Eidolon

This is something different -- it's not Communion, and our favorite Dreamer won't take part in it. Today, I'm using the Dream to tell you a story. This is an old [[journal]] that a fellow Herald has kept lying around. She also provided the translation. Thanks, The Enlightened.

We came upon the manor in the dead of night. It was a godsend, even if half of the roof seemed to have fallen in. We'd been traveling for half a week, now, in the snowy mountains of ~~xxxxxxxxxxx~~, and we were beset by a fierce blizzard. If not for our mountaineer, we like would have frozen to death, and it was still a worry in that final stretch towards our goal. But we made it. Orlov complained when Faulkner had to kick the door in, but our expedition of six had made it into the manor. ~~We moved on to~~ (Note- if this is to be published, then I'll need to establish the immediate [[scenario]] better.)

Samuel Faulkner was the leader of the expedition. He was an American, a former soldier. He was the first in the manor, unslinging his rifle and sweeping it throughout the room. I don't know what he'd expected to find, at the time, but I was too exhausted to question him. "It's all clear," Faulkner called, as if we hadn't all followed him in immediately. "Thank you, Samuel," Victoria Blackwood said, polite despite the shivers racking her frame. She was one of the organizers of this expedition, and the only one bold enough to venture with us herself. "Mikhail, is there a fireplace nearby?" Mikhail Orlov had joined the expedition due to familiar relation to another of the organizers. He was meant to serve as a guide in the manor, in case Blackwood could not, and (though left unsaid) to keep an eye on us all. That didn't mean he was useful. Orlov shrugged stiffly and said, "I don't recall. There may be a [[parlor]] up ahead."

"Thanks, Mike," Faulkner said, ignoring the withering glare Orlov sent his way. "Stay behind me, everyone." "No need to play the hero," Annie Drummond said, though she staggered after him anyway. (At the time of the expedition, I didn't know what purpose Drummond served. Now, I know she was hired to smuggle our objective back to England, and to tie up any... uncooperative loose ends afterward. I had underestimated how desperately some people wanted the expedition to succeed.) Our group followed Faulkner. I was sluggish, and my fingers were numb, so I stuck to the back, alongisde Stella Penn, our mountaineer, and the only reason we'd survived the trip to the manor. I had initially harbored doubts at her presence, but at the time I was grateful to be wrong. We moved into the [[next room]].

It was the parlor Orlov had mentioned. It was decrepit, much like the rest of the manor. Dusty rugs were scattered over the floor, and the floorboards cracked ominously as I stepped over them. A collection of broken furniture had been shoved into one corner, and near-empty bookshelves lined one wall. But there //was// a fireplace, and Faulkner had already managed a small fire by the time we huddled around it. As Faulkner stoked the fire, Blackwood broke the silence that had descended over the group. "Dr. Richtoff," she said, "perhaps you should check to see that no one is injured?" It was the last thing I wanted to do, at that moment, but I said "[[Certainly]]," and checked over my compatriots.

My "checkup" was a half-hearted thing, both on my part and on theirs, but it seemed to mollify Blackwood, and when I pronounced no injuries it seemed to boost Faulkner's already cheery spirits. "Alright, everyone," Faulkner said. By now, the members of our group were functional again. "A few more minutes of rest, and we'll find this book." (Most of us didn't know any specifics about the tome, at the time. All we knew was that the manor had belonged to an Orlov of the past, and within it was some specific tome that the Orlov/Blackwood coalition wanted, for unspecified reasons.) Orlov and Blackwood were the only ones who could identify this tome, so we split into two teams. [[I accompanied Blackwood.]] // [[I was stuck with Orlov.]]

Blackwood was the real expert in this matter, and she decided that the two smartest expedition members should accompany her -- myself and Penn, of course. The manor was sizable. The first floor alone took us hours -- and we only searched the eastern half of the manor, while Orlov's group searched the west. The Orlov that had owned this manor in its prime must have loved literature, because there were two separate libraries on this side of the manor alone. Furthermore, Blackwood was the only one with us that could identify the tome, and so Penn and I spent most of our time ferrying books to her. Penn found the [[mirror]] first.

