As John is checking the desk for secret compartments, it shifts the stack of unlabeled journals atop it. There's a shelf, you see, that sits over the desk for storing tools and writing implements and books in easy reach. And John's shuffling is enough to unbalance the stack on the edge of the very top shelf.
The knife is gone, as is the writing discovered by Shen Qingqiu and Valdis. They were taken in for evidence, contrary to Gerry's prior understanding. But the two of them had missed something in that stack of books. It's so innocuous-looking, honestly. So easy to miss. But when the book topples, it falls open as it hits the floor with a slap.
And inside, there are notes, written in two hands.
Aug. 30, 16:47 - Two month Update
So far, all is going according to plan. The seed extracted from the portal is working exactly as intended. If our timing is correct, then the "dimensional displacement event" we've been told to prepare for in the coming Autumn should be able to preserve the body of the Divine Host. I still don't know if the information we've gotten from Aster is actually any good, mind. And even if it is, I fear what will become of me once it is done. But we persevere. Throdogoth ph'nglui vulgtmor. We are more than what we are made of. We are the makers.
In any case, it's been helpful to have C record her thoughts during the process. If for no other reason than for posterity. Perhaps when we are "free of the shackles of sanity," as some of my former colleagues were keen to put it, we will be able to look back on the birth of one of the Mother's spawn as a moment of triumph. I will continue letting C write on her state during progress periodically, as part of the record-keeping process. Though I cannot promise they will remain coherent for much longer.
I am changing. I am becoming something. My hands are shaking all the time.
I thought this process would be faster. I don't know where I got the idea. When has any of this been quick?
I want to know what I am. What we are.
I'm hungry. I am just as much a mother as She is, I think. Sometimes. Is that heresy? Is it hubris? Perhaps it's a bit late to be worried about such things now.
He wants me to write about what is happening to us. I will do so. I will
try.
The last thing I remember that feels real was swallowing the seed. Feeling it snag in my throat and take root there. Tendrils, thin and pallid, like a true seedling, and I, her soil. Since then, the roots have grown into all of me. Dark tendrils break the skin slowly like splitting through the spring ground. Is this how Serranai feels? Will I become her when we kill her? Is that what we are?
I am blossoming. She is beautiful. I don't know what I am anymore.
Sept. 15 16:47 - Two and One-Half Month Update
Things are accelerating now. Ever since the Mother's spawn began to break free of C's body, things have been moving faster. I wonder if it's got something to do with the open air? The spilled blood? I fear that bi-weekly updates will no longer suffice, as C's ability to speak clearly has been fading. I am hoping to catch her during a moment of clarity for at least one more entry.
They call the Mother a "black goat". I never quite understood why, that isn't really what She looks like, aside from the ungulate eyes. And perhaps the hair texture. But I see it in the nascent godling, I think. The way her legs move, when she deigns to have them. The way her face looks, when it takes shape over C's. I think she is stabilizing now.
C's motor functions are slowing. So are her vitals. Day by day, there is less of her and more of her.
I fear that before this ends, I will no longer recall the significance of our great work. Just as C is becoming lost to the work, I do not believe much of me will remain after He is finished with me. But I am eager in my sacrifice nonetheless. I do not need to know why she is here to know that I love her.
We have started calling her Glory.
I am everywhere.
I spill out onto the wood of this floor, this pathetic facade of firmament. I roil, like a pot over flame. Waves of me rippling into nothing that could be recognized as human. Guts, bones, muscles, blood, all pulping.
I eat and I eat and I eat. I am so hungry. She keeps it all. I won't need it much longer.
I hear her now. Louder than I hear myself.
I am fading. I'm so scared. Elias, I'm scared. Elias, can you hear me? Ingmar? Can you hear me? Can you hear me? My voice, my voice, it's not my own, I can't hear myself I can't hear myself I can't hear myself why am I not making any noise I keep talking and talking and talking and I think the words I see the words I see them I see them I see them but they do not make a sound aside from this scratch scratch scratch scratch scratching scratching scratching scr
Someone is screaming now. I think it is me.
This is what I want. Glory. Glory!
Glory!
And oh I am glorious.
Sept 21, 16:47 - Urgent Update
Something happened. I'm not really sure what. I've moved the girls down to the basement, I think it is safer there, as I've come to understand that my "last day", as it were, is well on the horizon.
I think this is the last we will be able to hear from our host. I think the birth is happening in earnest. She won't stop screaming--- mostly in R'lyehian now. I don't think Glory speaks much Emeran. Unsurprising, but a shame nonetheless. She is getting so big now. What's left of C is... minimal. So much of her body has gone to feeding our creation.
Chloe, I'm so sorry. There is beauty in this agony--- I know you know that, even now. But still, I am sorry. I am so, so sorry.
May we capture the last of you, so that as much of you as possible may remain.
L' throdogoth! l' n'ghft! nilgh'ri vulgtmah l' ah Nyarlathotep! nilgh'ri vulgtmah l' ah Shub-Niggurath! Y' ah mgepahazath, Y' ah mgepnah, Y' ah ah'mglw'nafh! Iä! Iä! Throdogoth fhtagn!
I am becoming.
Goodbye.
There are blood smears everywhere, and the journal seems to end there.
