//------------------------------// // Entry #662/1 – 29/3/1129 // Story: Entry #649 // by KitsuneRisu //------------------------------// These journal pages are covered with mud and ichor and ramblings, and a terrible smell is permeating throughout the house. There are also tracks, mine, leading to my bed, and more mud streaked across it. My hooves are caked with mud and filth and a sticky black substance that refuses to come away. My hair is completely in disarray, and my mouth feels like it is full of sand. The days fly by and I cannot remember half of them. There are times when I am so coherent as to be terrified of what has gone by, and times when I am someone else entirely. But this is a moment of clarity, when a few veils have been lifted. In the hours after lost time, when I awaken in my home — these are the points when I am finally able to speak as myself, as Rarity, to whomever lays eyes upon this cursed journal. You can trust these words. Please, trust these words. I wake each time with the object watching over me, from the shelf, and I cannot bring myself to move it, nor touch it, for will it not simply find its way back? There is only one determination to be had, and I fear I have no way of explaining how or why. The object grips me. It grips me as it has gripped Twilight before. It is the cause. It must be. And in these pages, my errant claim that I have found Twilight? Did she too not seek something, only to find herself lost? The map she left, and my current predicament, and these tracks that I bring back with me — The answer lies in the water! That accursed bay! Approach it not. Seek it not. You will be told to go, but they are lies! All lies! Lies to me and lies to Twilight! Did we not both seek something that carries great importance? Did we both not find it in the same place? I return from the bay, and each time I find myself having walked deeper and deeper within, searching for what it is that I want to find the most! How long more before I am swallowed completely? Is this our fate? No. Twilight is out there. Somewhere. I must not think otherwise. I refuse to. She is not the kind to resign herself to this kind of sordid fate! I make assumptions to think that her story is the same as mine. But as a writer, I know. Everyone has their own story. Everyone has their own circumstance. This is mine. And Twilight must be out there, still, waiting for me to find her. The object lies. The object bewitches me. And while I get swallowed up, I waste time in searching for her. But there is hope. There is hope! There are machinations, both good and bad, and while the object seeks to control me, there is something out there that seeks my freedom. I can not trust my own thoughts from before, not knowing when I was in my mind and when I was still under control of this blackhearted thing, but I must consider: When Twilight herself had her final moment of clarity, she left the object in my room in such a state. And whoever broke into my home for the second time left the object in a similar state — surrounded by paper with writing in a language unknown! It must have been Twilight herself! There can be no other, for whom else in this entire town knows of this accursed item and whatever it is that lurks under the waters of Seal Bay? But why she needed to work in secrecy without revealing things to me is something I cannot explain, and something that causes me frustration to think on. Of course, I now know what possessed me to tear the object away from its paper prison, and now that I am aware, perhaps this battle may be won yet! However, the papers are lost to me. I must find a way to find new script. I must do research. While the object places me in a jail of my own, preventing communication with the world outside my town, I find myself still able to travel within the boundaries. I must find the book again. Twilight certainly found that measure to break the spell, and I must find it too. I will make a trip. A trip to the square. There must be others that know of these Watchers of so long ago, and I am sure, armed with this knowledge, that I finally have a way to be free. I will keep the horrid object in my safe. I will place it there and lock it with a number that I shall discard from memory such that not even I may be able to listen to it whisper! I feel better now. I am sure the light is dawning, finally, at the end of such a bleak and miserable day.