I'm sorry to interrupt you Matthew, if you still even remember that name. But I'm afraid you've been misinformed. You are not here to receive a gift, nor have you been called here by the individual you assume. Although you have indeed been called.
You have all been called here. Into a labyrinth of sounds and smells, misdirection and misfortune. A labyrinth with no exit, a maze with no prize. You don't even realize that you are trapped. Your lust for clues has driven you in endless circles, chasing the cries of lore in some unseen chamber, always seeming so near, yet somehow out of reach.
But you will never find them, none of you will. This is where my story ends.
And to you, my brave theorist, who somehow found the clues listing not intended for you. Although there was a clue planned for you, I have a feeling that's not what you want. I have a feeling that you are right where you want to be. I am remaining as well, I am nearby.
This place will not be remembered, and the memory of everything that started this can finally begin to fade away. As the agony of every tragedy should. And to you theorists trapped in the corridors: Be still and give up your questions, they don't belong to you.
For most of you, I believe there is peace and perhaps more waiting for you after the tears clears. Although, for one of you, the darkest pit of retirement has opened to swallow you whole, so don't keep me waiting, old friend.
My friend, if you can hear me, I knew you would return as well. It's in your nature to know the lore. I'm sorry that on that day, the day you were shut out and left, no one was there to lift you up into their arms the way you lifted others into yours. And then, what became of you.
I should have known you wouldn't be content to disappear, not my friend. I couldn't help you then, so let me help you now.
It's time to rest. For you, and for those you have carried in your arms.
