୨୧・┈┈ excerpts from the Journal of Mercy Verrick ┈┈・୨୧

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August 29th, 1783

━ I fear I have made a horrible, wretched mistake. I am at fault, as is the heavy churning seas beyond my bedroom window. My daughter, my beloved, six-year-old daughter is the product of a torrid affair. Long, has my husband been gone at war - he left when I fell to my bed impregnated. His refusal to return yearly is the only solace I have gotten. With wretched hope, I have endured every summer, that my husband might die at war, and that I might be able to keep the babe I raised. I should be grateful that the war is nearing its end, and we might be free as the United States of America. Yet, I fear the day my husband returns to find that his wife has fallen into the arms of another, and the child I have hidden from him is not his at all. I received notice today that there is to be a last stand soon, and dead or alive, he will return to me.

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September 4th, 1783

━ We have won. It is a great day, and we are forever in debt to those who died for our freedom. I feel ill with guilt and melancholy, I think perhaps I must be falling sick due to the hatred this grief will cause me to lose my husband. My daughter is so young, but I have little hope that he will allow the both of us to stay. He has sent me a record that he is to return in a few days, and I am to await him with the cheerful demeanor he has fallen in love with - It has been many long years since I have seen him, and I worry for our healths after the strain of this war. I must concoct a plan to deal with my daughter before his arrival so as not to upset or strain him further after his long days of fighting and violence.

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September 6th, 1783

━ I awoke with a horrid idea this morning, but it is all I have. My husband will return tomorrow, or the day after, so I had to rid the house of my daughter, and all knowledge of her before his arrival. The servants agreed to say not a word when I left cradling her in my arms, lest I inform my husband of false misdeeds against them. I believe they do not know what I did with her, and neither did they inquire of her whereabouts upon my return. Forgive me, Lord, for I have had no choice but to thrust her sleeping, limp body into the cold waters of the unwelcoming ocean. It is all I could think of, to rid her of this miserable world where I cannot be in the arms of my lover any longer. She screamed at last only moments before vanishing underneath the unforgiving waves. I waited for a long while, but her body did not resurface. I have heard stories of old witches sinking in the waters, so perhaps she was a devil-cursed child, and God will have mercy on her soul now that she is without a temporal body to conduct unsavory behavior with. I returned to the house in sorrow. One of the housemaids rushed me to bed, insisting I must be suffering from the depression of the atmosphere now that winter was soon to be set upon us. I shall tell no one of my horrendous deeds, and pray daily for the repentance of the Lord Almighty.

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September 7th, 1783

━ He has returned. His demeanor was weary when he greeted me, but he seemed delighted I had kept the house just so, along with the skittering silence of the servants and maids around us. I felt on edge for the majority of the day, awaiting the sharp words of accusation from anyone. They never came - perhaps God has decided to have mercy on me. I had no other choice. I have not seen my lover as of yet, and I warned him to not come to the house for fear of my husband discovering us, but I love him too dearly to wish him away from my life entirely. My husband has little suspicion after I serviced him as desired. I believe he is too tired from the war efforts to look into my whereabouts. I shall not spend my time worrying, instead, I shall rejoice in the beloved freedom my husband has won.

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September 10th, 1783

━ I awoke this morning in cold sweat from a devilish dream. It was I who had been thrown into the unforgiving waters rather than my young daughter. I could feel the water in my lungs, but I did not drown, rather I sunk slowly into merciless oblivion, sinking helplessly into darkness. I do not know what this dream means, but perhaps I had been right that my daughter had been devil-cursed, and that it was a blessing to be rid of such evil from my house. In the early hours when I awoke shaking, it was still dark and starry out. My housemaid brought me a warm drink and drew me a bath. But when I got into the water, it was cold and angry. I believe I shall send her away tomorrow for her blatant disrespect, although she swears she did not draw it in cold, and it was warm when she had set it.

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September 15th, 1783

━ I believe I must have fallen ill. My husband says it is a shame, so soon after the winning of the war. Many of his friends claim to be trying to have children, rejuvenated by their sense of freedom, but my psychiatrist has warned me against it - insisting that I must rest and fight off hysteria before it comes upon me during these winter months. I do not bear to tell either my husband or my psychiatrist, or my lover of the dreams I have been having as of late. They seem to expand each night, worsening as I sink lower and lower into the great depths of a dark ocean. I have grown resentful of waking up to see those very waters in the morning, and my hatred for the ocean has begun to burn a hole straight through my chest. I am too anxious to sleep, and my eyes disobey my direction as they grow heavier and heavier into the late hours. I do not wish to sleep, I do not wish to eat. Everything I have eaten lately has been dry and unflavorful - I feel as though I am dizzy with it all. My psychiatrist insists that the salt air from the ocean shall help, but I will not step outside towards those waters, lest my dreams turn into reality.

