Page 46 of The Messengers of Magic

The Hidden Journal of John Dee

T omorrow is the day. The day we either succeed or face the consequences of our actions.

Giordano and I have reviewed the ritual again and again, ensuring that every step is executed precisely, for one misstep could doom us.

The alignment we’ve waited for will not come again for another fourteen years, and we cannot afford to let time slip through our fingers.

In that time, all we know could unravel completely.

I have seen more changes, small, seemingly insignificant at first, but each one pulling me further into doubt.

The great apple tree that once stood proudly in our backyard, providing us with fruit for as long as I can remember, is now gone.

It has simply vanished, as if it was never there at all.

The neighbor’s cottage, which I’ve known since my childhood, a solid landmark that has withstood the tests of time, now lies reduced to a mere shed, used only to house the neighboring farmer’s sheep.

It seems as though the world around us is shifting, crumbling into something unfamiliar.

I fear that it will not stop here. These are not mere coincidences.

Reality itself is coming undone, and I can feel the tug of an alternate universe beckoning us, pulling us into something unknown.

If the rip in time is not repaired tomorrow, there may be no other opportunity to repair it at all.

We could slip completely into this new reality, one where we do not belong, one where everything we know ceases to exist.

I pray that the ritual will hold fast, that the universe will realign and restore itself.

I pray that our reality will stay intact and that tomorrow’s work will set things right.

But there is a gnawing doubt in my mind, one I cannot shake.

We have been playing with forces beyond our comprehension.

Tomorrow, we will know whether we have been right in our efforts or whether our actions will lead to an irreversible collapse. I pray it is not too late.

Tomorrow, everything changes.