Dearest Gentle Reader,

It appears fate has once again conspired to chain me to my chair, fingers dancing across the keys in service of a most torturous task. One might think I had more pressing engagements—such as collapsing from exhaustion after my day job and night class, or perhaps indulging in the noble pursuit of a school project that actually fulfills the soul. Alas, instead I am condemned to watch my life evaporate before a glowing screen, awaiting what the devout call Judgement Day.

As for myself, ever the skeptic, I would prefer the asteroid to simply strike and be done with it. Yet, judging by the state of the world, the Four Horsemen have already RSVP’d, and World War III seems poised to gallop in at any moment. And where am I? Paying for the privilege of translating strings for strangers, without so much as a coin tossed in gratitude, all in the name of “collaboration.”

Permit me, then, to present the vulgar evidence of today’s labors: a screenshot of strings translated, and the dreary activity log that no one will ever care to read.

As night descends, I retreat to the arms of Morpheus, whispering Melisandre’s ominous prayer: “for the night is dark and full of terrors.” Should I wake, Polyglots shall once again suffer my presence. If not, well—consider this my final dispatch.

Yours in eternal exasperation,

Lady Lacky