Messy Note

Messy Note

(An open notebook filled with messy, illegible scrawls.) (A crooked line of frantic scrawl reads...) No, this is not how "I" transcend... The dying sighs of "I" and "he" are bleeding into one... This... this isn't... (Another crooked line scrawled messily right across the one above reads...) Is this... a trap he set?... No, no, no, no, no... (A few lines where the writer seems to have regained a measure of composure...) This is wrong... I cannot accept this. I refuse to let my hatred be replaced by "his." That hatred is mine... it belongs to me. If none of this can be preserved, what was the point of transcendence? This thing is far too dangerous. It's not something an ordinary mind could handle... As for Thrud... No. She shouldn't have to bear such a burden either. I will destroy it all, not just the research into "his" authority, but... no, even the fragments of the person within the egg. Thrud... perhaps I should have a proper talk with her. Once I... once I have completely "withdrawn" from this ritual... (An entry written in a calm hand reads...) Izmaylov is dead... How peculiar. Perhaps I should look into it properly, or send someone to pay my respect. Novokitezhgrad is simply too far from Snezhnograd. Fortunately, everything here is drawing to a close, and the passage to the birthplace of His Majesty Monomakh has been "ritually" sealed. Once I find a way to get rid of "his" voice, everything will be back on track. Tonight might be a good chance. Thrud invited me to a small private dinner of hers. She said I would be glad tonight because "a friend not seen in ages" is coming to visit me... Now that is strange. Most of the people I knew are long dead. As for those who remain, neither they nor I would find any joy in seeing one another. Who could it be?