*earlier text obscured by a bloodstain* — I saw a darkness in his eyes then, that I’d never seen before. And I knew then too– he meant to kill us. He smiled at us, a bloodstained blade in his hand. Nyelór asked him, “What are you doing, son?”

But he made no answer, just smiled that satisfied, triumphant smirk. The next thing I knew, there was a shadow enveloping my son, and he moved with lightning speed. Suddenly his father lay on the floor, bleeding, dead from a slash to the throat.

He paused, turned towards me, still smiling. “Will you join me, Mother?” He asked. “Or will you join him?” He gestured at Nyelór’s lifeless body.

“What have you done?” I whispered in horror, no other words in my mind. What had happened to my son? He had gone hunting fell beasts and not come back. We’d thought him dead. But now here he was, with a blade in his hand and a darkness in his soul that had not been present before.

Stolen novel; please report.

He must have seen my answer and horror in my eyes, for he moved again. I blinked and he had darted across the space separating us. I took his blade through the stomach; the pain is some of the worst I have ever felt. But worse is the pain of my son’s betrayal. What has he done? I know the old legends, and the only thing I can think of is that my son has somehow found and sat upon the long-forgotten Obsidian Throne.

“Why?” I asked, collapsed upon the floor, as my son was leaving the room. He looked at me over his shoulder.

“Why, for power, Mother.” He replied softly. “For the king-ship. Any who will not kneel, must die.” Then he departed– for more slaughter, no doubt.

My husband lies on the floor. He has already passed through the Gloaming. I will soon join him. I have managed to drag myself to my writing desk and pen this entry in my journal. Even now I feel my life slipping away, draining with the lifeblood that pours in a slightly-glowing river from my wound. This is my last entry.

Would not that my son had done this. Would that my son had died during his hunt. What has he done? I am fading. What will he do? What will come of this, but war? My hand grows cold and numb. I am slipping from life.

My Gloaming is at hand.

Would that my son… *entry trails off*