Dearest, Theophilus
I hope that these thirteen pieces have found you well. It is one of the last remaining tales of the Ancient Ones and our feeble attempts as godlings to thwart their awful will. However, tattered and parted the text will remain; it was all that I could do to see past the delusions of grandeur, we have so fondly grown accustomed. Unfortunately, I do not know what has happened to the young lady at this point, as my vision went blind.
Being hedonistic and pampered off of the many splendid realities, we have forged, has made us most complacent and unfortunately, all the more vulnerable. I wrote only what was told to me. It is verbatim and not in my own words. I was told it would not be acceptable otherwise.
Of course, I was also more than willing, as someone who believes the pen is mightier than the sword. I have taken the liberty to forge this document, with my own flesh and blood. Although these are not my words nor my writing; I leave this with you in the hopes that you may use the knowledge contained therein, as a weapon in the war to come.
I pray this text prepares you and makes you a fortress. I hope a strong tower, for the fight will soon be at hand. I will do my best to write to you soon with any other visions I may acquire. Since as you know, I have taken the mantle of Phoebe and am a novice seer.
Farwell, friend, and brother. May the good light shine upon you and your family.
Sincerely,
Pan
