I’ve been fighting it, but I have gotten sleep. What I have fallen in to has been short and unfulfilling, though. I’m afraid I must surrender soon, or I will lost all mental capacity. My mind is quickly losing its ability to focus and perceive sensations. Even now, I cannot fully enamor myself with my diary. Its as if everything I turn to begins to move farther from me. If only slumber didn’t mean succumbing to the darkness. If only I could some how retain awareness and security without the attention of my mind. But such are mere fantasies. I must face reality – a mortal reality.
Though my attention is often detached at best, I have managed to read on through some of my other books. One story that continues to strike me every new development is the story I spoke of previously. The young Raven has now become a teenager after hiding away with the seer for many years. He reminds me of myself when I was his age in fact. When I was hopeful; when I was ambitious; when I was loved. His adventures spark a longing, a longing too close to home. He battles with bandits. He fights evil and tyranny. I still remember clearly the days when my father and I would sit around the hearth and he would recall tales of his adventures. Tales of his own battles and chivalry. Why must I see him in everything when I cannot see him?
Though the darkness lingers, I must make an attempt to rejuvenate myself. I am too feeble from depravation and starvation. I must sleep.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Entry 10 (3 days later)
Every day brings the same misery and loneliness. No longer can I consciously distinguish time. Memories have blurred together, as if they all occurred simultaneously. I can only recall what happened, but the ability to place events chronologically has failed me.
I’ve regressed to reading. Everything. I’ve completely read through the previously mentioned encyclopedia of the undead: the Norman- and Necronomicon. The curiosity that drove me when I commenced my studies hasn’t faded, but upon completion, a sensation swept over me. It felt as though a raging, furious power coursed through me. I felt emboldened, empowered, but it was in some way different. The feeling was not one of a warrior, bloodthirsty and preparing for battle, but more as though something was taking control. Some lecherous hand was tying strings to my body and preparing to use me like a puppet. I felt compelled to delve into these magics, to satisfy my thirsty curiosity. I knew if I attempted I would succeed. I knew it, I could feel it; I could feel the power! But how would I know now that these spells I cast would look to me as master? No. I could sense the puppeteer whispering these temptations in my ear, waiting for the opportunity to seize control of my powers and constructs and use them to his designs; and I stayed my hand, to keep him, and my destiny, in check. As fleeting and evanescent as it was, the eldritch uniqueness of those moments spurs my curiosity and fear, even now, after what feels like ages since that event.
I haven’t slept, but I’ve seen the sun do that which I have not. I dread the hour in which I must return to my quarters. I hope to simply collapse where I am, to succumb to unconsciousness in an instant. To erase the sounds of my actions and allow the terrors of the shadows to creep forth again to haunt my bedside - I could not bare another night of such a fate. Even during the night, I do not allow the darkness to crawl forth in to my study like a resurrected corpse claws its way to the surface upon the hours of darkest night and most vile evil. No. Light is the only aegis I hold against this unseen terror which stalks me like my shadow, and I will not allow it to be swallowed up by the maw of madness and depravity. And so, I remain here, scarcely eating, barely awake, biding the hours until I can breathe easily. Only the sun can bring me solace.
It is purely a hypothesis at this point, but from current events I believe my posit to be true. The impalpable foe of my chess game has not made a move, even during the rare instances when I depart from the walls of my alcove. I can only believe that he is another of the dark demons that stalk the tenebrous corners of my silent estate, emerging only when I retreat to my chambers. I want dreadfully for us to continue our match, but I cannot surrender to this shadowy adversary my shield, even under the tenuous pact of our match. Still, my weary mind cannot help but ponder strategies and muse over outcomes.
Only to visit my father’s grave have I freed myself from the confines of the study. The grey tombstone growing bleaker each passing day, I find myself even more depressed at its sight. Exposed to the weather, the veneer protecting the slab from the elements and forces has become transient under their power, fading away. Much like mine own.
I’ve regressed to reading. Everything. I’ve completely read through the previously mentioned encyclopedia of the undead: the Norman- and Necronomicon. The curiosity that drove me when I commenced my studies hasn’t faded, but upon completion, a sensation swept over me. It felt as though a raging, furious power coursed through me. I felt emboldened, empowered, but it was in some way different. The feeling was not one of a warrior, bloodthirsty and preparing for battle, but more as though something was taking control. Some lecherous hand was tying strings to my body and preparing to use me like a puppet. I felt compelled to delve into these magics, to satisfy my thirsty curiosity. I knew if I attempted I would succeed. I knew it, I could feel it; I could feel the power! But how would I know now that these spells I cast would look to me as master? No. I could sense the puppeteer whispering these temptations in my ear, waiting for the opportunity to seize control of my powers and constructs and use them to his designs; and I stayed my hand, to keep him, and my destiny, in check. As fleeting and evanescent as it was, the eldritch uniqueness of those moments spurs my curiosity and fear, even now, after what feels like ages since that event.
I haven’t slept, but I’ve seen the sun do that which I have not. I dread the hour in which I must return to my quarters. I hope to simply collapse where I am, to succumb to unconsciousness in an instant. To erase the sounds of my actions and allow the terrors of the shadows to creep forth again to haunt my bedside - I could not bare another night of such a fate. Even during the night, I do not allow the darkness to crawl forth in to my study like a resurrected corpse claws its way to the surface upon the hours of darkest night and most vile evil. No. Light is the only aegis I hold against this unseen terror which stalks me like my shadow, and I will not allow it to be swallowed up by the maw of madness and depravity. And so, I remain here, scarcely eating, barely awake, biding the hours until I can breathe easily. Only the sun can bring me solace.
It is purely a hypothesis at this point, but from current events I believe my posit to be true. The impalpable foe of my chess game has not made a move, even during the rare instances when I depart from the walls of my alcove. I can only believe that he is another of the dark demons that stalk the tenebrous corners of my silent estate, emerging only when I retreat to my chambers. I want dreadfully for us to continue our match, but I cannot surrender to this shadowy adversary my shield, even under the tenuous pact of our match. Still, my weary mind cannot help but ponder strategies and muse over outcomes.
Only to visit my father’s grave have I freed myself from the confines of the study. The grey tombstone growing bleaker each passing day, I find myself even more depressed at its sight. Exposed to the weather, the veneer protecting the slab from the elements and forces has become transient under their power, fading away. Much like mine own.
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