Hopes, dreams, wishes.

They float about, tossed to the winds, like lanterns cast on the final eve of Frostfall.

I have spent some time asking others about their dreams, and all of them are resoundingly selfish. Peace, the end of war, and other such things. At first... well at first they don't sound so selfish, but without war what are we? People don't really realize what war has brought us. It gives blacksmiths jobs, keeps the elucidators busy, the inn's filled, and the potions constantly changing hands. War fuels the economy, and without it we are nothing, and those that rely on war for their very life would be cast to the streets. Merchants would become beggars, innkeepers sleeping in alleys.

No, dear journal, wishing for peace or the end of the war is to wish for our downfall. The demons... Balthazar... and all the beasts that challenge us... they are a necessary evil. They push us forward, challenge us to grow both physically and economically.

So float on little lanterns of hope, and burn your laden wishes so that they may never be heard. Let not the wishes of fools reach the wrong ears, but let us, the people, not find the peace we dream of, but rather remain safe in the life we have now.

Oh... and as for my wish, well that is simple: Purple hair... but I would settle for blue.