He asked me if I have plans for tonight. How do I tell him that I'm in Fibula, at a closed bar, with a sky almost as blue as my thoughts, searching for myself tonight in Tibiantis?

I was 10 years old when I came here for the first time. Rubbing my eyes, nervously clutching that second-hand doll of a Wild Warrior from Thais, disoriented after that journey of a few hours. Fibula opened its arms to me, said maybe we don't belong anywhere. Maybe we could belong here. Don’t you think I left a piece of myself in the city I left behind?
I was 15 years old when I got my first Premium Account, stumbled like Bambi through the new cities and was enchanted. Don’t you think that girl was left behind at that moment?

Now I’m 25 years old. Don’t you think I come crawling back to her 97-degree embrace, broken, shattered by the journey, long black hair turned white from flying too close to the sun? How many times do you think I’ve gone searching for myself in the orange hue of the lights, in the eyes of my Tutti-Բʀutti sisters, in the baby blue of this sky?
Trying, once again, to find that place within me that is indestructible?

I'm searching for myself again tonight in Fibula. I'll be home by morning.