11th moon [written; forward dated to the 26th]

[The writing is rushed, and filled with small irregularities that betray the slight shaking of a hand. The letters are deeply imprinted in the paper, obviously due to the writer's panic.

Few are those who could recognize Cecil Harvey's handwriting in such a state.]

It is coming. It is coming, and if we do not stop it it will eat consume crush us. The world will grow cold from the lack of sunlight, grow cold and burning from their powers unleashed. Terrible winds will rip apart anything that stands in their way. Plants will die; animals will die; only monsters will remain, stronger and more numerous than anything we have seen. Thousands of meteors will fall, and their mere presence will cause the soil to rot beneath our feet. Our minds will be affected by its very presence, maddened by its power. We must go to it, enter it and change its course. Its bowels would be safer than the surface, if those bowels exist. There must be a way.

If prayers can be heard from beyond worlds

I am sorry. I am terribly sorry.

[And finally, an inkblot large enough to cover a few words.]