Dies Veneris xvi October XXXIII ... Early morning

This morning dawns grey. The sunlight is muted; it has no strength, no heat to warm my weary bones. I too have little strength. It requires most effort to sit up and write. I feel so frail, like I should be at the end of 80 years of life rather than my 46. I received no food again this morning. No sustenance. I think they wish me dead; only I don’t see why they must draw it out so long. More agony on my part, I suppose, if it pleases their darkened minds to watch me anguish in this godforsaken place.

I must stop writing now, I shall return later.