Faulkner was our official leader, and when he stuck me with Orlov and Drummond, none of our complaints swayed him. (I wonder if he put us all together intentionally, or if he simply didn't realize the depths of our disdain for each other.) The manor was sizable. The first floor alone took us hours -- and we only searched the western half of the manor, while Blackwood's group searched the east. Every room in this damned manor had //books//. Books, scattered over end tables. Books, stacked underneath tables or slid underneath couches. Books, covering bookshelves, some filled entirely, some nearly empty. But //books//. Since only Orlov could identify the //right// book, Drummond and I were stuck with the duty of offering him books to inspect. It certainly didn't leave any of us in a good mood. I suppose I should log our [[incident]], then.

It was an offhand comment, one that I don't even remember in full, now, but Drummond made some wry joke about burning the extra books to stave off the cold. I laughed at it, and the two of us moved on. Orlov did not move on. A moment later, Orlov cleared his throat, and when we looked back at him, he'd pulled his gun from his hip and held it loosely, aimed towards the floor. Faulkner and Orlov were the only ones who were supposed to have guns on this expedition, but I'd hidden one in my bag, and even then I had assumed Drummond had stashed one away as well. I locked eyes with her, and we both had a split second to wonder, "Are we going to have to kill him?" But that was something for the future. I stepped out of the way quickly, and Drummond put her hands up. "Woah, now," she said, slow and careful. "No need for [[trouble]]."

"I hope so," Orlov said. He was calm, as if he wasn't brandishing a gun at us. "I hope you understand the honor in being here." "Sure, sure," Drummond said. Orlov's fingers twitched. "I get it! Your house is important, we should respect it and all." "Right," Orlov said. He didn't sound unimpressed, but he turned away from Drummond to me. (I had nearly reached the doorway, by that point.) I put my hands up higher. "Clearly, we should show more respect to this location," I said. "My apologies." Orlov seemed distrustful, but he holstered his gun and nodded. He marched off into the next room without a word. Drummond turned towards me and mouthed "What the fuck?" I shook my head carefully, and [[followed]] him.

We were forced to end the search when the light of the sun left us, and our two groups reconvened in the parlor. Blackwood's group hadn't found any success either, but the woman herself maintained an unaffected demeanor. Similarly, Faulkner's spirits remained high, and he regaled us with his group's experience. (It was exactly the same as ours: books and failure.) After Faulkner stopped wasting our time, Orlov led the group to the second floor, and we retired for the night. The bedrooms in the manor weren't exactly... functional, and my rest was akin to the camping we'd done on the way here, but this was we had privacy. I checked the gun I'd stashed in the bottom of my pack and [[slept]]. (That night, haunting laughter plagued my dreams.)

"Doctor," Penn said, drawing me away from the highest level of a bookshelf. "Come take a look at this." Blackwood was in the other room, and at the time I wondered if Penn had intentionally waited for her absence. I climbed down from the stepladder I was on and Penn led me into the room's secluded corner. There was a mirror, on the wall, unique in the fact that it appeared brand new amidst the rest of the ruined manor. In fact, the dust and cobwebs of the walls and ceiling seemed to avoid even the space around the mirror. "It looks... new," Penn said. We both knew that was impossible; the manor hadn't seen anyone but us for decades. "I missed it, the first time I came by here." Carefully, I reached out [[towards]] it.

My fingers tapped against the mirror. Nothing more happened, and I pulled my hand away, embarrassed. I confess that I had expected some reaction; the isolated location and my fatigue had both caused me to fall victim to superstition. Penn smirked faintly. "What's your opinion, Doctor?" "This is strange," I said, "and I do not like it." At that moment, I heard the door open. Penn and I backed away from the mirror rapidly, as if we were guilty children. We stopped when Blackwood came into view, and she paused as she saw us. "Is something the matter?" "We found something odd," I said. Penn narrowed her eyes at me, and I ignored her. "Come take a [[look]]?"

