In The Dark Of A Mirror

Before any words are written there is a drawing of a harp with three apples below it, shot through with an arrow. Another portions below reads a name.

                               Diary of Rathvald, Son of Ragvald, of Dale

"Usually I've not the time to write down my thoughts, nor the want in all truth; each thought is a portal in to the mind of the one having them after all, secrets, promises yet to be kept like a kiss one dreams of but knows it is only swiped away on the broken wings of a dreary crow. With that in mind I make the surmisement that what I write down will at some point be read by one who has not the same hand as I, not the same interest fully in the words that would encompass this small bit of scorn leveled to parchment that becomes words, poetry or song would be the guess of many of what I write - they'd be wrong in this instance: for in this small page I write of myself, my mind, my being, my soul that for some odd reason I can only really present in falsified smiles or dour dirges that do nothing but sour the mood of a room, upon my own observations that is...for now I will relay a feeling I've had, a feeling that was drawn from my experience with a source of much suffering, a dagger - one made of wicked and malefic intent that would bring blight to the Halls Of Mandos if it were allowed to breath the life it wished to the world. For this reason I wish that never once is this entry seen, specially by Addie - she does not need to know of what it did, what it truly did...."

There was a small drawing of a feathered hat, a doodle, nothing well drawn between the paragraph and the next.

"I was within my room the other night sat upon the edge of my bed, gambeson about me as my coif hung around my neck in a lazy fashion, I'm a lazy man at home truth be told. All was good - my bed was warm as I dressed down to a shirt and pants of a cheap yet woolen nature that would've been seen to belong to a miser, some would say that matched me perfectly, pinching coins, keeping them close - ah but I'm not writing this down to mock myself, merely to log something so I shant forget. Anyroad...there I was, in front of my mirror, looking in to it as one would look close in to water to see if any fish were swimming by. I could feel the wisp of the cool of the glass close to my face, mainly my nose that felt the chill of the stale water. My day before then had been the usual affair of pretending to be not myself for the hope of protecting someone, only then to learn such a thing had failed and was now in the hands of the Valar to solve in potentially a deadly bout; guilt was a prime emotion that I felt at my part in it, I wouldn't let Addie see it at the time in order to save her from a welling of the putrid ichor that makes such up, chokes the lungs and bitters the tongue. I hated that feeling - greatly intensely hated it - and something reached out, felt that hate as the mirror appeared to warp itself to make room for another visage to slowly ooze in from the corners like ink spilt across page."

Another drawing, this time of a leaky mirror - the ink thick within the corners.

"I saw this warped image begin to take more of a form as though it took a moment to find a suitable form...a form I knew, one I killed many winters ago. Once more I saw the specter of my mother gazing in to my eyes. Once more I see the arrow within her neck bubble up the more freshly produced blood that came from such a wound; A wound that festered that bleed maggots and ichor and the hiss of a viper that curled around this amalgamations' throat as if it had found a branch. My skin felt cold as my eyes were locked against the pale dead ones held in reflection to me. I want to say it was the worst part, the image...but the noise it was so much more of a shrilling of the tongue - it was bestial with the rasp of a dying man whom found his life a misery. It came not from the corpse mother - but from the viper. It's tongue was all the moved as the sickly words hung. 'Ye son of woe, whose kin be slain by your own hand, find not the grace of Bema to guide ye from here - see only the specter to which you owe.' It curled tighter around the neck with a 'pop' then the sight, the sight I will not write down as it would not befit  the mind to remember."

Once again a drawing, this time of a viper - nothing more.

"I couldn't bring myself to look away as though I was held there, in that moment as if by some sort of punishment my body found no will of its own as this small entanglement was to prove something to me, what it was I cannot tell - what I could gleam is that what horror had befallen me when I took up the task many months ago now that the effects of it were not gone...but I had changed through them; I knew my downfalls, my regrets all composed the symphony of the thrumming of my harp, it was all I could think of at the time. Music had a certain magic to it - as it is said in long forgotten or un cared for or even unbelieved texts that this world was made from a song - one that couldn't truly be uttered by mortals yet the power was there, the power I attempted to replicate only for finally something to occur. A flash, a gleam of a light behind the visage of death that stalked me - then there was nothing but broken glass, a bleeding hand that held a clutched against the surface of the mirror: smashed bits of the chill glass fell upon the floor to create a pattering of released horror - all that was left was the dark of it, the opening in to another world to which I saw the horror of."

Now was a simple drawing of the mirror once more, broken, but open like a door

"I couldn't believe at the world behind it I faced as spirits danced about in the dark, creating tenebrous patterns that showed a miasmic form; in the middle danced the corpse mother, her limbs falling apart before I saw the sudden rush, the sudden grasp of her decayed hand against my shirt, pulling me in to this warped world - all I could do was scream and hear nothing but silence before the sun crested the room and I found myself upon my bed awake? Or maybe in another dream - it was a wash of terror that afflicted me before I once more saw the room fade to black, once more woke again to find the mirror in one piece, no shard out of place - my reflection normal. I placed a blanket over it to keep it out of mind. I knew this dream well. I've had it several times in the last few days. There is in truth no rest for a creature such as myself - only distractions, only false faces. A distraction was made for the time, I must practice my horsemanship for Addie wishes to duel with bow but upon the back of a horse. Such distractions will have to do until I find the horn, that is what the viper has...or wants...I cannot tell. Either way I can no longer ignore that call."

There was a final drawing that accompanied the last paragraph; it was of a woman, more then likely the Addie that was mentioned within the journal entry. Underneath it was a small few words that read "Its not your fault.".