September 10th

Dear Diary,

I have been at Lord Sistro’s estate for five days now and while it does not seem that long, so much has transpired.

I shall begin with the mundane. I find that I have never slept better than I have here. My dreams are abundantly clear, almost as if I am consciously working through problems while I rest, but not only that, I find that I wake up fully rested due in part to how lucious the bed truly is. It is perhaps the greatest bed I have ever had and I will be sad to leave it one day. That as well as the restrooms which have become a passionate favorite of mine.

The staff is of the utmost consideration, always tending to my needs. Even offering to get me anything I could possibly need. When I asked one of them about if perhaps it would be too forward of me to ask what brought them here, they explained that most of them, if not all, were descendants of many years, in servitude to the Lord and his family. They all seemed very happy in their work and even showed me their quarters, which much like my own, were far from servants quarters. It seemed to be almost a position of honor to work at the castle.

And what a castle it is. Even now, having spent many hours touring and wandering it, I still find new room, new mysteries to unfold.

My host, Tarn Sistro, has been of the utmost courtesy, allowing me free reign of everything except the basement lab. He believes I need more studies first before delving into such intricacies. I do not believe he means to taunt me, yet there is a sly undertone when he says it, almost as if enjoys being the one with knowledge.

He has been teaching me throughout though. His knowledge is abundant as is his collection of magical and non-magical works of literature and art. Even he has not studied every tome, but the ones he have would occupy me for weeks, or would have merely a few days ago. Now I find I can comb through an entire book in a few hours.

My comprehension of magical languages and understanding of them seems to grow exponentially. I can sense the patterns, feel each word pulling me along to the next. I can see the patterns as they build and flow. It is as if my neural pathways are expanding and growing with each page I read, forging new roads and cities to contain it all. There are times when my head feels so full that I might explode, that all the knowledge threatens to break free, but then the load lightens. It is as if some invisible force tells me that it will be okay and to continue on.

I have learned the truth about magic. Beyond the tenets of Control and Perception I have learned that some spells draw from positive influence on the world while others draw from the negative. However, they way they are wielded is based on the users Perception of how they work. Tarn Sistro has further elaborated on this with demonstrations of such power.

Each morning we have a casual discussion over breakfast where he educates me on the uses of magic and its history. Following that, I am allowed to retire to my studies where I spend the majority of the day reading through any literature I deem to catch my eye. In the evening, after an incredible supper, we begin the practical studies.

My hands now move with ease, conjuring spells from thin air. The runes I carve into objects course with life energy bringing anything I desire to fruition. He guides me, but in such a way as a teacher would a student. I find myself becoming more and more fascinated with why he has not taken other students before. It comes naturally to him as it would anyone.

Then late in the night we retire to our chambers. He politely leaves me to my sleep until the next morning when the cycle repeats.

I do not know when he plans to show me the machine, but my curiosity only grows with each day.

Forever,

Eleanor Ducal

September 20th

Dear Diary,

Today I could bear it no longer. My curiosity got the best of me and I ventured into the basement towards the lab.

Lord Sistro had to leave the castle on business for the last two days. Now today, after fifteen days of my studies, I could resist the call no longer. Thoughts of the machine, the basement had begun to flood my every thought. I could feel its call on me while I slept. Images of it, of flickering electricity charged between machine and magic coursing like an interconnected web. There in the center, an individual, myself presumed, held aloft as glittering metal replaced and improved the organic bits. The dream has become clearer as magic has grown in me, yet I found myself concerned that I had become obsessed.

So today, while he had been away, I slipped down into the basement. I had been studying the servants patterns and at the precise moment when none would come, I slipped through the doorway. Conjuring a small ball of light, I made my way down the deep stairs. They traveled down, farther than I would expect, merely one hundred stairs down from the castle.

As I slipped deeper down, I could feel the air grow colder, damp, and muggy. It smelled of oil and rotted meat and yet that did not deter me. The further I descended, I could feel a sickness in the air. It was as if everything had been poisoned, corrupted. The sickness was in everything. Stone cracked in spiderwebbing patterns.

When I reached the bottom, the room opened up into a large cavernous system. I extended my orb, setting it up towards the top, growing outward to illuminate the room. I could feel my reach of magic tainting slightly as I did. The sickness here touched everything, even myself.

The room was nearly as large as the great hall in the castle above. Along the walls were machinations, old rusted things that resembled humans, yet horridly tortured and combined with animal elements. They were chained up yet looked as if they had not been alive. I could make out the runes of stasis and captivity carved around them. I dare not interfere for what problems they could be.

There in the center of the room, the machine, yet it was not what I expected. Nearing it I could feel the magical currents as if they were corrupted. Wrong. This was not the machine I had dreamed of. This was some forced conglomeration of monstrosity placed together by unskilled hands. I wondered if the cruelty of the machine was what had harmed those along the walls.