"It's a mirror," Blackwood said, with a trace of confusion. "It looks brand new," I said. "Why? It's strange." "It's just a mirror," Blackwood insisted. "Simply an oddity, dear. Are you letting the location get to your head?" I bristled. "I most certainly am not," I snapped. "You can't honestly claim this is just... normal!" "Not normal, perhaps," she conceded, "but almost certainly not relvant to our goal. If you're so interested in mirrors, you can research them //after// we're done here, yes?" Penn lurked at the edge of the conversation, and when I glanced at her she shrugged. I supposed there was a reason she told me before Blackwood. The three of us got back to [[work]].

We were forced to end the search when the light of the sun left us, and our two groups reconvened in the parlor. Orlov's group hadn't found any success either, and the man himself loitered at the edge of our group, stewing in his anger. Despite him, though, Faulkner's spirits remained high, and he regaled us with his group's experience. (It was exactly the same as ours: books and failure.) After Faulkner stopped wasting our time, Orlov led the group to the second floor, and we retired for the night. The bedrooms in the manor weren't exactly... functional, and my rest was akin to the camping we'd done on the way here, but this was we had privacy. I checked the gun I'd stashed in the bottom of my pack and [[slept]]. (That night, a mangled creation stalked my dreams.)

I rose with the sun. My rest had been mediocre, much like most of my nights since this blasted expedition had started, and for a moment I longed to be home again. Merely a moment, though; I made my way out of the room, flinging around dust that I'd missed the night before, and I headed to the parlor. I wasn't the first one awake. Faulkner sat at the fireplace, tending a small fire, and he shot me a small grin as he saw me. "Hey, Ricky!" he called, the same way he'd greeted me every morning. I briefly considered strangling him before I sat down. "Faulkner," I greeted, voice level, and that was that. The sun rose, and the others joined us. Blackwood arrived first, and she started up a conversation with Faulkner that I ignored. Orlov followed shortly after, and contented himself with silence like myself. At some point, Drummond slunk in. We ate, we discussed our plans for the day, and half an hour after the five of us had assembled, Penn had not [[arrived]].

Penn had previously been one of the earliest risers. I'd noticed her absence, but at the time I chalked it up to fatigue from the trip here. I wasn't the only one who noticed. "Doctor, could you go check up on our mountaineer?" Blackwood said. "Perhaps she's not feeling well, after our difficulties getting here." "Of course," I said. It was an excuse to get away from the living hardship that was our group, but although I wouldn't have admitted it at the time, I was a slight [[worried]].

My worry was vindicated. Penn was nowhere to be found. An hour after our group assembled, we had abandoned the search for the tome and instead organized a search for our mountaineer. The manor was sizeable, certainly, but where could Penn have gone? It's not like she would be trying to hide from us. It should have been a matter of simply finding where she'd wandered off to. Our initial search proved fruitless, and I had begun to think she'd simply abandoned us, blizzard or not. Faulkner and Blackwood were sweeping the upper floors, and Orlov was drifting aimlessly throughout the ground floor. Drummond found the [[basement]].

"Oi, Richtoff," Drummond called to me, the next time I entered the parlor. "C'mere, I found something." She was in the corner, next to the pile of ruined furniture. I raised an eyebrow and made my way over. Drummond pulled up a threadbare rug and tossed it to the side. Underneath was a trapdoor. "Oh, this is a good find," I said. "Do you think Miss Penn went down here?" "Maybe," Drummond said. "It doesn't look recently opened, but it's worth checking out, yeah?" "Certainly," I said, but before I could continue- "//Well//," Orlov announced, drawing our attention. He stood in the doorway, smirking, his arms crossed. "A trapdoor? I didn't even know this manor //had// a basement." "How useful you prove to be," I said, before I could stop myself. Orlov's smirk fell. "Any reason why you're here, bothering us, instead of searching for our wayward companion?" "If there's anything below that hatch, I can't let you two idiots down there unsupervised," Orlov said. I scowled, but I had to admit to myself: I was curious about this hatch in the parlor, maybe even more so than about Penn. I didn't complain, and the three of us [[descended]] into the basement.

