The Nightmares Come While I'm Awake

Jane,

Our dear lady of mysteries, it seems that you are as offended as your followers that I have made a special request for proof. Is it really so much to ask given the insanity that breeds around you for a glimmer of why? Do I really ask too much to be shown a hint of the ways in which you move? Need they be so mysterious?

Another body, but that complaint is old now is it not? Even one that died beside you, seeking to be near you, one the police refuse to speak of. But, they say you defy death’s normal methods. So why concern ourselves with that?

What I wish to concern you with Jane are the actions of your followers. They have turned ugly. Not just towards me—not that they ever cared that much for me. No, they are turning on one another and the city. A church where the altar was not just desecrated in your honor, but art on loan defaced. An apartment rumored to have once housed you invaded and occupied by those seeking to be close to you. New shrines popping up in places where you have been sighted, and offerings of more than just notes and trinkets. Fresh furs and blood straight from the vein. Now the bodies can be seen in a new light, sacrifices.

I supposed you have given me a vision. You’ve shown me that you are not playing at being a saint, but a goddess, of the old and bloody sort. Reason buried your kind before, and it will bury you. If men dare to reason again.

Yours,
Arthur Manx
Editor