When it was a shambling stirred me. There, chained beneath the machine, shackled to the floor, was a woman. She looked up at me from sunken hollow eyes. Her matted hair now slivered, hanging in braids across her face. Silvered lines of metal ran under her skin. She looked sick. Broken. As if some part of her had been forcefully removed.

I dared to inch closer, she did not even react as I neared her. I noticed she was bare except for the chains that held her in place. When I reached a foot distance she looked up at me, slowly, mechanically. I gently reached out to touch her hand. She did not move. I probed into her with magic and felt nothing, where there should have been life was merely a hollow spark burning softly.

What had this machine done to her?

I reached out and probed deeply pushing inside of her. I could see the broken strings of her, frayed, torn like woven cables. Carefully I began to stitch them back together. Her hand twitched, gently wrapping her fingers around mine. I could feel the spark within her burn brighter, but it needed more, she needed more. I could not leave her like this. I would not. So on I pushed, mending her. I could see the pathways, where the organic and mechanical met, how they were not blending but fighting, grinding against eachother. I merely pushed, prodded them to see eachother and fed them the information.

Then it pulled, tighter than expected and I felt her pulling more magic out of me. It was like a vacuum sucking in all it could from me.

I do not remember what happened next.

I awoke back in my room. The woman, now clothed in a servants outfit. I recognized her in that moment as one who I had spoken to not a few days prior. She stood there waiting, patiently, unmoving. And yet, behind her eyes was life. She smiled to see I was awake and asked how she could serve me. That I had saved her life and she would repay it forever more.

I did perhaps not know how to respond. Instead she merely spoke to me as if she knew what I was thinking. She prepared me a bath and was set on making me a cup of tea to soothe my insides. I have since asked her what happened only to be told what I expected, that she could not remember much, only that she felt trapped and was now free. She seemed unwilling to speak about how she had ended up in such a predicament. I wonder if she was unwilling, or unable.

After hours of experimentation and questioning she seems to remember her life prior in full yet refuses to acknowledge it as a part of her current life. It is as if she has set up a barrier between the two, from the moment she interacted with the machine. I have tried to see if I can fix her further but she merely refuses my help and instead believes she is perfected, her body and mind exactly as they are supposed to be. Furthermore it seems as though she is now connected to me. Some routine part of her machine elements that now traveled her body acting off of the knowledge they gathered from our connection. She can adeptly understand my needs and desires, drawing them out my head before I can even say them. It seems like it should worry me more than it does. I am glad I saved her life, and yet, I wonder if I have doomed her to a fate worse than death.

Forever,

Eleanor Ducal

September 30th

Dear Diary,

Lord Sistro remains away.

I remain here, at the castle, this damned place.

My servant does not sleep. Instead she studies my mind. I can feel her presence within it, as if a small tether exists between her and myself, constantly sending information back and forth. So I have set her to read to me while I sleep, while I eat, while I read. Knowledge floods into me through her. I have wondered whether or not she retains the information as well or if she is merely an extension of myself. I pray it is the former.

I have set myself to repairing the machine. If the others are like her, I can not risk giving up so much of myself to fix them. Instead the problem must be repaired at the source. We have spent the last eight days restoring the room. While I dismantle and rebuild the machine, my servant, who has taken to calling herself Alphene, repairs the room. She tends the candles, dusts the surfaces, maintains my tools. She is quite helpful in my work, yet never looks at the machine. I wonder if she is traumatized by it or perhaps she feels a connection to it.

I watch as she lingers, staring at the others like her. The ones frozen, trapped. I can sense in her mind the wonder if she was like that before I found her. I have tried to ask her but she merely wishes to move beyond, always pushing forward. I expect this has to be my effect on her mind.

I have noticed that she draws from my magic, a very small amount to function. When cutting off the source she slowly faded until she froze, collapsing like a mechanical doll. Therefore I am the battery that keeps her alive. I do not mind so much as I have grown fond of her. She is a quiet and compassionate companion to me in my work.

By my estimates it will take me weeks to finish the machine’s repairs. I don’t know if I have that long though. I find that with each change I make, I find myself faltering, stumbling over myself and my choices. I find myself doubting every screw and bolt, something I would never do. It is as if some magical force is trying to repel me from working on it, yet with each repair, another tries to draw me deeper in. I feel as if I am caught between two waves, endlessly trapped with no end in sight.

I think perhaps I am losing myself and the sight of my goals. Lord Sistro is to return next week, and when he does, we must speak. There are two many things for me to comprehend on my own. I only hope that I should make it that long.

I Remain Yours,

Eleanor Ducal