What follows is not for your pleasure. It’s not for your enjoyment. I don’t write this out of a sense of wonderment and obligation to you. I don’t write for my own pleasure. I write for my sanity. Your existence is entirely circumstantial. If you never exist it might be better for me. For these words to have never happened, to exist in the abyss, forever overlooked. Certainly these memories bring me no happiness, no joy. They tear at the edges of my mind, having finally made enough of an impression to understand that without some release they’ll do damage. I can’t allow that. I still need my mind. Without it I’ll be left vulnerable. It’s risky putting out this story. Even if the names are different, even if I’ve changed the places and the times. But it’s riskier to go insane.
So let’s negotiate dear reader. You will understand that this view you’re getting is entirely accidental, entirely unmerited. In response, I’ll hold back the worst of it. Share only that which will let off a little steam. I won’t allow you to involve yourself, won’t let you become part of this world. Won’t leave you vulnerable to powers so beyond your understanding that I’d be better explaining it to insects. In short, I’ll let you believe that everything I say here isn’t the absolute truth.
But it is. The truth that is. The world you think you know is a convenient lie maintained more out of habit than obligation.
James Kerrigan, Resident Necromancer.