Reverence & Deliverance
Also known as The Diary of Eleanor B.
A copy of an occult diary I found in a loft in the city of Bath, England.
The first few months of her diary are below FOC.
Buy it here: https://www.lulu.com/shop/simon-young/reverence-deliverance/paperback/product-459kzyq.html?page=1&pageSize=4
By the way….
I was not supposed to find this diary...
That much became clear the moment I cracked open the leather binding, the musty scent of old paper curling into the air like a whisper from the past. The ink, dark and deliberate, had not faded. The words burned with the kind of conviction that only comes from someone who has seen too much. Eleanor B… the name was unfamiliar, yet the weight of her story pressed against me like an unseen hand on my shoulder.
But, there's more...
It was tucked away in an attic, wedged between forgotten volumes, its edges frayed and singed, as if someone had once considered destroying it, but failed. Perhaps they tried. Perhaps they burned it, tore the pages, and cast it into the sea, only to wake and find it resting on their bedside table once more. A book that would not be lost.
Only, it was not a single book.
Bound together with ancient twine, I found two identical volumes, one the continuation of the other. A single diary spanning two books, filled from cover to cover in Eleanor’s hand. She had run out of space, yet her story had refused to end.
Maybe I should have left them where they lay, buried beneath time and dust. But I didn’t. I turned the first page. And now, so have you.
I do not know if I believe everything written here. But what I do know is that Eleanor never meant for this to be published. This was meant to be read in whispers, in candlelit rooms, in the presence of those who already understood. And yet, here it is in your hands. I, however, still hold the originals.
I have taken a few publishing liberties with the book’s format, but only to preserve it as closely as possible to how she wrote it.
Unlike the previous readers of this testament, I was able to set the diaries down. I walked away. Whatever they whispered to me in the dark, I chose not to listen. And yet, somehow, I still feel their weight.
What happens next is up to you.
This is the damning tale of Eleanor B. A book of the occult. A descent into madness, or perhaps, into the clearest understanding of all. She sought power, she sought greatness, and she found them in the ink and the blood of an ancient pact. But there is always a price.
Now, her words are here, bound within these pages. A diary. A confession. A warning. Read, if you must. But beware… there comes a point beyond which you will not merely be a reader. The book watches. The book listens. And should you turn one page too many… you may never be free again.
