The entries remain unordered, as usual, from different periods of her time at the Academy. Questions, comments, guesses appreciated. Have at it.

[Joss is boss, River is not mine, etc. ad nauseum, ad infinitum...] Thanks to Bytemite for the beta.

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ENTRY #????

Is this the promised end?

Or image of that horror?

Where does the reflection stop and the feline grin begin?

I know when one is dead and when one lives. She's as dead as earth. Lend me a looking glass! If that her breath will mist or stain the stone, why, then she yet lives. [Stain the stone with breath warmed by flowing blood. Earth-that-was may have had words for this].

But you, black dog, hang your head over and howl! Lear, the great black dog in the night, leering at us to turn back. We don’t want to see what this way is coming.

For they are men of stone, still statues in a garden, and their eyes stopped seeing long ago. Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so that heaven's vault should crack. She's gone forever, down the cracks in the glass, and seven times seven years bad luck, culminating in this instantaneous, eminently fundable research before your eyes. Cool, cool pain just like fire. Seven, seven against Thebes sprinkling earth on bodies they are not supposed to see. All blood and no welcome for such heroes, because their business is turning quick dust to dead dust. A hero's welcome is a proper burial. We just don't realize it.

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ENTRY #????

It’s safer to break them the old fashioned way. The mind must be put through an unendurable trauma, which must be then prolonged until the subject gives up any hope of keeping itself. This is my only guess.

Like crucifixion over three weeks, pounding the nails in one hammer stroke at a time. Taking a smoke break between. If they still smoke—poisoning themselves because they hate where and what and how they are. [They hate themselves too, my bro