So, the basement It took our group far too long to realize that the basement was far larger than we had estimated. I had expected something small, akin to a vault. It was not that. The basement was as big as the first floor of the manor. It was pitch back, too, and we could only begin once we'd brought down our packs and each fished out a torch. The longer we took to begin, the worse of an idea this felt. But if Orlov wasn't going to back down, neither was I. We split up. This was going to be time consuming, but if Blackwood and Faulkner hadn't found Penn, then she must have been down here, or gone entirely. The basement was sparse, and the stale air made it difficult to breathe. We persevered, and found two other entrances to the basement (both hidden doors), half a dozen locked doors (Orlov veoted Drummond's suggestion of breaking them down), and the room filled with [[cages]]. (It felt like I was being watched.)

The cages. The cages were //unsettling//. The room was filled with them -- some of them big enough to hold a dog, some of them big enough to hold... well, something bigger than myself. We weren't sure what purpose they could have served. Even worse were the rust colored stains on the floor. I didn't know why this basement existed, but I did know I was growing sick of it very quickly. Thankfully, I wasn't alone. "Alright," Drummond announced, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had overcome us after Orlov had shown us the cages. "If Stella found her way down here, we would've found her by now. I'm getting out of here." "Ah, yes," Orlov said. He looked relieved. "This seems to be... a waste of time." I agreed. The three of us made our way towards the trap door we had entered in; our pace not quite hurried, but certainly quicker than before. I dismissed it as my imagination, but as we left the room of cages I thought I heard the sound of //shuffling//. The trap door was [[gone]].

That couldn't have been true. Our group was a quiet one, and we collectively realized that we must have followed the wrong path. After a moment of silent deliberation, Orlov chose a direction and walked. Our dedication to silence was broken when Orlov, strangely hesitant, said, "You two... hear that, yes?" I frowned, and listened. I heard nothing aside from our travel. Drummond spoke up. "You're losing it," she said. Orlov's step faltered momentarily. "I am completely rational, at the moment," Orlov said, and then stopped at the dead end he'd led us to. He huffed and spun around, taking a few steps back before stopping again. "Where...?" I had to admit that I could understand his confusion. The basement was dark, even with our torches, and the narrow hallways were cramped. Still, I didn't want to be led in circles for too long. "If you're not up to the task, Orlov, then I can find the way," I said. Orlov glared at me. Something [[growled]] in the room beside us.

Well, the three of us reacted quickly, at the very least. Driven by pure instinct, the three of us ducked into a room off to the side -- away from the growl, away from the dead end. Drummond threw the door shut and locked it for good measure. Then the three of us paused and considered the situation, as if we'd all mutually imagined the sound. The door rattled in its frame as something slammed into it; that pushed us into action again. "What the hell?" Orlov said, his voice shaky. Drummond darted to the opposite door and began peering down the halls. I unslung my pack from my back and began to dig through it. At the bottom was my prize; I pulled my pistol out and set my pack back into place. Orlov looked startled at the gun, but thought better of saying something and instead unholstered his own pistol. The locked door splintered inwards, and Drummond took off. Orlov and I followed. I didn't know where we were going. I'd thought I had a decent idea of the basement layout, but I was swiftly being proven wrong. We passed by doors that looked brand new -- doors we hadn't seen before. The longer we ran, the closer the growling creation got. It was fast, and closing doors seemed to grow less effective. I caught a few glimpses of it, far behind us, and despite the shadows sticking to it, it seemed //familiar//. Simply looking at it left me feeling sick. We ran for what seemed like hours; in reality, it was just a few minutes when we came across the [[stairs]].

I sprinted up the steps for a minute straight before I realized they were longer than they should have been. When we reached the top, we didn't pass through a door into the first floor of the manor -- we passed into another floor of the basement. Something was obviously and abnormally wrong with this manor. The idea of the manor //changing// was something I didn't consider at the time -- the chase took precedence, you see -- but in retrospect, it seems obvious. We didn't have much time to think about the manor, really, because the creature was right behind us. My light flashed on it as I glanced behind. It was similar to a crocodile, except with shaprer, jagged edges, and its scales were rotted black. Its rancid jaw hung open, scraping across the ground, and for a brief instant it seemed as if it had ~~two~~ ~~five~~ a dozen jaws, unfolding over each other. Orlov shot it. Quite a few times, actually, but each of the bullets bounced off its hide. A cluster of eyes swiveled towards him. [[It lunged at him.]]

