The last entry of Pearse, scribe to the ancient king Lir.
There is a little time left.
A Demon! A temptress! Sent from the underworld of Amalur to tear down the great wonder Lir has built, a mortal target for the Niskaru to destroy. She is no human. She is no beauty. She is a liar. Lir is dead, and we are trapped within this palace, by maddening thorns and halls of flame. She hunts us one by one. I do not know why. She is a thing of rage. Some of the guard brought her down, but she simply rises from each death, flames burning brighter with anger. She cannot be killed. She will either hunt us to our deaths, or leave us to wither.