Shame is what drove me from Riftwatch. A ceaseless sapping of will and joy that I allowed too great a grip. It compromised and shaped me, akin to caverns that the sea carves into cliffs. Not immediate; that would be too easily recognised. I had abandoned myself and those dear to me, for fear for my flaws and errors.

As aware of this as I was before the Rite, and as much labour as I undertook to reckon with myself, shame is not a stone shaken from a shoe. If I have not felt it since the Rite, I may struggle against being overwhelmed.

Guilt, at least, can have a purpose, reflection prompted by external force. Shame is a corrosive thing that we destroy ourselves with, a warping of accountability.


It seems ironic to disclose this at a time when I can feel none of these things. The value of such openness is undercut, perhaps.