Februarie the 23rd, post meridiem I feel abandoned. I have wandered the halls of the museum alone, and a sullen pursuit that is. I had hoped to reconnect, to finde again my groupe, but I have failed, and I saw the ancient shippes, the tattered flags, the rows of war medallionnes, all alone. My bag is yet heavie. I see behind every case, here.
Every room is dimm, sullen.
They lurk everywhere. I hold my grip closer, yet still the shaddoes find my chinks within which to slip their anvils. My hedd grows cloudy. I feel abandoned. Februarie the 23rd, nocturnus I stare at my self, and I blink.