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A torn page from a journal:
"Stone-blind Kolg," they chanted. Their grubby fingers pushed my face into the ground, scraped the flesh from my ear, spilled blood. Two thumbs made black spots in my vision. Their voices were loud. So loud. But I heard her the loudest. The Stone. When they left me in the quiet dark, she remained. Her soft lullaby told me of a way I could return: a song of my own.
Filled with Mother's love, I gathered singing stone by hand. They said it would poison me, but Mother would never do that. Not to her son. Within the melody are secrets meant only for me.
A blood-splattered page from a journal:
The song is soft, but hard to crack. I hear the words. I can even taste them. But I cannot say them. Maybe Mother needs me to remove my teeth.
A crumpled page from a journal:
Mother holds me when I sleep. Warm. So warm. Her rhythm flows through my throat, burning until the miners and their fat, cruel hands are a distant memory. Kolg is memory. I am the son. The words come in waves. I will drown in them. For her.
The last entry in a dirt-stained journal with several pages missing:
Mother's song leaks out of me. Liquid fire spills from my eyes, mouth, and ears. I give her everything and become a verse in her chorus. I am finally complete. It was never about the words, only the song.
Picking up the last entry, the Inquisitor says, "So that's how the lyrium experiments ended."