Another entry from the journal of Pearse, scribe to Lir.
Times Grow Darker
Times have grown stronger.
The Ever Glen, the beautiful magic wood granted to Lir by the Hironar, has grown corrupt. Where once I saw blossoms and bird I see dark weeds, choking roots and black thorns. It seems to move and shift, like a beast that stalks prey. The servants of Lir's hall grow quiet, but not Aife. She roars and smiles and curses and laughs, talks to those we cannot see. Lir has not left his chambers in some time, but she will not grant us servants passage. Perhaps she is bearing the deaths of her step-children too heavily? One cannot know. But the hall is growing dim for not having seen its master...