way to the city.<br/><br/>I did not see any oases in the desert, but once the city filled with neon lights and along a stretch of road flanked by pyramids and castles, I could very well see this Las Vegas being an oasis in this desert.<br/><br/>I asked my chaffeur, who goes by the peculiar name of Camilla Wolfkiller, to take me directly to this high point with what I would come to know as the Strip in the distance. She wondered why and then refused, taking me to a simple motel for the night. Did she know what I would find there? She didn't ask me for payment, though her abrupt stop at this hotel and letting me off with my things, seemed like she did not want anything to do with me any longer.<br/><br/>The next day, during breakfast, someone spiked my drink and I would have found myself in a precarious situation if it weren't for Camilla, who was wracked with guilt that she returned to save the day. Furthermore, she decided against her beliefs and took me directly to Wonderland Casino & Resort, where she said would be a likely place I'd find clue to fulfilling my destiny.