Okay. One more time. Theo thought to himself, readying his pencil above the journal.
He began to write;
My name is Theodore Mortus. I'm 22 years old. My friends call me Theo. They would if I had any. Every time I get friends, they vanish, die, or leave me.
My father is dead. My mother has disappeared. My sister vanished into thin air, leaving behind a cryptic note talking about "The Group." I don't know what The Group is, I don't know if I want to know what it is.
I live alone, in the City, inside the Wall. I can use the Magic, but I am unskilled, barely trained. Sometimes, the Magic eludes me. Sometimes, it strikes with such force I have to use it for something.
My family, House Mortus, was once great. I was once great. Well, theoretically. My family belief is that every deceased Mortus lives on in the souls of the living Mortus'. I don't know how I feel about that.
The City is decent enough, despite what people may say about. Stick to your job, don't use the Magic too much, and you'll be fine.
Theo paused, the pencil hovering in place. He took a deep breath and shut the journal.
"Darkness below and light above," He cursed, "I hate doing this."
He flopped backwards on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The large insignia there stared back at him, a large eye, painted in black, with a skull for the pupil, and 4 crosses extending from the top, bottom, and sides. The symbol of House Mortus.
He stood, and made his way to the door, intending to go into the City, to do something.