I was painting this morning down by the harbor with Lysette when I felt the stir in the wake of Shadow. My destiny is tied too closely to Virgil's for me not to know the Moment was now complete. It was a distracting moment, and led to me applying the red a little too strong. The painting was not ruined, but it turned the horizon of this city from a gentle sunset over an empty harbor to a ruddy sun making a sea of blood. Lysette was worried, but my smile and kind words turned her mind aside. The days flow together in this city, and it would be easy to lose an eternity here were I anyone else.
I worry for my family in Shadow, for I can feel the threads of destiny beginning to come short. It is a question of whether or not we will be able to act in time, but another question has occurred to me. What is my role in this has already ended? What if I have done all that I was meant to do, and now the blades and helm lie in the hands of those more powerful than me, more careless than me, more loving than me?
I have begun my work on a new shadow engine. Sorcery still functions in this city, and I know the heart of power here. The advantage to Trump is that, while it is a difficult power to master, its artifacts require no actual skill to utilize. Only power. This city is where Trump lives unchallenged, a shadow construction that bends to the works of Trump may provide me the means of egress. It is something to do, at very least.
Patience is a virtue, and I am a wicked man.