Written in a Dead Man’s Hand
My careless studies with the Brotherhood have awakened something. Its power is far beyond my own. I am not yet such a fool as to believe I can banish it back into the abyss—yet it may perhaps be bound. I know a way, using ancient ink and parchment older still. When the ritual is complete, I shall tear this inscription from this accursed tome and secret it away, hoping against hope you never stumble upon it, for doing so would break the numinous shackles that restrain the creature.
Despite my caution, you may yet read this. If so, I am sorry. It is coming for you.
As you love me, heed: lift not your eyes from these words. You may hear a low slithering, like old paper against splintered wood. Do not turn to see what approaches! A shadow, hunched and horrible, may slink along the edges of your vision. Do not attempt to see what casts it! Such knowledge will not save your life, but it will shatter your mind, utterly and beyond redemption. An honest death I can mourn, even yours. What cannot be borne is you, my precious child, dying in gibbering, slavering madness as the meat is peeled from your bones in ribbons.
Your time grows short. It will be with you soon, if it is not already. Remember: do not look away from this page. I love you. I will be here with you to the end.
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