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Post by Isadora Is a Door on Apr 18, 2024 3:16:57 GMT -5
You're my favourite.
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Post by Isadora Is a Door on Apr 18, 2024 1:24:11 GMT -5
Sign Language should be taught in schools.
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Post by Isadora Is a Door on Apr 14, 2024 5:36:59 GMT -5
Chapter Twenty-One : God & Satan
Jean rubbed his forehead, trying to shift free the dull ache that was starting to block up his thoughts. Only then did he realise how far he had begun to lean forward in his chair, his back bent almost double over the desk, his eyes squinting as his vision began to falter.
He sat back, drawing himself away, directing his eyes towards the blank, featureless ceiling. He had spent too long locked away, reading through his papers, and time had gotten away from him once again. Yet still he had nothing to show for himself, nothing could reassure him that there was anything he could do to help.
Jean rubbed the back of his head, the dry, rough skin of his hands creasing against the bald skin, so raw it almost hurt. He studied his hands for a moment, as if he had only just realised how old and weathered they had become. They were cracked, with thin white lines creeping their way between his fingers. A stranger's hands.
Jean began to gather up the papers from his desk – there was no point in pursuing this cause, not any more. He had learned nothing new, no matter how much he tried. He simply read the same words over again – letters, diary entries, newspaper fragments – in the hope of discovering some unlocked secret, learning a new meaning from the events of the past that could direct a course through the mire in which he was submerged, but it was a fool errand. He had heard it all before, and there was nothing new for him to uncover, nothing more that he could learn.
Jean placed the papers back into a file, and rose from the seat behind his desk. The floor creaked loudly as he walked across the room of his study, and the door to the cupboard groaned stiffly when he opened it to place the documents back inside. When he shut the door, he caught his reflection showing in the glass of the door, and pondered it curiously for a moment. It seemed that age was catching up with him faster than he had anticipated.
As he moved back towards his desk, he noticed that a stray photograph had found it’s way onto the floor. He bent down to pick up, a gasp of air escaping from his lungs as he did so.
At that moment, there was a knock on the door. It made Jean’s heart skip a beat, a tingle of tension gripping him for a second, but then he relaxed. He was becoming paranoid in his old age, so it seemed.
‘Come in.’ he said, hastily placing the dropped picture into his pocket.
When the door opened Jean saw the long blonde hair and blue eyes that he had been expecting. He smiled at the boy gently, and pointed a hand towards a seat, before moving himself back behind the desk.
‘I’m glad that you have come, Harry.’ said Jean, surveying the boy as he took a seat opposite him.
‘Why would I not?’ Harry looked surprised.
Jean smiled grimly. ‘Knowledge is a dangerous thing, my boy, and there is little in this world more tempting to those of us who have been left in the dark than the chance to switch on the light. I have felt it necessary over these past few years to endure more than my fair share of darkness, and unfortunately some of that shadow may have cast itself upon you. To put it plainly, I feared that my persistence may well have pushed you towards another direction.’
‘Because of Julian?’ asked Harry.
‘Perhaps’, said Father Jean. ‘But there are, I fear, many things that could tempt you. I wish that things were simpler. I wish that things were more palatable, less disturbing than they may well turn out to be, but I fear that is no longer the case. Things, it seems, are starting to fall apart, and I no longer know if it is wise to protect you from the truth.’
Harry looked confused, but he did not speak, so Jean continued.
‘I have tried, over the years, to distance myself from my past, to pretend that by ignoring the decisions I have made, their consequences would be# able to evade me. But if you learn anything from me, Harry, then learn this; You cannot escape the past. Try to run from it, and it will find you. Perhaps it would have been wiser to have dealt with such things when I was young and noble enough to have been able to face them, but now, I think, it is too late.
‘I take it that you have seen the ship that Father Octavian had prepared?’
‘Yes.’ said Harry.
‘Of course.’ Jean nodded, a sour smile creeping out upon his face.. ‘And I suppose you know what he is planning to do with such a thing?’
Harry shrugged. ‘I might do. It is hard to be sure.’
‘I expect that’s all part of the plan.’ Jean smiled. ‘Confuse your enemies, and that will make it all the harder for them to predict what your next actions will be.’
‘Are we Octavian's enemies then?’ Harry asked, a tone of surprise in his voice.
‘No.’ said Jean. ‘No, we are not. And it’s important that you remember that Harry. In the end, we are all on the same side. Too much confusion, and a man can forget what it is that he’s fighting against.’
‘Then how do you know?’
‘How do I know what?’ asked Jean.
‘Which side you’re on.’
‘Harry, If you’re asking what I think you’re asking -’
‘I mean.’ Harry interrupted. ‘How did you choose? You said to me that years ago there was a schism, a disagreement among the members of your society over the moral implications of what you had discovered. How can you be sure, or certain, that the side you’ve chosen is right?’
Jean clasped his together, and looked intently at Harry.
‘Why are you asking me this?’ Jean enquired.
