A lone book in a dark room.
Sandwiched between a carefully made mattress and the cold stone of Dyres District is a swollen journal, bound in brown leather, letters folded carefully between weathered pages. Were an intruder to pull away the scorched corner of the bed sheet concealing it, they would find the inside cover to be remarkably bare, a single line in a child's scrambling script.
Isana’s Journal
Feel free to post any letters or notes to Isana here.
