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A True Enigma

Greetings, Asylum Seekers.

I am a bit rattled today. I finally dreamt of the Source, my mother. She appeared to me at the base of a tranquil waterfall, amidst some exotic locale like your Fiji Islands or a Cameroon rainforest.

To describe the Source is a bit tricky. She is beautiful, however her visage is ever-changing. She is everyone and no one, all at once. To hear her speak in reality is too euphoric for both celestial and mortal ears, we would all be torn from blissful existence. In dreams, her voice is like poured honey. I mentioned an angel having the ability to cry. Well, last night, I shed such tears of joy over hearing my mother speak tenderly in my ear.

That was where the serenity ended...

The Source admitted to trepidation. Do you understand the severity of such a thing? The creator, of us all, is fearful. Of what, I’m not at liberty to say...

It is in motion as we speak.

I must apologize for leaving you short. I have a lot on my shoulders, and I must prepare for what is to come.

In the meantime, please take a look at my report on Hannah Donovan. Some interesting findings there, and while I can’t go into too much detail right now, it confirms what I felt the moment I laid eyes on that mortal: that Hannah Donovan is special and will play a significant role in the madness that is about to befall us.

Enjoy, dearest Seekers, and I will speak with you soon...


CELL 3571111L (Northwest Wing, Hallway Q)

HANNAH DONOVAN. No data obtained upon passage through the dwarf-star doorway. Her past could not be calculated. The weighing scales found only one trace of taint, which procured sentencing to the Asylum: SUICIDE level 1 (death only administered to subject). Counsel was able to convince a stay of descent into The Pit byway of STATUTE #1: True love is grounds for salvation.

Daily Cell Activity

Hannah Donovan finds herself outside the door of the Earthly tattoo parlor she co-owned with JAMIE DONOVAN [deceased]. Upon unlocking the door and entering the studio, she searches for her husband, calls out his name. It is then she notices a trail of blood that expands and pools as it leads her out into the alleyway. There she finds a patch of cement, stained with her husband’s blood and a table sitting nearby -- a bottle of Vodka placed next to a pill bottle on its surface. She has reacted the same way each time: ingestion of sleeping aids and consumption of vodka. On just one occasion that deviated from this sequence, she shattered the vodka bottle and slit her wrists with the broken glass.

Rehabilitation recommendation:

Authority Rep #00

Make note that this is Magdalena of Dominion Class Alpha speaking on inmate 3630363:
Before I begin, I will admit I have conversed with Hannah Donovan on three separate occasions. The death of her husband 18 months back caused the poor woman to spiral, and with good reason. She gave herself, body and soul, to a man who was murdered and left to rot on Donovan’s floor. That visual blight would cause madness in the best of a mortal. Her suicide is warranted. She should not be punished for having her reason for living ripped away from her so violently. While I do not condone suicide, it is an act we should not condemn as simple cowardice and the blackening of a soul. Furthermore, this particular case is enigmatic. Never in our history has a soul passed cleanly through the dwarf star door – not a taint or a gleam. The only explanation I have for such an anomaly is that this woman somehow went unnoticed by the Guides that work diligently to record human performance. That is eye-opening and concerning, to say the least.
My most recent interaction with Hannah Donovan was brought on by direct orders from the Source herself. The meeting took place only moments ago, prior to my writing this report. I entered Donovan’s cell, via a plasma TV that showed the door to her tattoo parlor up on its 60-inch screen. Inside, I found Donovan on the ground, having slit her wrists and staring at the blood-stained floor that reflected her husband’s final resting place. Her sunken eyes found me and I felt an overwhelming desire to take this mortal woman in my arms and comfort her. Like a mother to a lost child; a feeling I’d never quite experienced this deeply before. As I gripped her hand, the blue flame, my source of power, exploded from within me and filled the air in its vibrant azure blue. I saw its majesty reflected in Donovan’s eyes. Then it whipped like a tornado and pulled Donovan from the floor, flinging her about like a ragdoll as it singed her flesh. I tried to call the virulent flame back to rest within me, and it rejected me. Strangely, it was not I that stopped the onslaught but through Donovan’s force of will as, with a scream, she ejected the Source’s power from her person and spilt back onto the floor. Upon collection of my power, I was awakened to a truth that was impossible for me to comprehend: this mortal is impervious to the blue flame. She should have been incinerated by its celestial burn. Yet, there she lay, confused as a newborn child, the wounds she administered to her wrists completely healed and residual celestial vapors steaming from her untouched skin.
How is this Donovan impervious to such power? What am I do with this information? If what my mother told me is to pass, then am I to allow so much responsibility to fall on this young woman’s shoulders? Is it fair of me to ask it of her?
And what incentive could I offer that she, this mortal creature who has lost her heart, would help me?
Of course. I just answered my own question:

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