‘Please, Father Jean.’ said Harry.
Jean continued to stare at him.
‘I’m just interested.’ said Harry.
Jean sighed.
‘Well, I’m afraid my answer to your question may be disenchantingly vague and simple. When I found myself forced to make a decision, to choose a path for myself, I did what I always do at such times on inner conflict. I looked to god for guidance, and he showed me the way.’
Harry nodded, but Jean could tell that he did not find the answer satisfactory. Whatever quandary it may be that was puzzling the boy, Jean had the impression that he had not been of any assistance.
‘The bible is a book, Harry.’ Jean continued. ‘It is a very good book, to that much I can attest, but it must be accepted that it is limited in its capacity and its breadth by the number of words and pages that can be contained by its bindings. One can find much in the way of comfort and guidance, of advice and sense within those words, but the answer which one seeks may not always present itself at first glance. Sometimes a book requires one to look deeper to understand its truest meanings.
‘But the question remains – how can you take those words and interpret them for your own purpose? Sometimes that alone is enough to bring about your own downfall, and it’s not without good reason. The bible is hundreds of years old, and no single book will ever contain enough words to advise and guide on the whole of the human experience, and it would be folly to try.
‘The thing that matters, really, is not the words of the bible but their meaning. There are some who can make their way through the world quoting any line from the bible as defence for their actions, but they may well be unable to grasp even the slightest concept of it’s meaning. That is not the way. To read the bible and to understand it’s teachings is of much greater importance, for then those lessons can be applied to any aspect of your life, no matter the context of your plight.’
‘But how?’ said Harry, frustration showing in his voice. ‘How can you do that when you don’t know? I don’t know who to believe, or who I can trust. If I make the wrong choice, then I can’t go back and change it. I don’t know what’s going to happen unless I try. What if I get it wrong?’
‘Well.’ smiled Jean. ‘That’s why it’s called faith. You have to believe, perhaps in yourself more than anything else. Trust that your judgement is correct, and that you know your morals to be as strong as they can possibly be.’
‘I can’t.’ said Harry, his voice quiet now. ‘How can I? I can’t even trust myself. Everything I thought I knew is gone. My parents are dead, my house is ashes. The only thing I have left of my old life is this watch.’ Harry held up his wrist, pointing to the watch with his other hand.
It was true, of course. The boy had lost so much, and been thrust into such a difficult situation. How could Jean have expected any less? He felt the photograph hiding in his pocket, and thought for a moment.
‘I had one life,’ Harry continued. ‘And now It feels like I’m living another. I can’t decide who I can trust because I don’t even know what I want, not any more.’
‘Before you ask yourself what you want, then first you need to ask yourself who you are. You cannot know the former until you first understand the latter, otherwise everything else will be false. Who you are, that is the question God asks you, and how you answer it is really all that matters.’
Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Jean cut him off with a raise of his hand
‘It will take however long it takes, my boy. However long it takes.’
‘But I don’t have time, I can’t just sit around waiting for some kind of revelation!’
‘No.’ said Jean, and he rose from his chair, heading back across the room to the set of cupboards. ‘But perhaps I can try and make things a bit clearer for you.’
Jean opened a draw, and took from it a small wooden box. He walked back over the other side of the desk, eased himself back into his chair, and placed the box down in front of him. He sat for a moment, staring at the intricately crafted patterns that decorated the top of the box, and rested the palm of his hand flat against the wooden surface.
Minutes passed, the two of them in silence, and Jean looked up into Harry's eyes.
He had no other choice. He was not a boy, not any more, and if he wanted to know the truth then it was no longer Jean’s right to hold it back.
Jean lifted open the top of the wooden box, the lid opening away from him so that Harry could not see what was inside. Jean placed his hand on the tube, it’s surface rough and smooth, like stone, the cold biting into his fingers.
‘Your father left this in my possession before he died.’ Jean said, his voice a steady whisper. ‘I would not say I knew him well, but we trusted one another. I hope that you will be able to find that same trust in me, though I am not sure if I will be able to save you any more than I saved him. Anyhow, I think it is only right that it should be passed on to you.’
Jean took out the spyglass, offering out to Harry with trembling hands. Harry took a hold of it eagerly, and for a moment their hands touched as Jean let go. He surveyed the young man carefully as he studied its surface, noting the strange images that were carved into the stone, but there was no recognition or understanding showing upon his face. Harry lifted the glass to his eye, taking it away a moment later in confusion.
‘But I don’t understand. Why can I-’
‘You will understand, soon enough.’ said Jean, with a sigh. ‘That is not the only secret I wish to reveal unto you. Stand up.’
Harry looked confused. ‘What?’
‘Stand up.’ said Jean, as he himself rose from his seat and moved around to the other side of the desk, ushering Harry to do the same. Jean picked up the chair in which Harry had been seated, moving it to onside, before he knelt down on to the floor. He began to move the carpet that covered the floor, rolling up and pushing it to the far end, before searching along the ground with his hand, trying to find a certain line between the floorboards.
