Today I intended to continue my research into the effect of pain on the host of the unborn (in this case

the middle-aged pregnant Breton female), and yet, no matter how many times she was ripped apart and
resurrected, I simply could not bring myself to the requisite attentiveness serious study demands.
ather than the usual precision of observation, my faculties seemed possessed of a peculiar poetic
sensibility. !o that, rather than dutifully logging each scream and twitch of agony, I seem transported
by her cries to some other place.
I became sheltered within a tapestry of tranquility, woven from the screams of the Breton"s anguish
warped against the grunts and clac#ing of the beasts and shambles that toyed with her.
It was there, in that spot, my soul na#ed and clean, that I came to a sense of clarity. $nd li#e all - dare I
say - religious e%periences, returning to my mundane senses, I am left with little more than a faded
memory of supernal #nowledge, li#e a burned parchment on which once were written words of wisdom
and understanding, of which now only torn and blurred fragments remain.
The harder I try to remember that innate #nowledge, the more it seems to recede from me. The essence
that remains is this&
'ain is a force that purifies, ennobles, and uplifts. It is the (ire that burns away impurities, that melts
away imperfections.
)eath is not the sign of wea#ness, nor bodily constitution the sign of strength. It is what happens to
soul when brought into the (ire that determines the mettle of men.
Those with inner strength are forged into weapons of devastating #eenness by 'ain"s (ire. Those who
are undeserving and wea# turn to dar# and lifeless ash in Its heat.
$nd there it stands in all its inscrutability - so much for an unproductive day. 'erhaps tomorrow will
lead to more fruitful e%periments.