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The sound of waves gently cascaded into the traveler's ear, a soft yet persistent melody of nature, awakening an innate desire for adventure and discovery. As they walked along the shoreline, a cold stream's path converged with the coast, carrying with it an item of a tragic past – a battered journal. The traveller, intrigued, picked it up, marvelling at its age-worn cover. Softly, the journal urged itself open, as if beckoning an alien eye to peer into the heart of its tale. It revealed more than words and scribbles; it revealed a story, a feeling, and most importantly, a fate. Against the back of the ledger, ink seeped into the fibres, bearing witness to its keeper's plight. Desperate for truth, he chased after shadows and whispers. Incisions and gashes tore the soaked pages, echoes of the bites and scratches inflicted by a monstrous being. Be it a treatise on science or a restless reverie, all were subject to the ironclad ruler of logic and reason. Each word and letter are arranged with such precision that one would be hard-pressed to detect even a sliver of sentiment within its rigid structure, neglecting all emotion for a higher virtue. Words etched stream sometimes revealed: “I don’t understand”, “lost touch”, misplaced and layered atop the countless studies. As pages turned more screamed of liars, terrors and mislead, all blossoming with fervour and infectious spite. Steeped in the cold, unforgiving embrace of saltwater, the journal – much like its owner – found refuge in the waves. Exhausted, and defeated, both were swept into the sea's serenade, submitting the story to the pull of the tide. Soon, a kind soul found the book and sheltered it, then shared its tale with all those whose names were present. The notes awaited. @Periphonics @AmericanSniper52 @Pixicat OOC: A new tide fell on the beach, signaling disturbance. The peace of death won’t last lost.