There was a satisfying click, and he pulled open the trapdoor.
Jean was still kneeling on the ground, looking up at Harry, whose mouth was hanging open, aghast.
‘I believe you have seen something rather like this before.’ said Jean, with a sad smile.
Harry knelt down at the edge of the shaft, and peered down into the darkness. The tunnel was made of a dull grey stone, similar to the spyglass that Jean had given Harry. The floor was made of stone as well, the floorboards simply resting gently atop of them. There were small marks and shapes, all lines and squares, that were carved around the edge of the tunnel, but the darkness from below was swallowing them up, making any meaning unclear.
‘These tunnels are old, Harry.’ Said Jean. ‘So old that many have forgotten their original purpose. Perhaps it is best not dwell on what once was, and look only at what is.’
He rapped his knuckles gently on the stone edge of the shaft. There were steps carved into the stone, but Jean had no intention of entering these tunnels ever again.
‘These tunnels were once used for transportation, by an organisation who found something out at sea that they had no means to control.’
‘What was it?’ Harry asked.
Look.’ said Jean, waving with his hand. ‘With the spyglass.’
Harry placed the stone cylinder up to his eye, and peered down into the depths of the pit.
‘What is that??’ he exclaimed.
‘Its time.’ said Jean. ‘It’s everything that we’ve been fighting to control and more. There are things, Harry, that are bigger than me or you, than our individual needs or desires. We are talking about life and death here, and the walls between everything breaking down. It pains me so much to say it, but I need you to decide Harry. I know that Julian has made you a tempting offer to join him, and I know that he has been talking with Fernald Duncan. This is our chance. I want you to accept his offer, both the one Julian has already made, and the one that Fernald will make to you when you meet with him. You will stand a chance far greater than I ever would of putting an end to the horrors he and Rasmussen will unleash upon this earth. You’re my only hope.
‘But why me? Why am I so important?’
‘Because you’ve seen it, Harry’ said Jean. ‘When you escaped the fire that destroyed your home, you spoke to the devil. Now, I don’t know why, or what it means, but I can guess. You’ve been marked, and you have a role to play in all of this. Nothing you can do will change that, I think. But you can decide what part in the performance you would like to play. Some might even call it your destiny. Your parents were part of this too, Harry. They were killed because they knew what was really happening, and they tried to run away and hide rather than face the truth.’
‘Are you calling my parents cowards?’ said Harry, anger in his voice, but he remained steady.
‘Yes, I am, but that doesn’t mean I blame them. They did not understand how serious things had become. You, I’m afraid, do not have that luxury. You need to decide who you are. Are you a coward, or something more? Because if we do not act, then everything we have will fall away into nothing. They have unleashed the devil upon this world, and we’re going to put him back into his cage.’
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Post by Isadora Is a Door on Apr 13, 2024 14:45:29 GMT -5
It's definitley book discolouration. I have two copies of UE books from my work (which were discarded because they were damaged/old but i wanted to keep them) and they are much paler than the rest of my collection.
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Post by Isadora Is a Door on Apr 7, 2024 1:56:31 GMT -5
Beatrice and Rasmussen discuss the complexity of memory and how experiences can change our understanding of reality. Unreliable narrators, Jean. Now, don't go mad with this, but, those peoples who have undergone the experiments have altered perceptions of reality, and therefore see things in an altered state to those who have not. I'm not saying that this can explain away inconsistencies in joining the dots of the story, but that it explains some of the more abtract moments as being only one persons interpreation. For example - the ship was not, in reality, sailing on a sea of stars. It was the infecteds interpretation of, well, something different.
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Post by Isadora Is a Door on Apr 7, 2024 1:51:03 GMT -5
In the submarine, Fernald already has hook hands. So therein lies the rub - I HAVE made an error. Fernald should not had had hooks in that earlier moment on the submarine, or he should not have lost his hands until the end of the latest chapter at any rate. I got confused somewhere along the way. Ah well, it's a minor thing in the grand scheme. Techinically i could retcon the story to say that he had hooks already, and hes just lost those when the beast attatcke,d but thats not as narratively cohesive as I would like. I imagine I will fix it in editing at any rate. So to clarify for your assistance - all the sub scenes with fiona and fernald take place before they are captured by doctor r.
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Post by Isadora Is a Door on Apr 6, 2024 14:33:11 GMT -5
Ah, I see.
The basis of most of this theory is unfortuantely inaccurate, though entirely correct based on the information you currently have. In a few chapters you'll know what I mean.
However, just becasue the spine is incorrect, a lot of the details are not.
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Post by Isadora Is a Door on Apr 5, 2024 13:05:20 GMT -5
Similarly, Fernald must have lost his hands around the same time as the events involving Beatrice. Why is that? I'm interested where you are getting that infromation from as, well, it's not what I am intending. I may well have slipped up somewhere. As usual, Jean, your theories are fascinating. You have got a lot of things correct, but even more wrong. But it is heartneing to see how much you are in the right place.
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