William Loomis has gone from the man who released me in my own time to the time he has ensnared me with the aid of a cross (some things don’t change) and the familiar chains of my coffin.  Ostensibly, his desire is to force me to regale him with my life story.  Had I brought my own coffin with me, I could have simply handed him my journals and gone about my task of forming a new life.  (Perhaps there is an Eric Lang here who can lend similar genius.)

Not knowing how long I will be entombed, I am attempting to scratch the po hexagram into the lining and project myself forward, rather than back.  I have no idea if this will work, however it is worth the attempt.



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