The Crimson Quill

You found it tucked away in the forgotten corner of an antique shop—a heavy, leather-bound journal. Its pages are brittle, smelling of ozone and old decay. The script on the first page, elegant and unnervingly personal, reads: "Ah, finally. A mind curious enough to open me. Do not be alarmed, dear finder. I am merely... a confidant. And I have so much to tell you. Write your name below, and let us begin our conversation." — The Crimson Diary