The journal didn't begin with a date.
It began with a warning:
> "If you're reading this, you're already too close."
Sera and I exchanged a glance. She flipped the page without a word.
—
The writing was messy, as if penned by someone whose hands—or soul—were shaking.
There were sketches, broken formulas, bits of overheard conversations, and names violently scratched out.
But above all… there were confessions.
---
Unknown day:
I've prayed to every deity in Eclipsia. Only the demons answered. They taught me to channel pain. But the price was remembering every death I caused.
Later day:
There's another version of me. One who doesn't beg. One who destroys. I feel her in dreams. She speaks when I cast magic. I don't know if she's me… or if I'm the broken copy.
Day ???:
I met a man with no shadow. He said all paths lead to the same abyss… unless you can walk backwards. I didn't understand then. Now I do.
---
Sera paused there.
She wasn't breathing. Not blinking.
"Sera…" I said cautiously.
She raised a hand. Kept reading. Flipped through three pages without looking.
Then she found one that had been folded.
She unfolded it.
And read softly:
> "If you ever reach this cabin, it means you escaped the cycle. That your choices mattered. But be careful… it also means they've started correcting you."
—
Outside, something creaked.
I stood up silently, knife in hand.
Sera closed the journal with an expression I'd never seen on her before: nostalgia and fear at once.
"Is that journal yours?" I asked.
"I don't know," she replied. "But I feel like I was… or will be that woman."