Monday: The voices in the woods grow louder by the night. I am beckoned to be with her. What wisps and ghosts would taunt me with her visage? Though she is passed, the voice is so sweet. I may gather belongings and seek it.
Tuesday: My dreams must haunt me with sorrow at eve's break, for I do not recall my writings. I've not heard the shrieks or calls of my beloved departed. I wake each day of present to new writings of an even'ing I do not share memory of. Shall I take this journey to seek the voices I can not remember?
Wednesday: I have set forth, into the woods north towards the burial fields. Will I encounter her? She beckons me to visit, so I shall visit. Tonight she calls from past the fire into the dark thickets. I shall travel by night, safer from bandits that way. The burial fields are north, yet she beckons me south. Who am I to question the will of those who have passed on?