It was pure luck that kept Orlov twisted to the side, just as the creature's jaws snapped shut. Instead of piercing his torso, it bit into his pack. The creature reared up on its back legs. Orlov cried out as he stumbled, and he shoved his arms out towards the creature. After a moment, the pack's straps gave in, and Orlov dived away from the creature. Orlov's near death experience lasted all of two seconds. I caught the sight of the creature, stopping in its tracks for a moment as it swallowed Orlov's pack whole. Orlov was swearing under his breath, and Drummond was beginning to outpace us both. Orlov's gun had proved useless, and I assumed mine would be as well. In a moment of inspiration, I slung my pack off my shoulders and flung it towards the creature. It reared up and snapped my pack out of the air, and then stopped in place as it teared into both packs. ...It gave me an idea. The staircase finally ended at a single, sturdy door. Our packs had distracted the creature enough to give us breathing room, and the three of us were able to take stock long enough to realize the door was locked. Orlov took intiative and kicked the center of the door. The door didn't budge. "Kick near the doorknob," Drummond said, as she began to rifle through her own pack. I peered down the stairs with my torch, searching for the creature, but all I saw was a wall of darkness. Orlov kicked the doorknob and nearly fell down the stairs as he flailed in pain. "//Near// the doorknob, not on it, idiot," I said. The creature still hadn't appeared, so I took a proper kick towards the door while Orlov steadied himself. Still, it didn't budge. (Sturdiest thing in this damned [[manor]].)

"One of you hold a light for me," Drummond ordered, and I turned to see her holding a set of lockpicks. "We won't have time for that," I said, and Orlov made a sound of agreement. "You two aren't making any progress," she said. The three of us glanced down the staircase, and Drummond came to a decision. She shoved her pack into Orlov's arms and dragged me over to the door. I figured she had a point, so I kept the light steady for her. She worked quickly, but everything in the moment felt painstakingly slow. I shifted anxiously and scraped against the wall. I heard Orlov sling Drummond's pack down the staircase, and glanced back down to see the creature, at the edge of Orlov's light, snatch it soundlessly. "Hurry it up," I urged quietly. Orlov began to shoot again, and I jumped echoed around me. Drummond might have said something, but I couldn't hear her over the ringing in my ears. The creature had slowed down, though I doubt the bullets had anything to do with it. A single burst of speed would bring it upon Orlov, and he was pressed uncomfortably close to me. I think it had more to do with savoring the hunt than any true hesitation. I tapped Orlov with the side of my gun, keeping the light steady for Drummond, and mimed a throwing motion. Orlov glanced at his hands and, thankfully, tossed his torch at the creature. It snapped it out of the air. It seemed purely instinctual, the way it caught everything we threw at it. An earlier idea formed into something more concrete. Orlov was saying something, almost imperceptible, eyes locked on the creature. I ignored him and tapped Drummond. She glanced up, irritated. I put my finger on the trigger and gestured towards Orlov. With only a moment of hesitation, she nodded and went back to the door. "//Well//?" Orlov snapped. I shot him in the [[knee]].

Mikhail Orlov screamed inaudibly and plummeted down the steps. The best part of this gambit was that the creature didn't even move up -- it simply waited for Orlov to tumble into its grasp. The next best thing was that the gunshot meant I didn't have to hear Orlov's screams -- not that he screamed very much, I assume, considering how quickly the creature's jaws wrapped around his throat. (~~Note- I don't mean to come off as remorseless, here. Of course I regret the death of a man. But I certainly won't apologize for~~) (Note- Consider cutting this event out if this is to be publicized.) ...To be concise, the creature gorged itself on Orlov, and his body wasn't even halfway devoured when Drummond opened the door. We emerged into the entry hall of the manor, through a door I'm mostly sure hadn't existed a day prior. Faulkner was walking down the main staircase, and he had the pleasure of seeing Drummond and I slam the door shut and lock it in a hurry. It took me a moment to notice him. He was frowning at me, and it took me a moment to realize he was eyeing my gun. "Faulkner," I said, forcing an air of nonchalance I'm sure he saw through. "This manor is [[cursed]]."

