Goodbye from the Fog

LAST DISPATCH: THE LADY MARGARET

RECOVERED FROM A WATERLOGGED LIFE-VEST, KINGSMOUTH

Mom,

The "Fog" isn't just weather. It’s a "tide of rolling fog" that tastes like salt and the dreams of things that died before the First Age. The "Lady Margaret" found something in the Sargasso, Mom. A "resurrected threat" that looks like a sword but feels like a "Synchronicity" anchor. I can feel the "Buzzing" in my teeth, and it’s telling me that my "Anima" is fading.

"The sea is a mirror for the things we’ve forgotten to be. The Draug are just the reflections that stayed behind."

I’m going into the water now. Not because I’m afraid, but because my "Shadow Self" is already swimming. The "Everything is True" principle means that I’m not just a sailor; I’m a "heroic horror" sacrifice in an "Age that is ending." Tell Dad I’m sorry about the boat. It’s "bone-wood" now. The "Buzzing" is beautiful, Mom. It sounds like honey and the end of the world.

— Your son, Thomas.

The Ballad of Fogwood

(A Folk Song or Ballad)

The ocean breathes a sigh so deep, While Kingsmouth Harbor lies asleep. But don't you walk the docks alone, Or listen for the breaker's moan.

The fog comes crawlin' from the sea, It ain't just mist and mystery. It's got a hunger, got a hold, It takes the young and leaves the old.

It took ol' Jed, it took his boat, Left nothin' but his worn-out coat. They say you hear him on the breeze, A-whisperin' through the wicked trees.

The fog, it smells of salt and death, It steals the warmth and steals your breath. So lock your doors and say a prayer, When Fogwood's breath is on the air.