Raphael's Diary - Chapter 3
[The final chapter from a diary penned in Raphael's hand. Here and there his composed hand stiffens and moves erratically, as if he were by times seized by emotion both powerful and unexpected] The plot thickens goes the aphorism - entirely inadequate. The plot mutates. It fluctuates. I have conceived no less than thirteen variations by which I might seize the Crown of Karsus. Yet in the tumult of this eternally flowing river of schemes, I, the most careful of fishermen, finds his catch elusive and difficult to wrangle. Even in cooperation such ambiguity and delicious surprise! But the hook has snagged, the doom of ceremorphosis has abated, yet they could not predict (could they? could they?) that in leaving behind the river they have in fact welcomed the fishbowl? I am master here. A prince of bargains cloaked like scarlet satin. All that hidden under sublimely obvious truths that cannot be discounted. So the fisherman reels! The tadpoled are my catch. Struggle as they might, writhe as they wish, flop and squirm and thresh with every ounce of strength, no matter. By all the reeking flames of Hell I will not be denied.