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November 4th, 2006


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12:20 am - once upon an idealistic and floofy time
...when I used to call people kindred spirits...
I wrote this in response to a friend's fictitious letter to his fictitious girlfriend. He was at first disappointed to find that I had written a letter in response because he had planned (though not written) for his character to die in his quest, though once he had read the contents of my letter, he was quite pleased. At home on a sick day, somewhat like yesterday, it was a fun and rather nerdy excercise in 19th century wordiness and in some historically accurate names and dates:


Inferno Heights
November 1886

Dearest Hunter,

It pains me to think that I had spent the better part of five years in cloaked despair, searching the globe for some sign of you, yet all this time part of the answer lay in your journal which had only now been passed on to me by Baron John E.E. Dalberg-Acton. I am not certain how or whether this message shall get to you but the Baron has assured me that he would do his utmost to ascertain your whereabouts and thus deliver it to you.
Do not fret for I feel instinctively that the Baron is a kindred spirit and fully merits our trust. Many unfortunate events have served to cross his path with mine. These I now relate to you.
When first you disappeared, I attempted to contact the only member of your family I thought to be still alive. Your brother, who at the time had taken up residence in the United States. Unfortunately, he was unattainable as he was part of an international cooperative for the containment of a deadly disease which was wreaking havoc upon many a country.
This disease was the bubonic plague which had struck the Americas, and parts of Europe and Asia. It became so serious that on October 31, 1885, the few countries which had managed to escape its deathly grip entirely enforced a strict travelling code. Not a single person or thing (alas not even a letter) was allowed to leave or enter these countries until it could be agreed by general consensus that the plague was no longer a threat.
I thought perhaps your research had brought you to one of these coutries and that you might have been detained there. I shuddered to think of the other possibility.
Refuge at my family's estate was not an option since Navarre lay just along the border of one of the restricted countries. I did, however, flee to the estate of one Miss E. Dickenson, an acquaintance of mine whom you met briefly ten years ago and who, although residing in a plague beset country, had for the most part lived a rather isolated life and hence, I assumed, was fairly safe from the plague.
Sadly, she died early the next year. In the summer of 1886, shortly after former president Chester Alan Arthur died (his presidency ended around the same time you disappeared) I travelled from Miss Dickenson's estate to that of her colleague, Miss Rossetti in England, where the plague was nothing but a faint shadow deemed merciful in comparison to its 14th century antecedent.
It was there that I happened to hear of one Baron Dalburg-Acton, an English historian who had become somewhat of a celebrity because of his closed-door discussions with the arch-bishop of Canterbury concerning the Black Death which had ravaged Asia and Europe during the 14th Century. I discovered that he was also interested in Akkadian literature and the rammifications of having a Babylonian obsession with hedonistic pursuits.
Remembering that Babylonia was alluded to in your latest research, I contacted the Baron and spoke to him of you. He had not heard of you but did know of a Frazer in Scotland with whom he corresponded regularly, Sir James George Frazer, the noted anthropologist.
The Baron wrote to him forthwith and received news that Sir James was a distant cousin of yours thrice removed. He did not know of your whereabouts but had some inkling of your latest project and discussed the matter at length with the Baron. Three years later, they managed to find your cave at the mouth of which lay your much-battered journal.
This brings us to the present in which I am now hastily and clumsily writing you. I have learned scant few about your "Sh'oggoth" but nonetheless feel that you have acted rashly. At night I can almost hear this creature's hungry call and wonder - nay hope bitterly that it is the cry of a lost and lonely soul and not that of one damned seeking vengeance.
I have patiently searched these past few years for you and shall continue to do so for I refuse to let time be the force that shall spoil our love.

yours forever and always,

Diana

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