Today marks the most tolerable of days, a fragile reprieve from the vacuum that has enshrouded the preceding ones. In the void, aught is drawn away, an empty vacuum, a vacuity most grievous, a hollow rent in the fabric of my soul, so long hollowed out by sorrow—slowly being replenished by a quiet, restorative vigour, as though the universe itself conspired to mend what had been broken. It seemeth nature’s design that some kindred essence, some gentle vigour, doth seep in to take its place.