"I'm aware," Faulkner said, which made things significantly easier. "Either of you seen Victoria or Mikhail?" I hesitated. Drummond spoke up. "Mikhail's dead," she said. "There was a monster in the basement, and it killed him. We just got away from it, and we should get out of here before it tries to follow us." Drummond started towards the front door. Faulkner stared. "A monster?" he said. "What?" "Cursed, Mister Faulkner," I said. His hands twitched towards his rifle, slung across his back. "And bullets don't hurt it. Or ours didn't, at lesat. Miss Drummond, where are you going?" "I am leaving this damned manor," Drummond said. She opened the door and was met with the force of a blizzard, still raging. (Or maybe a new blizzard?) "Miss Penn led us up here," I said, as she forced the door closed. "And now that we're down our supplies, I think a retreat may not be... possible." Faulkner still seemed confused, but he rallied. "We should find the others, at least," he said. "Victoria and... Stella." His hesitation brought to mind a worrying idea -- had the creature found our mountaineer, somehow? A worrying thought. "Fine, then," Drummond said. She made her way back to our group, eyeing the door to the basement with caution. "How did you lose Victoria, anyway? I thought you two were sticking together." "I thought so, too," Faulkner said. "I don't know what happened! I just turned around for a minute and she was gone!" So, the question: Faulkner being incompetent, or something truly bizarre? "Take us to where you last [[saw]] her," I said.

Faulkner had lost Blackwood in a room full of mirrors. Honestly, I couldn't blame him any longer -- navigating around three dozen floor mirrors felt like I was walking a maze. None of us had heard the basement creature approach the door we'd escaped from, but we were still tense. There were more important concerns, but I had to wonder why anyone would want so many mirrors. Perhaps an Orlov of the past was incredibly vain? ~~All of them were warped by grime and dust, now, so I'm not sure why I was so preoccupied with them.~~ Wait, no. Something was amiss in this room. It took me a minute of consideration to realize, but a mirror on the wall was different -- untouched by time, as the others were, and seemingly brand new. Something about the mirror seemed familiar. ~~Something //seems// familiar now~~ (Had I noticed something regarding mirrors in the manor? I can't seem to recall.) Something grabbed me, and I jumped. Faulkner stepped back and threw his hands up. "Whoa, ~~Johannes~~," he said. "Easy, there." I realized I had brought my gun up, and I let it drift back towards the floor. "My apologies," I said. "I-- that [[mirror|mirror2]] is odd."

Faulkner stared at me. Drummond spoke up. "Mirror? We don't have time for you to be losing it, Richtoff. Get it together." I ignored her, and approached the mirror. It was the only mirror in the room that reflected clearly, and I saw myself for the first time in a week -- messy, covered in filth. Slightly unhinged? I grimaced. "~~Johannes~~," Faulkner said, diplomatically unconcerned. (I noted that //he// seemed rather clean -- that basement was worse than I'd thought.) "I think we should... get going, now. A lot of the manor left to search." I tapped the mirror, and it rippled like water. Faulkner's next words died in his throat. Both he and Drummond stared as I placed my palm against the mirror and pushed it //through//. "I don't think you should be doing that," Drummond said, voice strangled as my hand disappeared into the mirror. "I think," I said slowly, "that this is relevant to our problems." And, without any more hesitation, I hopped up and pulled myself [[through the mirror]].

