FIELD NOTEBOOK · ENTRY 27
Where the Road Became Uncertain
I thought the road had ended. It had only stopped agreeing with the map.
Add the rest of the journal entry here.
— E.
Journals In Broom Closet
The river remembers each soul by its name. It winds through the silence where echoes are sown, And carries the broken to light they have known. Beneath every current, a heartbeat will gleam, A fragment of mercy, a half-forgot dream. No death is forgotten, no sin left untold, Yet every soul rises when its heart turns to gold. So drift through the darkness, oh wanderer bright, For endings are echoes that lead into light. And when your reflection is gentle and clear, Serenya shall call — “You are welcome here.”