Utonium,
Concerning your concern, there is nothing to worry about. While spontaneous as my experiment may seem I assure you, good sir, I store it within' pages of theory. My notebooks are obese with my scribble and it's time to loosen the belt. In fact, your critique of my ideologies and methods inspires me more so to continue. Just as when I left the institute to train as an initiate to the ancient masters of the old world, it disgusted you; said I was wasting my time with "nonsense", that it is a proper expectation for men of my fine mind to strive for science as you did. Your words stung like salted daggers, but that pain only helped my pursuit in esoteric knowledge. And here in my sequester and hermitage, I still feel your judgement—It has been six months since the experiment… Since my wife became pregnant. She carries with her a medium of god. Unbeknownst to her that her ovum contains X in its purest form, bearing an entity that is both weird and cosmic. Yet it seems, because of the strange nature of conception, she has suffered much from the infant cooking in her flesh. Any medical professional would be blown aback by her state as she is now, withered and broken. She suffers happenings of the nth kind: instead of typical morning sickness she coughs up pockets of crystallized blood, her cravings are that of the most voracious carnivore (odd as she herself prides herself on her vegan diet), and she has these nightmares. Dear god, Utonium! the nights she has them, about every night when the moon is bright enough—a miserable scene. She bounces with terror, clawing the sheets of the bed with a terrific grip and screams about the Hell Hindu's call "Naraka ''. It's loud enough to break a lesser creature's sanity. (Her lungs must be of ironclad.) It lasts all night, and even the birds know not come at daybreak after her episodes. I believe the only thing keeping her still from biting her own tongue is the baby that she nurses with tender resentment. But of all the strange things since the incubation, the other day was the most. We were walking through the woods near our home when we heard something from the bulge in her abdomen—A musical humming. A humming horrifyingly sweet. I couldn't recognize a single note the belly sung, yet the plants seemed to dance to the small almost silent hymn. My wife attempted to mimic the lyric and in that instant the plants that surrounded us, the trees, grass, flowers began to bleed and die. Have you ever seen a tree bleed and die? The leaves went from green to black, the bark split, and sap crawled down its side. For a small second she attempted the song, and that was all it took to kill a portion of the green growing flora in the forest. We couldn't speak, too shocked to utter a comment on the event. My wife cried. She is still crying in the room next to me, I write to drown it out. She's ruined and for what? My curiosity? I have caused a pure and lovely woman to grow damp and ugly, bags of coal lay under her eyes, wrinkles appeared everywhere that showed no signs appearing before, and her wonderful brown hair each day grows more gray and sheenless. Once the child is born I feel she will die. A life for a life—I will accept this as causality for my transgression.
Dr. –