Dire Entry

"Entry, 3rd of Mae:
I seem to be quite sick!
For days I've been hunched over.
My hair is coarse and thick.

"Perhaps it was that wizard,
Who passed through town that day
And promised me a station.
Some land and even pay!

"He tasked me out for items,
To gather where I must,
 He bid me no safe warning.
So now, I feel as dust. 

"I've travelled long for healers,
As far as Rallynock!
But even with their talents,
They haven't got the stock...

"I'm bound to travel westward,
To backwater Brush Hollow Bog.
Perhaps some swamp will cure me
Within it's misty fog."

At that the wizard read it,
A tale of pitied woes,
About some man who offered hand,
Compensed with wicked blows.

At every page, it came so clear,
Each entry turned more dire,
Transforming more to terrored  fits,
Each word bereft and ire. 

Upon the last the wizard read,
A simply bitter phrase, 
Written seven times no less,
Scratched in and full of craze:

"i hate him i hate him i hate him i hate him
i hate him i hate him i hate him"
Just then the sound of snorted snores
Paralyzed his limbs.

The End

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