[Voice/Video]
[An unmarked video recording clicks on abruptly, very unlike the snapshots the regular journals take; the bottom corner of a stone altar rusted red fades into view. The light is dim, and irregular, easily identifiable as firelight. A flash of white passes in front of the view; sandaled feet scrape against stone and sand. Another flash of white joins it, and the white becomes discernible as long, flowing robes. Dragging behind the robes are the tips of long, luxurious wings; multicolored, iridescent. Beautiful.
A low murmur begins, in stereo. Several voices whisper words too quiet to be picked up by the journal.]
-Please, you don't know what you're doing- you can't, you can't fucking do this-
[The voice is familiar; it has a light Irish lilt. The note of panic is much more obvious now, and Jacob's pitch varies from a low, babbling tenor to nearly a shrieking falsetto.]
Oh God oh God, no no no no-
[One of the white robes jerks abruptly and Jacob screams; a small river of red stains the white hem of the cloth ruby and mixes with sand on the floor to make mud. Jacob chokes, screams again and the begging begins anew.]
Please, please, my wife- This isn't right, I have a wife, Elisha, I have a wife- Oh Christ, Holy Father help me-
[The chanting pauses for a moment before renewing, still little more than a low rumble. The words resemble hisses and hymns.
Another jerk, another scream, more garbled than before; something floods Jacob's mouth and he coughs. There's a squelching sound, like a ball being removed from a vat of mud. Jacob sobs, coughs, sobs, and one of the robes moves to the side, away from the visible edge of video. It bends; its wings flutter lightly. The clothing visible moves in a way that suggests the being is arranging something.]
Stop- no- hhk Elisha- [Squelch. Scream; one of the figures staggers, then lurches forward.]
Don't damage him. [The crouching figure returns to the altar, then back to its previous task.]
Father, Jesus...h-hallowed be th-thy name-
[Squelch- snip. The cry is weak.]
Th...thy kingdom come-
[The voices are humming, singing. A series of notes unbidden by words.]
Thy will be- [A crack; the prayer stops. The work continues in silence, one figure remaining altarside, the other moving between its task and the altar.]
Free at last. [The second figure joins the crouching being; the scrape of a heavy clay jar against stone sounds, and a soft sloshing trickles down, clear, shining streams snaking past the sandaled feet, white and red robes and trailing wings. There's a snap and the light changes; the beings rise and depart.
They leave behind the red altar and a crackling fire.]
A low murmur begins, in stereo. Several voices whisper words too quiet to be picked up by the journal.]
-Please, you don't know what you're doing- you can't, you can't fucking do this-
[The voice is familiar; it has a light Irish lilt. The note of panic is much more obvious now, and Jacob's pitch varies from a low, babbling tenor to nearly a shrieking falsetto.]
Oh God oh God, no no no no-
[One of the white robes jerks abruptly and Jacob screams; a small river of red stains the white hem of the cloth ruby and mixes with sand on the floor to make mud. Jacob chokes, screams again and the begging begins anew.]
Please, please, my wife- This isn't right, I have a wife, Elisha, I have a wife- Oh Christ, Holy Father help me-
[The chanting pauses for a moment before renewing, still little more than a low rumble. The words resemble hisses and hymns.
Another jerk, another scream, more garbled than before; something floods Jacob's mouth and he coughs. There's a squelching sound, like a ball being removed from a vat of mud. Jacob sobs, coughs, sobs, and one of the robes moves to the side, away from the visible edge of video. It bends; its wings flutter lightly. The clothing visible moves in a way that suggests the being is arranging something.]
Stop- no- hhk Elisha- [Squelch. Scream; one of the figures staggers, then lurches forward.]
Don't damage him. [The crouching figure returns to the altar, then back to its previous task.]
Father, Jesus...h-hallowed be th-thy name-
[Squelch- snip. The cry is weak.]
Th...thy kingdom come-
[The voices are humming, singing. A series of notes unbidden by words.]
Thy will be- [A crack; the prayer stops. The work continues in silence, one figure remaining altarside, the other moving between its task and the altar.]
Free at last. [The second figure joins the crouching being; the scrape of a heavy clay jar against stone sounds, and a soft sloshing trickles down, clear, shining streams snaking past the sandaled feet, white and red robes and trailing wings. There's a snap and the light changes; the beings rise and depart.
They leave behind the red altar and a crackling fire.]