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It is with great difficulty that I begin my final entry. For so long, all was at peace. My husband and I had spurned the tenets of the great Mannimarco so we might live in peace. We wanted our magic to benefit all people of Tamriel, not bend them to our will.
But to my Lord, our family tragedy was too great to bear. He has it in his thick Skull that he can somehow overcome death—not for the sake of knowledge, or to command fearless forces to defend our home—but to tear the once-living back into this realm and imbue them in flesh. To give them life once more.
Yes, Calion died an untimely death. But where I grieve for what we did lose, Telacar weeps for what might have been. He wished for an Apprentice to help us master our craft, to surpass our discoveries. He cannot bear our son's very Essence being gone forever.
And so my husband created a golem of the boy's corpse—an Atronach, made of flesh, but with eyes as cold and empty as a Gemstone. He hid his plans until the rituals had completed, and then presented that slurring abomination to me, as though I could ever forgive him. He seemed truly shocked when I rent the pale echo of Calion's spirit from its husk.
Now I've imprisoned my husband, who I love more than life itself, because I cannot bring myself to truly punish him. Perhaps a decade will give him time to contemplate the abhorrence of his actions.