A page, from the scientific journal of William Emmerich Abelard
Found torn out and crumpled in the corner of a Behrenian observatory
I have lived and studied here for several years now. In that time scholars have come and gone, hailing from many nations and using the observatory for a variety of studies. Of all those who have worked here, though, one stands out to me more than the others, for his intense interest in the moon and its history. Amadeus Linnae is a unique man, with a passion for astronomy the likes of which I have scarcely seen, even among scholars of such a caliber as those who frequent this secluded mountaintop. He may have some outlandish theories about the moon and what it once was, sure, but without his enthusiasm, I would never have put too much thought to the moon myself.
It seems that that’s exactly what I’ve done, though, and I seem to have stumbled across some… inconsistencies in the night sky. There are things that none of us, not even Amadeus, have questioned. We’ve seen other planets out there, studied the movements of their moons. We know how gravity commands the orbits of the celestial spheres, controls their movements through the night sky. Our own moon, though, seems exempt from these rules. The more I’ve thought about it, the less sense it seems to make. How can the moon always be full, regardless of where the sun is? What force keeps it stationary in the sky all the year round? These questions have kept me up recently, and the answers I have produced are perhaps less than satisfactory. They almost sound like the ravings of a madman.
Does our planet truly move around the sun? Is the moon as far away as we think it is? We’ve assumed that it’s solid, like our own world, but there is evidence that it may actually be hollow. Or if not that, then it must be composed of solid magic. That idea alone boggles my mind. And it seems there is also a chance that some huge, unseen body lies at the center of this celestial system, binding us to it with a strange gravity.
I’ve been looking at the moon more and more recently. It used to be a comforting sight, despite the crack that runs through its center. A gentle, glowing reminder of the light in the world, a beacon holding the endless void of space at bay. Now, though, something is different. It almost seems the moon doesn’t glow as brightly as before, like its stalwart light is beginning to weaken. These words sound mad, even to me, which is why I will not be sharing any of this with my fellow scholars. I will say this, though. Something isn’t right with the moon, and I fear that one day soon, we will all find out exactly what that is.