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September 19th, 1783

━ I heard my daughter this morning upon waking from a relentless sleep. I know her cry well, and it danced over the waves like a song as I awoke. I rushed to my balcony, throwing open the doors and peering into the cold, night air. It would have been embarrassing in my nightgown, but fortunately, no one was there to witness my humiliating performance. There was nothing but that cold ocean. Nothing but the angry sea glaring back at me, but it still rang in my ears. It was as if the ocean was singing for the death of my daughter. It came from the direction I threw her into the cliffside, and echoed all around my room until I could not stand it one moment more. I screamed in disbelief, and as soon as my husband threw open the door, the song vanished. I met with my psychiatrist, and I overheard him speaking to my husband in my absence, claiming that I showed early signs of hysteria. I must do better to keep these things to myself - even if the ocean seems to haunt my every thought. There is no escape from it. I can not even escape in the solace of my bath. I have boiled the water and sat in it, and it is still cold as ice.

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November 1st, 1783

━ I have not stopped hearing her. Only now, it is not singing, but rather unholy wailing and screaming over the waves. I fear the water greatly, and I am reluctant to even bathe and succumb myself to water so cold it rubs my skin red and raw. The sounds are constant now, they no longer vanish when I am in the presence of another, but it's as if they do not hear it at all - and it is only I who must sit in silence and suffer the shrieking of the sea that surrounds us. My husband has assigned me to bedrest, and I can hear him at night, in the late hours, lock me in my room so that I may not wander the estate and startle others. I must have fallen into hysteria, but deep in my heart, I know that it cannot be - and it is something else entirely. I feel weak and ill, and I pray that my health soon returns to me, for I cannot outlast these horrible actions much longer.

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November 28th, 1783

━ I grow weaker and weaker each day, and I no longer have the energy to scream after I awake from each nightmare. I have been assigned my bed for the remaining of my time, for I fear it is not long at all. The cold has begun to set in, and although I am given warm water and warm drinks, they are always cold and strong. It has induced me to vomit many times only this morning. My skin is dry and itchy, and I can't remember how it feels for my mouth to not be dry, but to be smooth. I awoke this morning to the scent of my own blood and realized that my lips and nose had been without moisture for so long, they began to bleed. The ocean feels quieter now, but I can still see it from my window, and it's as if the sea knows that it is enough to send me writhing in the fear I now know like an old friend. My husband sat with me this morning, clutching my hand, and assuring I will have a glorious funeral. I don't care. I wish that whatever might spare me from this agonizing life would hurry and grasp my soul already. After my husband's quick departure, a young woman visited me, claiming to have been let in my the maids. She read to me from an old book on creatures that live in the water, humanoid creatures. I do not recall her name, but when I blinked, she was no longer a young woman at all. Her skin had thickened and her pupils' went into slits like a cat's might. It felt as if she suddenly towered over me as flesh ripped from her neck, revealing fish-like gills and webbed hands that reached for my own. And then I blinked again, readying myself to scream, and she was human again. The image has remained though, in my head, and I do not believe she was sent by anyone at all.

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December 13th, 1783

━ I am being hunted. I must be. After the unfamiliar girl left, I requested books of my own on the species underwater. I have searched for weeks, and only recently have discovered ancient stories and legends about creatures that lured sailors to death by singing in the ocean. It would have been silly to me, a mere two months ago, but now, as life is stripped from me with each passing day, I worry over it. That woman who came to visit must have been one of them. I shall send word out that they are hunting us. I shall reveal them for exactly what they are.

monsters.

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Mercy Verick succumbed to death the evening of December 18th, 1783
this was rumored to be the same date as her deceased daughter's birth

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WYN

hi everyone!!
this is just a little taste of what is
to come for Lore -- Obviously, this
isn't the style I'll be writing in, but
it's to build suspense (I hope it was
beneficial in that sense)

please don't forget to apply and
don't forget to spread the word!
48 hours (roughly) till Lore closes <3
I've loved all the applies so far, and
thank you all so much for applying, I'm
so sorry I can't accept all of you!

currently i'm still debating on a side cast,
so I would love your opinions on that pls!

sorry the prologue is a bit shorter than
most of my other fics (this one is abt
2000 words), but a lot of the story is my OC
meeting club lore, so it's kinda hard to do

anyway! love you all, good luck with finals,
happy holidays, and self-care is healthcare!