Typing this from an Internet cafe in Guatemala. I'm still safe, Claire's still safe, but we don't have long. The whispers have started again. They're not close, yet. But they're coming.
We have to move before they get here. I'm not sure where yet, and I probably shouldn't say anything, even here. There's no telling how much the Elders know or what they think. I'll try to explain more the next time I can get online.
This is harder than I thought it would be.
Reflections of a Deranged Cultist is a work of fiction. No dark and ominous entities were temporarily eluded in order to write this post.