"...Well that looks exciting," Gerry remarks, getting up from where he's sitting to come have a gander. How did he not see it before, right when he walked in? All End and Flesh and Stranger and Vast? Was it really just that well-concealed?
PLOT COOKIES BE UPON YE
The knife is gone, as is the writing discovered by Shen Qingqiu and Valdis. They were taken in for evidence, contrary to Gerry's prior understanding. But the two of them had missed something in that stack of books. It's so innocuous-looking, honestly. So easy to miss. But when the book topples, it falls open as it hits the floor with a slap.
And inside, there are notes, written in two hands.
Aug. 30, 16:47 - Two month Update
So far, all is going according to plan. The seed extracted from the portal is working exactly as intended. If our timing is correct, then the "dimensional displacement event" we've been told to prepare for in the coming Autumn should be able to preserve the body of the Divine Host. I still don't know if the information we've gotten from Aster is actually any good, mind. And even if it is, I fear what will become of me once it is done. But we persevere. Throdogoth ph'nglui vulgtmor. We are more than what we are made of. We are the makers.
In any case, it's been helpful to have C record her thoughts during the process. If for no other reason than for posterity. Perhaps when we are "free of the shackles of sanity," as some of my former colleagues were keen to put it, we will be able to look back on the birth of one of the Mother's spawn as a moment of triumph. I will continue letting C write on her state during progress periodically, as part of the record-keeping process. Though I cannot promise they will remain coherent for much longer.
I am changing. I am becoming something. My hands are shaking all the time.
I thought this process would be faster. I don't know where I got the idea. When has any of this been quick?
I want to know what I am. What we are.
I'm hungry. I am just as much a mother as She is, I think. Sometimes. Is that heresy? Is it hubris? Perhaps it's a bit late to be worried about such things now.
He wants me to write about what is happening to us. I will do so. I will
try.
The last thing I remember that feels real was swallowing the seed. Feeling it snag in my throat and take root there. Tendrils, thin and pallid, like a true seedling, and I, her soil. Since then, the roots have grown into all of me. Dark tendrils break the skin slowly like splitting through the spring ground. Is this how Serranai feels? Will I become her when we kill her? Is that what we are?
I am blossoming. She is beautiful. I don't know what I am anymore.
Sept. 15 16:47 - Two and One-Half Month Update
Things are accelerating now. Ever since the Mother's spawn began to break free of C's body, things have been moving faster. I wonder if it's got something to do with the open air? The spilled blood? I fear that bi-weekly updates will no longer suffice, as C's ability to speak clearly has been fading. I am hoping to catch her during a moment of clarity for at least one more entry.
They call the Mother a "black goat". I never quite understood why, that isn't really what She looks like, aside from the ungulate eyes. And perhaps the hair texture. But I see it in the nascent godling, I think. The way her legs move, when she deigns to have them. The way her face looks, when it takes shape over C's. I think she is stabilizing now.
C's motor functions are slowing. So are her vitals. Day by day, there is less of her and more of her.
I fear that before this ends, I will no longer recall the significance of our great work. Just as C is becoming lost to the work, I do not believe much of me will remain after He is finished with me. But I am eager in my sacrifice nonetheless. I do not need to know why she is here to know that I love her.
We have started calling her Glory.
I
am
everywhere.
I spill out onto the wood of this floor, this pathetic facade of firmament. I roil, like a pot over flame. Waves of me rippling into nothing that could be recognized as human. Guts, bones, muscles, blood, all pulping.
I eat and I eat and I eat. I am so hungry. She keeps it all. I won't need it much longer.
I hear her now. Louder than I hear myself.
I am fading. I'm so scared. Elias, I'm scared. Elias, can you hear me? Ingmar? Can you hear me? Can you hear me? My voice, my voice, it's not my own, I can't hear myself I can't hear myself I can't hear myself why am I not making any noise I keep talking and talking and talking and I think the words I see the words I see them I see them I see them but they do not make a sound aside from this scratch scratch scratch scratch scratching scratching scratching scr
Someone is screaming now. I think it is me.
This is what I want. Glory. Glory!
Glory!
And oh I am glorious.
Sept 21, 16:47 - Urgent Update
Something happened. I'm not really sure what. I've moved the girls down to the basement, I think it is safer there, as I've come to understand that my "last day", as it were, is well on the horizon.
I think this is the last we will be able to hear from our host. I think the birth is happening in earnest. She won't stop screaming--- mostly in R'lyehian now. I don't think Glory speaks much Emeran. Unsurprising, but a shame nonetheless. She is getting so big now. What's left of C is... minimal. So much of her body has gone to feeding our creation.
Chloe, I'm so sorry. There is beauty in this agony--- I know you know that, even now. But still, I am sorry. I am so, so sorry.
May we capture the last of you, so that as much of you as possible may remain.
L' throdogoth! l' n'ghft! nilgh'ri vulgtmah l' ah Nyarlathotep! nilgh'ri vulgtmah l' ah Shub-Niggurath! Y' ah mgepahazath, Y' ah mgepnah, Y' ah ah'mglw'nafh! Iä! Iä! Throdogoth fhtagn!
I am becoming.
Goodbye.
There are blood smears everywhere, and the journal seems to end there.
"...Well that looks exciting," Gerry remarks, getting up from where he's sitting to come have a gander. How did he not see it before, right when he walked in? All End and Flesh and Stranger and Vast? Was it really just that well-concealed?