LILA
I reached in and pulled out an old, leather-bound book, the edges worn and frayed. My breath caught as I realized what it was: my mother's journal. I stared at it for a moment, a strange mixture of reverence and surprise tightening my chest. I'd already said it with Victor's own journal, but this might actually be it. Yes. This was it, the key to understanding who she really was, who I really was.
With trembling hands, I opened the first page. The paper was delicate, far too delicate, and it ripped apart almost instantly, the page sticking to another, the ink bleeding into the parchment like it was crying. I cursed under my breath, trying to salvage what I could, but it was no use. The damage was done.
As I looked closer, I noticed something odd. The page didn't just look damaged—
