Zoe isn’t a villain. What she has lived through has shaped her. And perhaps the saddest thing is that everything she thinks and says is the truth. Humanity is a parasite. But then again, she’s a mirror. A cracked one. And like all cracked mirrors, what she reflects is the disturbing truth, but with that ever-so-slight lining of unadulterated madness.
Manoj K.
< Diary Entry – Date unknown / Vancouver City / Zoe after being released from the Chateau >
It is an unusually sweltering summer day in Vancouver—the kind where the air hangs heavy and humid, pressing down on you like a thick blanket. I just finished my shift at the restaurant, and I am tired as hell. But I am not complaining; it’s better than eating caviar and sleeping in cozy beds at the Chateau. I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night thinking I am still at the Chateau and that he will walk in any moment now. But then I look around my grubby apartment and breathe a sigh of relief. It’s funny, here I am sitting in the park watching the beautiful Vancouver skyline, and all I can think about is all the things they did to me. Humanity is a parasite!
It makes you feel… trapped. And maybe that’s the point. Maybe that’s how the Earth feels, suffocated by us, by humanity.
I can’t shake this feeling. This gnawing certainty that we’re not just living on this planet, we’re parasites. Just taking, taking, taking, and giving absolutely nothing back but waste and destruction. It’s disgusting. Truly, utterly revulsive and sickening.
I have been thinking of a name, and I don’t even know why. Ira Terrae, that’s the one. It means Wrath of the Earth—Mother Earth’s ire. I had read about it in one of those fat Latin books at the Chateau. The name echoes in my mind, a constant hum. It’s more than just a name, it’s… an awakening. A raw, visceral understanding that the Earth isn’t some benevolent mother who’ll endlessly coddle her destructive children. No, she’s a force. A living, breathing entity, and she’s had enough.
How can you look at a patch of clear-cut forest, or a river choked with plastic, or a species vanishing forever, and not feel it? Not feel that burning, gut-wrenching anger? This isn’t just some abstract concept. It’s real. It’s happening. And we’re doing it. Every last one of us, caught in this ridiculous dance of consumption and convenience. We just consume and consume and consume.
But Nature isn’t just beautiful landscapes and cute animals. It’s also the storm that rips through a town, the earthquake that shatters foundations, the volcano that spews fire and ash. It’s wrath. Pure, unadulterated wrath. And if humanity won’t listen to the whispers, won’t heed the warnings, then maybe it needs to feel the full force of that fury.
That’s what Ira Terrae should be. It shouldn’t be some tree-hugging hippies asking nicely for change. Fuck, no. It should be the raw nerve, the exposed bone, the scream of the planet herself. It should be the wrath of the Earth—its fighting arm.
It’s a heavy thought. A terrifying one, even. To think that a group of people could be the vanguard of something so… absolute. But what other choice is there? To sit back and watch it all burn? To be just another cog in this machine of destruction?
There has to be Justice.
It feels… right. Even as it scares me. It feels like the only honest response to the sheer, undeniable horror of what we’ve done. And if that makes us monsters in their eyes, then so be it. The Earth has given us so much, and we’ve only taken. Now, it’s time to give back. And sometimes, the only thing you can give back is a reckoning.
