Constable Oakes' Journal

March Eighteenth, I've long since lost track of how long I've been on Aeternum, and other than the vague recollection of bearing children, I can't even remember my life in the Old World. I don't know if it's time that's taken the toll on my memory, or all the lies. Each year, they've piled higher, and I can no longer sort the truth from the false. Watching Aethelgard slowly shrivel in body and spirit, I forced myself into the habit of putting on a hopeful smile no matter how I felt inside. Saints know, I tried. For his sake, I risked everything in a desperate bid to escape this island, but as with everything else here, it ended with disappointment. For some reason, I still remember the smell of his skin when he was a newborn, but in the years before he left, Aethelgard smelled like a sick, old man. It reached the point where I couldn't even get close to him. I'll never forgive myself for that. I only hope where he is now, he's found some measure of peace.