A prologue to a prologue

There was some time ago when I wrote a prayer, can't remember what to or who. I don't think that it really much mattered though to be honest who or what recieved it. Just that something would cry out in the darkness. Four symbols. Hope, family , love, Pride. Pride. Much like regret. A semi constant. I knew that in order to achieve my goals things would need to change. Need to be sacrificed. But ultimately there were just some things I didn't want to lose in the process. But were ultimately,inevitable. Placed in a hard position backed into a corner and offered an easier option. Sometimes I look back on it all. The looks on their faces before I burned their lives before their eyes. But ultimately that was needed, was required. In order to build what needed to be built. In order to sew my dark craft. The legendary black book. A book of spells and rituals penned by arch demons. Magic of light it had failed me, it had left me wanting more. It had not given me what I desired. Ressurection for the long dead. To brin back those who were dead for a short time, whose spirits had not yet passed through the viels of the other plane. es that was possible. But spirits long gone? Spirits perhaps changed in the process. The magic of the Kami held no hope for me there. So. I stumbled into the darkness. And there. I found hope. I suppose in order to understand my ojectives at the time you really need to udnerstand just how I felt. I had been responsible for her death.

She who had sold her body itself and innocence in an effort to ensure we had food and shelter, Perhaps not an abundance or quality of either. But enough to survive. I had been content. But it had been my pride which was my downfall. Although the knife hadn't been in my hand that did it it may as wlel have been. I stumble in, start a fight with a client and she tries to protect me. The end result. I am a boy, crying on a beach. Filled with guil like a chalice of bitter wine. Do not think hwoever I try to excuse those actions with my own sorrows. No. I knew full well what I was doing. I knew just far off the deep end I'd jumped. And yet when you make that fist stumble that first fall. You just keep falling. There isn't a way to stop. Most people say that, thsoe who take such dark paths are so deluded with the idea of their goal that they lose sight of plain and basic morality, and for most that was true. But me.No. I was aware of what I was doing, and no matter how many times I did it. I never once found ti any easier. But then. I didn't not do it either. So. Does that make me less fo a monster. Or more of one?

To craft methis, the black book. With the darkest of rituals within. It required me to perform a ritual. To craft a ritual book. To pen each page of the ritual with the blood of those tainted by sin. So. I chose those that were closest to my own heart. Those like her. The whores of the city. So I killed the. I took of their blood and penned the ritual pages. Each page, whore after whore taking in a new soul of sin. Adding to my counter of guilt. An then the main ritual. To summon the black book itself. People did try to stop me but I could not be stopped. It was like trying to avert a hurricane with a blanket. But it was that very Pride. Which would be my downfall.

- Found within a book in the Library. Signed. Jack.