Location: Adrift in the Star-Sea. Still no land, no planets, no change. Just void.

  The initial adrenaline of survival checks and ward reinforcement has faded, leaving behind something far more insidious: profound, soul-crushing boredom. The view outside hasn't altered one iota. Same hard diamonds on black velvet, same distant, mocking swirls of nebula. The silence remains absolute, broken only by the house's increasingly frequent groans as it strains against the nothingness and the low hum of the arcane capacitor working overtime. Checked the power levels this morning – definitely lower than yesterday. Had to dim the lights in the parlor and library to conserve energy. Feels gloomy now, adding to the general oppressive atmosphere.

  Tried sending out a general magical ‘ping’ earlier. Not aimed at anything specific, just a pulse of pure questing energy, hoping for any kind of return echo – another ship, a rogue asteroid, a pocket dimension, anything. It left my hand, spread outwards… and vanished. Completely swallowed by the void, leaving not even a ripple. Like throwing a pebble into an infinitely deep, infinitely absorbent well. Utterly useless. The sheer scale of this emptiness just eats magic.

  Even the Hair seems to have succumbed to the void's ennui. It's barely moved all day, just lies in a listless, dark pool on the floor, its usual faint magical sheen completely gone. It looks dull, heavy. When I stepped over it earlier, it didn't even twitch irritably. Just lay there. It’s unsettling seeing it so subdued; its usual annoying energy is at least a sign of life. This stillness feels like it’s mirroring the void outside, and I don’t like it.

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  Decided I needed a task, something concrete to focus on besides the dwindling power levels and the crushing silence. Went to take a proper inventory of the long-term potion supplies in the cellar – the stuff packed away for real emergencies. Mostly standard preservation stasis boxes. Opened one containing backups of key restorative ingredients – dried Bloodroot, powdered Sunstone, Essence of Moonpetal… and tucked away right at the bottom, wrapped in oilcloth, was something I hadn’t seen in centuries. A single, perfectly preserved pressed flower – a Night-blooming Silene from the slopes of the Grey Mountains, near where my old tower used to stand.

  It shouldn't have still been there. Should have turned to dust ages ago, even with the stasis charm on the box. But there it was, petals paper-thin but still holding a hint of their midnight blue, smelling faintly of mountain air and ozone from a time before… well, before everything. Before the house wandered. Before the Hair… decided to take up residence. Before the Deal.

  Held it in my hand, the fragile petals cool against my skin. And suddenly, the image of the tower garden under a starry, familiar sky, the smell of actual damp earth and pine resin after a rain shower, the feeling of solid, unmoving ground beneath my feet… it all came rushing back with a clarity that actually made me dizzy. A memory of quiet stability, of predictable seasons, of problems that involved predictable things like leaky roofs or grumpy neighbours, not… void frost and cosmic geometry.

  Gods. That felt like a different lifetime. A different person.

  Need to put this away. Need tea. Need to focus on the now, on the straining wards and the silent stars. But the memory lingers, sharp and clear against the vast, empty backdrop of the void.