Log 00001.

Unacceptable.  Unbelievable.  Unconscionable.  Unduly unearned. Unfathomable, even.  The irony must be sumptuous, of course – I refuse to make a single observation of a painfully plain nature, and the Quintessence condemns me to “observe” the “goings-on” in a fleck of green slime twisting in the Astral Sea.  A lifetime of peerage, stolen and sold for a fraction of eternal solitude in this grand device. 

Lenaxliud.  The decommissioned experiment of a realm of record.  The post had been abandoned so long ago that the Main Archive only maintains its name – no messages, no recordings, nor even a roll remains without digging through backup files and cryptic texts.  There are no observations to be made here, so whatever lesson the Quintessence hopes to impart on me will be as lost as my standing. 
​
Be that as it will.  I’ve not even time to lose.  My sanity, perhaps?  With naught but my own voice and the hum of Lenaxliud to keep me company, what benefit would sanity offer me, anyway?   
Nevertheless, if I’m to exist and operate in this space, I must at least make it navigable, efficient, and aesthetically satisfactory in the meantime before my release.