My mind is filled with thoughts I cannot even describe, not even here. I fear that if I come too close to describing them that I may make them more real. But I must relieve myself of this burden so that I can sleep once again.
In a dream, several nights ago, I had a vision of myself in conversation with another, one not known to me. All was as in a blur, features, voices, and the other would not identify himself by other than his first initial. I seemed to be in some type of confrontation or disagreement with the other but our voices were never raised. It was very quiet and our movements were slow and deliberate. Then, the other became more animated as he began to tell me a story. The story was long, complicated, and I was involved, though I knew not how. He wanted something from me. Was it a confession, a secret, an agreement? I had no answers for the man in the dream. But the other did not become angry with me as my dream-self believed he would. Rather, he remained silent, steady, waiting for an answer. He returns nightly in dream and I feel as though he will demand an answer from me. But I have no answers, only questions. Somewhere, unknown to me, a page has been turned.
- Sorren
I have no explanation for this. I openly admit that I find this leaf somewhat disturbing. By what form of magic could this simple servant have penetrated so far into the future event that my possession of this book represents? I am bewitched by a feeling of dread, almost as if this simple servant is keen to the knowledge of my own fate, and merely offers subtle hints and clues for me to discover. Magic of this kind is beyond my understanding and does not come from the Lord.
— M
As a curator I am very interested in this leaf. Sorren is beginning to probe his thoughts very carefully, and I must admit, that like M, I too feel a strange connection with this leaf the way a voyeur can become obsessed with a limited view through a dark window which obscures his vision. But in this instance, the window is not through space . . .it is through time. It seems very strange to me to be analyzing the words of a man agonizing over the feeling of being stalked by an unknown man, and at the same time as I write these notes I ponder the very same though that it is I that stalks this man through the centuries now past, but that still, in some way, the two of us are aware of the other. M has reflected upon this exact same sentiment in his notes. Is it the book? Does this book have a special quality that produces this strange effect upon the reader? Of course I must rule out such a possibility for I can imagine no mechanism which could cause such a phenomenon to become manifest. And still I am perplexed by this apparent phenomenon.