April 20, 1725
Charlotte spoke to me today. My sanity has not left me, I am not mad, but Charlotte spoke to me today. I was sitting on the slab, sketching the scene again at the back of my journal when I heard a female voice. It did not sound familiar, and I looked around, but saw no one. Then one of Charlotte’s skeletal hands pulled her into a sitting position and she looked directly at me. I knew I should have felt afraid at seeing a moving skeleton, but instead, I felt that same, strange sense of peace again.
Charlotte spoke in a strange tongue, one that I do not recognize. When she seemed to realize this, she pointed to the ground and said something quick and harsh in the strange speech, and the ground near my feet began to bubble and seethe like the water when the servants put it over the fire to boil. After the ground had behaved in this strange manner for a few moments, a large book was brought forth from the ground. The book was small and very old, bound in something similar to leather, yet softer.
Charlotte pointed toward the book and chattered quickly in her strange tongue and motioned for me to pick it up, and so I did. Based on her motions, I was under the impression that I should read it, and would learn how to communicate with her.
Sadly, I did not have time to start reading it at the clearing, for I heard Dimitri in the woods calling for me. Charlotte seemed to glare in the direction of his voice, then laid back down in her shallow grave. I stuffed the book she had given me into my bodice, closed my journal, and walked to go find him.
After supper, I retired to my chambers and locked the door. I did not wish for anyone else to see the contents of the book from Charlotte. They were meant for my eyes only. Something in Charlotte’s manner sent that message.
The fire was already leaping high, I thank the servants for that. I sat in my stuffed chair nearby and looked at the cover. Nothing special was on the cover, but the book seemed to hum with a strange energy. Nay, tis not so strange, tis the same energy that hums through the clearing. Mayhap the book’s energy will help keep me calm whilst I am home.
The cover seemed to open of its own accord, even before my fingers had touched it. The writing inside seemed to be in the same strange language that Charlotte had spoken in, but as I said something softly to myself, the words seemed to rearrange themselves and form French words. Tis a magic book, I believe.
The book is filled with chants and songs and things similar to poems. There are also strange pictures that I shall copy in the back of this journal.
As I was reading through the book, something strange began to happen. Colors began to become darker, and the fire seemed to glow black instead of orange. I also could hear a chorus of voices reading along with me. Some were deep, and some were not. I flipped through the book to see if I could find out what the voices were and where they were coming from, and toward the back, I believe I found my answer. The voices are known as the “Chorus of the Damned,” and are souls that are trapped inside the book for unmentionable crimes. I wonder what one would have to do to become trapped in this book…