It was an experience unlike anything I've ever felt before. I came out through the other side of the mirror, right back into the mirror room I'd left -- similar, but different. The mirrors here were clear, and they sparkled and crested around me. But beyond this room was the //rest// of the manor. I saw it, through the walls, as if they weren't there -- the rooms of the manor, the staircase to the second floor, and the third, and the fourth, and even further beyond. I saw the basement, a sprawling complex larger than a city. The entirety of the manor -- it went on forever. It was breathtaking. I spent a few minutes simply taking it in, and it was long enough for the other two to come through the mirror. Faulkner came in second, and he had to squeeze his way through. I let them have a few moments to take the world in, and then I said, "I think anything of note will be in the basement." "Right," Faulkner said, voice faint. "Right! You said there was a... monster in the basement? Then that could be a source of the manor's oddities." He led the way. Neither of them seemed to be as impressed as I was. Drummond was supicious, scanning our surroundings constantly, and Faulkner seemed... almost frightened? How [[strange]].

I would've expected a lengthy walk, but it was as if I blinked and we were in the basement. It wasn't like the basement in the previous manor. It was spacious, and well-lit (through sources I couldn't see.) It was free of dust and muck, and I'd go as far as to say it was impressive. Well. I stopped being impressed by the architecture quickly. We found Blackwood. We found the creature from the basement, at her side. "Why, hello," Blackwood said. She was quiet, but her voice carried across the basement. "You're just a slight early." She had a small mirror in her lap, which she set to the side as she rose. The creature was stood next to her, low to the ground, sickly yellow eyes locked on our group of three. "Victoria," Faulkner said. "What- get away from that thing!" Drummond and I, on the other hand, had the same idea -- we began inching backwards. Perhaps Faulkner was on the right track, and Blackwood was entirely innocent -- but I had my doubts. It didn't matter, anyway, because when I glanced around I saw that all of the exits had disappeared. I turned back to Blackwood to see her smirk. She waved, and the creature shot forward, baring claws it didn't have before, and- ...It was [[over]] quickly.

Well, it was over quickly for my companions. When the creature batted me to the ground, I assumed that was it for me -- but then it leapt over me, and I heard Drummond's attempt at fighting back, I heard Faulkner's rifle and his panicked cry of "Victoria!" I heard bones snapping. But when I pushed myself to my feet in a panic, the creature didn't turn and kill me. Instead, it simply dragged two corpses over to Blackwood, who watched it with a faint, satisfied smile. "You've even dealt with Mikhail," she said casually. "I'm quite grateful, Doctor." I swayed on my feet and stared. I considered shooting her, but when I raised my hand my gun was gone. Blackwood finally turned her attention to me. "Is something wrong, Doctor?" //Was something fucking wrong?// I wanted to scream -- I still do, thinking about her -- but I forced myself to keep calm and said-- (Okay, for the record: I swore, loudly. Not even in English, but Blackwood got the gist.) "Oh, I'm not going to kill you, if that's what you're worried about," she said. "Why else would I bring someone of your //talent// all the way out here?" Limply, I gestured towards the corpses. Blackwood shook her head. "Just fuel for our ritual, I'm afraid." "...So that's what happened to Miss Penn?" I asked. "Oh, no!" Blackwood laughed and gestured to her mirror on the floor, and I caught a glimpse of someone beyond-- "We still need someone to guide us back, after all!" I put my head in my hands. "Alright," I said. "You're-- insane, and a damned witch, but--" but I wasn't stupid enough to get myself killed, so I went along with the madness. "What this [[ritual]] of yours?"

(Courier's Note: The specifics of the ritual had to cut out. A stipulation by The Enlightened.) ... The haze curled around the room, thicker, now, and I was thankfully spared the sight of the creature gorging itself on the bodies of my former companions. Blackwood stood beside me, a contented smile upon her face. The world warped, shifted, the creature alongside it- I can't explain what ~~I helped create~~ I was forced to help create. It was a misshapen thing. Humanoid, but skinless. Blank eyes peered around the room and locked on the two of us. It's mouth curled, //too wide// for just an instant, into a grin. I can't explain it, but its name was Ruin. It [[spoke]] to us, as we left that manor.

</style> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/KZN0xh6.png"> </div> ''COME BACK ANYTIME''

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This is something different -- it's not Communion, and our favorite Dreamer won't take part in it. Today, I'm using the Dream to tell you a story.

This is an old

journal

that a fellow Herald has kept lying around. She also provided the translation. Thanks, The Enlightened.