My body died. Perhaps my spirit entered the Mansus.

I honoured my agreement, but I did not have a friend.

I dedicated myself to the fire that changes and remakes.

I no longer have any idea what is real, and what is not.

I conjured a creature from beyond the skin of the world.

I have made the necessary sacrifice to enter the Mansus through the Spider Door.

It has pleased the Peacock Door to yield to my entry.

I dedicated myself to chaos, and the unexpected Hours.

I dedicated myself to the silence that comes and the cold that ends.

I dedicated myself to the drumbeat which can never end.

I cast a believer onto the Lantern's path.

I dedicated myself to the Hours of struggle and conquest.

I walked behind the Watchman. I will not grow old.

I pledged a believer to the Feast of the Grail.

I wrestled the Forge to victory. I will not grow old.

I shaped a mighty believer from the fires of the Forge.

I gorged on the fruits of the sticky Grail. I will not grow old.

I forged a believer into a true instrument of Knock.

I led a believer to the Wood of the Moth.

I drew a believer to the endless Dance of the Heart.

I am a successful trophy.

I sharpened a believer to their deadliest Edge.

.....................

I have become something winged, dark and undying; something that no longer exists.

I have joined the storm-chorus of the Thunderskin. Never shall I cease.

I was lost to another I's glory

She ensures I have sweet dreams.

I was consumed, but another I rose higher

I was devoured, but another I rose higher

Now we are scholars of the heart.

I would not say it ended badly.

Our home is littered with his notes.

Life is not easy with her.

Our flesh may tire. We may grow old. But I will not regret.

She wants very much to be found.

We are happy, I think.

One by one we douse the flames.

Our house is home to fluttering things.

We seem a suited pair.

I am drunk with her.

We walked behind the Watchman. We will not grow old.

We have joined the storm-chorus of the Thunderskin. Never shall we cease.

We gorged on the fruits of the sticky Grail. We will not grow old.

We wrestled the Forge to victory. We will not grow old.

He is the melody of love, and I hear him now.

We find, we think, a way.

I am well repaid.

I may give him his reward.

We dream the same pink dreams.

Our heartbeats quicken together.

We have become something winged, dark and undying; something that no longer exists.

It is hard to tell, with him, whether to laugh or cry.

That is enough.

He thanks me afterwards.

The Corrivality is the world's engine.

There's a lot of the world, and it's not all mapped yet.

I've been poor, I've been rich, and I've learnt that I'd rather be rich.

Somehow I can't stop thinking about it...

I don't think it really qualifies as a cadaver, so much as a souvenir.

NO RECKONERS, NO EXCEPTIONS.

Any student of Histories knows: as within, so without. One way or another.

The opposite of battle is death.

I have taken the seeds of the Crowned Growth into me.

'I have one very specific recommendation for the contract...'

I couldn't risk them picking up the trail again.

In the Fifth History alone, I will rise like a wave and hood myself to mark what I have become.

I carry the colours of lost Hours with me like a coal of rosy fire.

This is when I would have died, but my wounds were doors.

The Wolf and all the wandering flames will feast.