[From a page found burned at the edges, sealed beneath
blood-thread and hot wax]
They'll come looking for her—every Order, every hungry throne, every masked priest who hears the whisper of cracked seals.
But it begins here. And if you're reading this, it means I've failed to silence the dream. Or worse... chosen not to.
What follows is not for the weak-hearted. There are truths inside these pages that will wound. Visions not meant for waking eyes. Names that once spoken cannot be forgotten.
Reader, beware:
The girl is real. The seals are breaking.
And I am no longer what I was.
📜 New entries surface each Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.
Track the road. Count the signs. Mark each gate.
🩸 If this journey speaks to you, bleed ink beside me.
Your voice carries farther than mine ever could. Support the chronicle, share it with those who still listen to the voice of the deep.
"They called me Saint. They'll call me worse. But let them.
I only care that she lives."