The Seer

My dear Genevieve,

If you are reading this, then it means I am deceased. Please, do not trouble yourself over my departure - ‘twas a necessary action against my surging madness.

For years I have been plagued by my predictability. You may have noticed that, fifteen prior to our engagement, I have acted as if everything I've done has already happened before. To tell you the truth, it has... at least, in my eyes. To no one else, I alone was able to remember my future - every step and quartered measure.

This may confuse you at first, but I appreciate your adamant mind - you were the first person to confound me, Genevieve. No matter what I did to evoke the dark powers I possess, nothing you did showed in my future. Our marriage was unexpected. Your love for me was unwarranted. I had expected for any young lady to simply discard me because of my tormented persona. You did not. And that confused me to no end, my dear.

In all of my years of existence, I have predicted every action I’ve made. I have never tempted to fight against it, as the very powers that be had always forged my path to lead me into pivotal changes in my life. I was unable to avoid being drafted for the war, witnessing the deaths of many soldiers and common men. I could not stop the suicide of my mentally challenged mother, whose diagnosis, as the doctors professed, had no cure. I have tried to avert all tragedy in my life, my dear, but nothing I did could stop fate.

That is, until I met you.

Every time I saw you, my ability muddled. It was as if I couldn’t see anything. The way your existence gave life to me was rejuvenating. I could no longer “see” my path, and I was given that wondrous, beautiful feeling of free will you were so proud of embracing. I have spent fifteen long, wonderful years with you, and I have never regretted defying that wretched fate.

However, it was one day that I had yet another dream. This one spelled your untimely demise. I do not know who would want you, my dear Genevieve, destroyed. But I knew why. I know at this point you think me a madman, but please, be assured that whatever I have written here comes straight from the depths of my now broken heart.

My powers are not mine. They belong to a more devious entity. When they saw the world through my eyes, my fate was already decided. They could control my every move without me knowing. These dark powers have no means to intervene in our world, so they created “eyes” to influence events from a singular entity - me. Every time I awoke to this world, they were able to set many things in motion - the plagues, the wars, even the financial crisis that evicted us from our lovely summer home. At every pivotal moment, I was unable to evade them. I could not save our home, let alone our savings. They did not want me to succeed.

But whenever you are around, their eyes were blinded by some strange light. A light, I believe, that comes from your heritage, my love. You had told me that your entire family was comprised of nuns and followers of the Church. You yourself pursued holy training to defend yourself from demons and the like. I know this because they told me about you. They couldn’t see you - that’s why they devised fate to have you removed.

My dear, please listen to me.

I have already fled the city and into the forest, where I will commit the dark deed to end my life. Do not attempt to follow me, for I fear that they will do whatever it takes to do you harm. They have already condemned me to have you killed by my own hands, possessed by a demon.

It is for the best, my dear, as I can see the future they wish to accomplish. They wish for the destruction of our kind! I implore you that, if nothing else, warn the Church. They will see fit where you - and mankind's future - shall go. I will go alone to fight these dark powers. I will fail. But you will not.

And if you ever catch glimpse of my visage, I beg of you, do not approach me. That will not be me. That will be the entity that wants to see humanity - and you - disposed of. It will not be there long, for even a brittle life like mine has its limits. The Church will know what to do.

Please, my dear, please...

Please be safe.

Yours truly,

Mortimer Lane

February 14th, 1855

It’s been six months since then.

I can only think of my dear Mortimer.

This day, when we met fifteen years ago, was our anniversary, our holiday of celebration. Due to the pressing matter of his letter, I have departed for the Church that very same day. I do not wish to question my love’s intellect - after all, I have observed his habits. He acts as if he knew everything was about to happen - a kind of clairvoyance, I assumed.

I had my doubts when he confessed these strange powers to me. But I refused to retreat from my marriage - I loved him dearly. One night, I had witnessed a dark, lanky form towering over him. The monster, strangely enough, had no eyes. It was blind, even to my presence. When I began to whisper prayers underneath the bedsheets, its demented howls pierced my ears as it flung itself from our bedroom. I realized then the powers Mortimer possessed were uncommon and demonic.

Members of the Church were also worried for Mortimer, as they believed the pressing matter I presented to them six months ago. I also told them of the creature’s shape and form, and to my surprise, one of the Grand Priests declared Mortimer a “victim” to a virulent curse. Thanks to the efforts of various librarians and scribes, we were able to discern Mortimer’s family legacy. His father and mother were both natural in every regard. It was the grandfather that was the problem. Mortimer’s grandfather was a well-known witch doctor who had affiliations with various demonic cults and magics. He hated Mr. and Mrs. Lane’s marriage. On their wedding day, he cursed them to bear a son whose sole purpose was to foresee the end of all humanity. And said son, dear Mortimer, was tormented with demonic clairvoyance. It was also known, through the grandfather’s demented journals that Mortimer was to be the acting vessel for his master, so that humanity will once again see fear and suffering.

The Church has taken me into protective custody. I watch the window of the city streets every day, searching for Mortimer. If I know him, Mortimer will fight to the bitter end. And if his likeliness emerges from the darkness of that gruesome forest and into civilization, only then will I need the power of God to defend me.

Just this afternoon, I had peered out the window of one of the Church’s holdings, and froze to glaze over the face of my dear Mortimer. But it was his eyes - those horrible, terrible red eyes - that confirmed my dear husband’s demise. I told the head nun on what I saw, and clutched a crucifix besides me.

For today is our anniversary.

And I will be ready for him, as I was fifteen years prior.