The next entry is still a bit dark and foreboding, but holds less terror within it's words scribed.
I found my way here. The Lady of the Lake parted the mists for me. Or that is who I believe did so. I never saw her. I only heard her speak to me. She said, "Poor little lamb." And then the great fog parted it's veil and I gazed upon a green and lush isle, a majestic domicile settled upon the cliffside. The skies were so blue.
I had made a turn for delirious, after days in the sun and no water. I was barely moving, and found myself talking out loud. "Fata Morgana" I murmured in my fever dreams, still searching for the sorceress. Little did I realize, I'd called her name thrice. Thrice bound, a witch is meant to come upon summoning. And so she did.
I find myself upon this island. I do not know how I got there. I awoke in this room, cooled from a bath, rehydrated, and ravenous. I was naked, my clothing laid freshly cleaned beside me, and a plate of steaming food beside it. It was as if someone knew. I sit here now, my mystery hostess still has not shown herself. I'm not alone.
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