I used this Journal and everything makes sense. I close the leather-bound cover and I know, so well, I will never need another word in it. My story is finished. I am done here. I would like to say it’s been an incredible adventure, but I would be lying. You know this experience of this so-called life is just a conspiracy. It’s not real! It’s all an illusion. I found the answers. If you don’t believe me – read this Journal. Go ahead. Unlock its secrets; I double-dare you. You may see me as a ghost for very soon I shall blood-let, purge, purify and return whence I came, back to reality. Back to the Now, to conscious existence; awake from this nightmare; this dimension with its ties and burdens and I will shrug off this weight of vile flesh; this tiresome body. You want to do this journey? Are you curious? Open the Journal, reader of this letter; are you not wondering of all the wonders?

Wye considered opening the Journal, her hand shaking, mouth drying. It lay on the desk before her, so easily discovered. She dared to move her leg to stave cramp and tried to ignore the fallen corpses at her feet; their failure evident. What of Truth, Wye wondered, stroking the Journal with growing fascination. What of Death?

She looked down at the dead faces; the scared, the tortured, the macabre; the more she saw the less she knew. Would this Journal hold the Truth to all things? If by the end of it, would her journey in this life be complete? No more searching? No more bullshit? No more egos bitching between faiths and beliefs?

She rubbed her fingers across the indents of gold leaf scrolling and the symbols of ancient runes and admired the beautifully bounded ledger. She picked it up and felt a rush. Should she even be here, doing this? She turned the Journal onto its side and ran her finger along the smooth curl of inlaid parchment which appeared iridescent as mother of pearl to her touch. What words of Wisdom lay amongst these pages so sacrosanct?

Wye became aware of her surroundings as she heard footsteps along the stone corridor outside; the echo of fortress soldiers moving in to trap her. She grabbed her rucksack open and pushed the Journal and letter inside then snapped the bag shut, and turned to face her aggressors.

“Where did you disappear to? I’ve had KII (K2) activity in The Guards Room, second floor of the West Tower,” Jay announced in the doorway.

Wye smiled across at him. How oblivious he was to the dead on the floor. So oblivious, he could only see through them. Still at the start of this journey, though very enthusiastic to his cause. She held on to the stone wall and moved through the sea of corpses; multiplying, a swelling ocean of faces reaching out to her with their suffering. “There’s been much pain here.” She breezed her hand.

“What, in this room?”

“No, in this dimension.”