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Day 213, Year 1827

Today it happened again. The worst kind of nightmare. It was a Sunday, and the whole town gathered to engage in their weekly preaching at the church. I decided to tag along and join them, as to not raise suspicion. I walked in and sat on on of the cool wooden benches, next to a worried looking young woman. She looked at me, and I looked at her. Then the preacher began, so I turned in that direction.

"...and we all know the eyes of the Torturer, and the eyes of the Torturer know all of us..."

I turned toward her again. She was still looking at me, just as she was before.

"The one who is present within all of our lives, making it difficult, disheartening..."

And again. I asked why she was staring at me like she was. No response.

"I want you all to draw the eyes of the Torturer, the eyes of the being preventing you from living a peaceful, easy life. They should all be the same... the very same eyes."

She stopped staring at me and took the worn pencil and paper before her, and she began to draw furiously, as if something had possessed her. I decided to start drawing as well.

"When you are finished, show the eyes to your neighbor. They are the same eyes..." The preacher paused.

She froze, and I looked over as her paper hit the floor, face down. She turned toward me slowly, and gave me one last look. Oh, how I will never forget those sad, knowing eyes of hers...

"...the very same eyes."

She looked down and saw my paper, and my drawing of her eyes. She began shaking uncontrollably. Seizure. Someone screamed and pointed. The entire church erupted into a panic as she fell to the floor, plainly dead... plainly looking me dead in the eyes. The whole room emptied in a frenzy, papers with the image of the heretic's Torturer scattered about.

I was alone, a little confused. I picked up the woman's paper, flipped it over and saw the eyes.
My eyes.
Not my current eyes, but of all things my true eyes! Everywhere! All about scattered the malignant eyes of my immortal soul, looking at me! All at me, all at me were my eyes looking so madly, so corrupted in their glare...
I held my head tight in my arms, bent over in shock.

That was the day I experienced my first message... A message from someone similar, yet so unlike me. A message from a creator.
I am an observer. I am Thadeus, immortal traveler of the creators' worlds. I am Thadeus...

...the Torturer...

Description
Day 213, Year 1827

Today it happened again. The worst kind of nightmare. It was a Sunday, and the whole town gathered to engage in their weekly preaching at the church. I decided to tag along and join them, as to not raise suspicion. I walked in and sat on on of the cool wooden benches, next to a worried looking young woman. She looked at me, and I looked at her. Then the preacher began, so I turned in that direction.

"...and we all know the eyes of the Torturer, and the eyes of the Torturer know all of us..."

I turned toward her again. She was still looking at me, just as she was before.

"The one who is present within all of our lives, making it difficult, disheartening..."

And again. I asked why she was staring at me like she was. No response.

"I want you all to draw the eyes of the Torturer, the eyes of the being preventing you from living a peaceful, easy life. They should all be the same... the very same eyes."

She stopped staring at me and took the worn pencil and paper before her, and she began to draw furiously, as if something had possessed her. I decided to start drawing as well.

"When you are finished, show the eyes to your neighbor. They are the same eyes..." The preacher paused.

She froze, and I looked over as her paper hit the floor, face down. She turned toward me slowly, and gave me one last look. Oh, how I will never forget those sad, knowing eyes of hers...

"...the very same eyes."

She looked down and saw my paper, and my drawing of her eyes. She began shaking uncontrollably. Seizure. Someone screamed and pointed. The entire church erupted into a panic as she fell to the floor, plainly dead... plainly looking me dead in the eyes. The whole room emptied in a frenzy, papers with the image of the heretic's Torturer scattered about.

I was alone, a little confused. I picked up the woman's paper, flipped it over and saw the eyes.
My eyes.
Not my current eyes, but of all things my true eyes! Everywhere! All about scattered the malignant eyes of my immortal soul, looking at me! All at me, all at me were my eyes looking so madly, so corrupted in their glare...
I held my head tight in my arms, bent over in shock.

That was the day I experienced my first message... A message from someone similar, yet so unlike me. A message from a creator.
I am an observer. I am Thadeus, immortal traveler of the creators' worlds. I am Thadeus...

...the Torturer...