(It' unclear who wrote this journal...)
Our heart's desire, that which terrifies us the most, our greatest triumphs and our worst mistakes... All of them can and do return to haunt us here. they say there is a tavern where the honoured dead may drink freely, coming and going as they please. A single point of light in the unending darkness. The rest of us linger in our own lives, or what remains of them. Doomed to repeat, until we repent. Until the Ferryman calls our name at last. And if we should remain, consumed by our own legends, we begin to dwindle. To forget the possibility of escape, of change, of hope. We become naught but characters, players in stories of our own creation. And when there is nothing left of us but the story, we are truly lost.