[Excerpt from pages torn from an old diary, dated 1841]
She’d done up one of her bedchambers with velvet and candles. If she had brought in a lamp it would have looked shabby, but the candles made it eerie. I suppose that was the point. One of her servants must have set up an audiograph to play music behind a curtain, too, because I could hear muffled strings all evening.
We sat around a table and held hands and chanted over the little bit of whalebone she had found. It felt stupid, really. I was hoping for more. Some thunder, or a witch to appear and dance on the table for us. I don’t know.
But I sensed a presence… Some restless energy. It’s hard to describe. Something was reaching out to me. Maybe it was mother? But it was upset. Angry, almost. It felt like the time I got tangled in weeds at the bottom of the Estate district ponds, and father had to jump in to save me.
I didn’t tell anyone. I know it was just a silly game. But If we can capture voices in audiograph machines or light with those new silvergraphs, then why can’t we capture spirits in some kind of machine, too?
I should talk to Anton.