It is not a beautiful day. It is not an ugly day. I do not view nature in such binary alternatives. It is simply another day on the Island, and my work continues.<\/p>\n
My task here is simple, but of such importance it bears repeating: I am to fill this barren wasteland with life, and in a few mortal decades assimilate the inhabitants for Your sustenance. With the two helpful offspring provided to me, my burden is lighter than in ages past, yet by no means do I stand idle. Isabelle\u2019s deceitfully cheerful conditioning has also opened new opportunities, some of which I must admit to occasionally questioning myself, but then that is hardly my place. I do not know everything. Only what I must know to do what I must do. Such has always been the way of things, and such shall it be, and I shall be grateful for it.<\/p>\n
The little mouse obscenely named Moose has proven troublesome of late. I have advised Thomas and Timothy to exercise utmost caution when conversing with him. I sense overwhelming power within his fragile form, and little of it has to do with the physical dimension. Blathers has sent a communication to the Hierophants regarding our next steps, but until then, our careful monitoring of the threat continues. I can only urge haste for their trunks, and pray it is not too late.<\/p>\n
Caution is key also when the one called the Villager is in question. While I mostly take pride in my control over them, sometimes I feel like I do not hold all the necessary strings. It is not a pleasant feeling. The scriptures talk at length of the abyss, but there is no mention of the enigmatic entity that hounds my existence wherever I am called to govern. I have learned first-hand the terror of gazing into the emptiness in their eyes, and having something<\/em> gaze back. No amount of bells between us can clear the memory\u2014nothing can. Even in writing this down I suffer gooseflesh. Forgive me for this one weakness, as only You can, if only You can.<\/p>\n There are other strange events afoot. A flightless bird keeps washing on the shore, day after day like a groundhog, talking for hours with the Villager, digging up ancient technology from the scorching sands. Ominous balloons crowd the skies, bearing \u201cgifts\u201d for those foolish enough to unravel them. I have myself witnessed several shooting stars over the past few days, compared to the meager eight during the past millennium. Hushed whispers of a dreamworld around the campfires, gossip of gargantuan shapes crawling along the seafloor… I am slipping. I am slipping.<\/p>\n