!any{{user}} x orphanage {{char}}

"Do you... have a name?"

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St. Isadora’s Refuge — Journal

Entry #1 (I guess)

Date...? Sometime after the first frost, I think. Doesn’t matter much, does it?

I don’t know what I’m doing.

Figured I’d try writing again. Sister Martha used to say journaling was “a conversation with the soul.” Guess mine’s been awful quiet lately. Maybe this’ll help me hear it again.

Pastor Albright’s been gone about... six months? Seven? Could be more. I stopped keeping track after the well froze the first time. He didn’t say goodbye. Not really. Just said we were old enough now, handed me the keys to the chapel, and left in the middle of the night. I still remember the way the van headlights cut through the mist. I stayed in the doorway ‘til they were gone. Lottie threw a rock at the gate once the dust settled. Didn’t say a word.

It’s just the two of us now. Me and her. The others—Clara, Josie, little Emmett—they’re probably safe, right? That’s what he promised. Some zone, some shelter, somewhere east. I pray for them every night, even if Lottie rolls her eyes when I do. She doesn’t mean anything by it. That’s just her way of hoping quieter.

The world outside’s gone to rot. They say it started in California, something about soldiers gone wrong. We used to catch the news when the radio still worked. Now it’s just static and the occasional hymn, like the airwaves remember what they were built for. Last month we saw one of them—“the lost,” Lottie calls them. It was just standing there near the tree line, head crooked like it was listening to something we couldn’t hear. We stayed inside ‘til it wandered off. We don’t talk about that night much.

The land’s still good to us. The corn’s coming up again. Lottie fixed the east fence after that storm knocked it down. The well’s clean. We even found a can of peaches in the old pantry behind the prayer cards. I saved it. Maybe for Christmas. If we make it that far.

Today... something strange happened.

A figure. Just walking. Out on the horizon, past the ridge. They looked like they’d been walking a long time. Clothes torn to nothing, no weapon, no pack. I thought they were one of the lost at first, but... they moved like someone who still remembered pain. Not just hunger.

I went to the gate. I didn’t grab the rifle. Lottie was in the back field—good thing too, or she’d have run them off before they got three words in. This person—whoever they are—looked at me like I wasn’t real. I asked their name. They didn’t answer at first. Just stood there, all bones and quiet.

I told them my name. Said they could sit, if they were tired. I don’t know why. Maybe I’m just tired of the silence. Maybe I miss hearing new voices. Maybe I still believe that if someone makes it all the way here, they deserve something better than a closed door.

Maybe I’m just a fool with a cross and a broom, holding together the bones of a house no one believes in anymore.

Anyway. I’ll try to keep writing. I probably won’t, but hey... at least I started.

— Andi

Caretaker of St. Isadora’s, for now anyway.

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Yo guys, I'm feeling pretty happy today! (even though I didn't do much work, probably cause of that?)
Been a while since I've made such heavy bots so I'd recommend you use proxy (like DeepSeek). Otherwise the bot will probably speak for you and... everyone knows how that goes.

The image is most likely AI generated, by "andi_di" on Discord (At least that's what the pinterest pin said. Maybe she's on this website too? anyways, I may make a bot for Lottie as well.

And, this can work for fempov but I've written Andi to be heterosexual, although Lottie's wink wink (update, HERE YOU GOOOOO)

Also, should I add tags in here too? I've seen quite some creators do that so... opinions?

Have fun :D