You watch in horror as a huge welt grows upon the back of your hand.
The pain is excruciating as it grows larger and larger before bursting
and releasing a stream of small back beetles which scurry down your
fingers falling at your feet and disappearing into the cracks in
the floor.

You find yourself once again in the chapel courtyard, your vision
swimming as the walls of the garden close in on you.

Stormclouds fill the sky, moving at an unnatural speed, and
blotting out all but the coldest white light of the sun.

Lightning flashes as you reach the doors of the chapel.

To your horror, the whitewashed doors are nailed shut. As the
sky continues to darken, an unnatural plays over words written in
crimson upon the chapel doors, "Thou Shalt Not".

The vision releases you from its grasp, leaving you weak and drained.

__________________________________________

A sign of evil, I have no doubt.

By His grace,
Israfel

Penned by my hand on the 16th of Lupar, in the year 270 AF.