A small book bound with a leather strap. The pages are crisp, and some stick to one another when one opens the book indiscrimantly, the pages slide to either side, always leaving one page first. The lettering is written in an elegant hand, and is quite obviously using blood for ink.

Mistakes. They were never mean to be forgotton, nor ignored. We must embrace our mistakes, and the pain they have brought us, for we are stronger for it.

For too long I attempted to burn away the marks of my mistake, to cover my shame. No longer. I have accepted responisibility for my foolish actions, and will not hide the signs of my error any longer.

Now I am finally free from Sune's grasp, Never again to repeat past mistakes.

[A small section of flesh is attached to this page with a pin, most of it seared and burned. On a portion of it the strans of flowing red hair are clearly visible in bright ink]

If one opens the book near the middle at random, one might find this page opens more often than not. The lettering is an elegant hand, the blood it is written in, long since dried.

Fire seems to be ineffective. The screams are infintely more delightful than the lash, but they lost conscoiusness much to quickly.

Perhaps it is myself who needs to hone my skills, better control the flame... It must be these damn markings. Sune holds me back yet again. But no longer.

[two small circular bits of flesh around an inch in diameter are attached underneath, long since dead but very well preserved. Each has a small symbol of sune on it.]

If one opens the book near the beginning, the first page stands out. It is written in an elegant hand, in dark black ink.

Wondrous news. Emilia is pregnant again. She has encouraged me to write down my thoughts, to practice drawing. Truly Sune has blessed us. Soon I will be the father of two. Marcus has Begun to walk on his own. So many good things, I could not be more grateful.

[Underneath, is a rough sketch of a beautiful woman with long flowing hair holding a young male child in her arms. Underneath it, the words "Emilia and Marcus" Are scrawled beneath their feet.]

If one opens the book closer to the end, they will find a newer, more recent page. It is written elegantly and in blood only a few days old.

Pathetic, almost. I found him laying there, amidst his own blood. Tortured brutally, moreso than I could ever do. I will admit I was slightly jealous. But the methods were crude, they were not done with care. He was lost, his mind completely shattered. There was little recognition when he saw me. I piti almost regretted seeing him like this. It brought me great sadness I was not able to teach him my lessons in pain. He felt my flame, but he was too far gone to acknowledge it.

Mercy. Something I do not often grant, but this one needed it. I left him knowing that he was thanking me, even if I could not hear the words.

Near the beginning, this page can be found. Written in an elegant hand, the lettering is done with a crisp black ink

'Why, Sune? You brought such beautiful things into my life. Such wonders to enjoy. What did I do to deserve this? Why did you allow such beautiful thigns to be slaughtered, torn apart? Why did you take my family?'

This Section his written in blood, a large portion of the back of the previous page covered in a pool of blood

Questions better left unanswered. You've cursed me Sune, Taken everything beautiful in my life. I'll ask nothing more of you, and never I will never again recognize or appreciate your 'gifts'. You'll take nothing more from me, harlot.

No page after this one seems to be untouched by blood, the crisp bloody pages far outnumbering those which are written in ink.

One of the more recently added pages, it is quite a bit past the middle. It is written in an elegant hand, matching the others, but hastily, and somewhaty shaky, obscuring the blood it is written in at some parts.

Watching. Why am I always watching? I watched the seeker die, I watched random people die on the street. Now i watched Breena and Avhost killed as well.

Still.. This unsettles me. Breena's cry for help, looking at me as she was struck down - I was reminded of Emilia. The look on her face - Her scream of agony.

What have I done?

This portion is written furiously, the elegant hand and care normally used to write, forgotton.

Why did I do nothing? I would have died, most certainly. But would she have lived? This is Emilia all over again. I let this happen. Forgive me Breena. I will keep your dream of the shelter alive. For you - For Emilia.

Your Dreams did not die with you