O.A.P. ADDENDUM LOG Filed Under: Unstable Convergence Zones, Uncatalogued Topographies, Class-V Manifestations Authorized Agent: [REDACTED] Field Codename: The Artist Classification: Observational – Non-Combatant, Veil-Bound Status: Nominal | Subject exhibits mild Reality Drag (3rd Degree) Visual Reports Compiled: SEE ATTACHED APPENDICES A–C
INTRODUCTORY DIRECTIVE By unanimous vote of the O.A.P. High Conclave, an embedded Visual-Scrying Operative—codename The Artist—has been deployed to record high-volatility metaphysical zones where traditional language, sigils, or memory-fixation protocols fail. The Artist is unnamed, for their protection. Their work is rendered under extreme veil pressure. Their hand trembles with sanctioned purpose.
What follows is an excerpted visual log—notes and reflections translated from raw memory-etch to field-readable dossier. All attempts at stabilization are appreciated.
SITE RECORD: APPARITION SPIRE – EXTERIOR
Entry 001 // Location sketch: Codex Spiral Alpha It did not rise from the earth—it tore upward through it. A tower in the shape of mourning. The chains at its base didn’t bind it—they kept it from ascending into something worse.
Lightning rings its peak like a broken crown. I’ve seen runes that change when you look away. The stones bleed mist. The wind here hums in reverse.
I tried to sketch the base. My charcoal cracked. Even memory recoils.
Veil Saturation: 71% Stability Rating: Fractured but anchored Recommended Proximity: 300 yards or less, preferably behind protective glass
SITE RECORD: APPARITION SPIRE – REFLECTION CHAMBER
Entry 002 // Interior rendering: Glass-floor resonance mapping You don’t walk into the chamber. You are swallowed by it.
The floor reflects my back even when I face forward. I blinked and saw myself twelve years ago. I blinked again and saw someone I have never been.
There is a crown of shards rotating at the center, casting memories like light.
I reached to touch it— The glass split.
Not physically. But something inside my image slipped out and hasn’t returned. I feel colder now.
Known Hazards: Recursive Reflection Looping, Emotional Feedback Collapse Recommended Safeguard: Burned ink around the ankles Anchor Phrase: “I am the eye, not the echo.”
SUBJECT RECORD: THE POE APPARITION
Entry 003 // Transfixed encounter: Veil Breach 2:11 AM He does not age. He edits.
Thin. Watchful. He carries a candle that burns shadow and a quill that bleeds ideas. The coat is not fabric—it is a library. I recognized text from a book I haven’t written yet.
I sketched him from memory. His eyes know they’re being seen.
One of the mirror shards behind him whispered my name. I have not said it aloud since.
Entity Designation: Semi-Stable Echoform Veil Drift Level: ∆/7 (Unclassified) Suggested Containment: Observation only. No dialogue. Never say “Nevermore.”
SUBJECT RECORD: THE CROWLEY FORM – TRINITY COLLEGE DISCHARGE
Entry 004 // Location sketch: Campus anomaly (Dublin Node, 1896) Younger than I expected. But no less dangerous.
The books he carries emit glyphs when shaken. Not written glyphs—living ones. The smoke forms sigils that are now seared onto the pages of my sketchbook.
I believe he is aware of me. He looked up, once. The glyphs surged toward my chest.
I turned the page. It bled.
Convergence Type: Chrono-symbolic leakage Stability of Setting: Fog-thick, emotionally volatile Note: My rendering is incomplete. The fog erased part of the ink.
CLOSING ENTRY I render what I can. These images are not true, but they are accurate. The Veil does not give portraits. It gives questions in visual form.
I am not safe. But I am seen. I will keep drawing until the page draws me back.
— Field Codename: The Artist ✭
SITE RECORD: THE LIBRARY OF THE UNWRITTEN
Entry 005 // Shadow rendering on incomplete pages
The books here breathe. I can hear them turning their own pages.
No title is legible. No shelf is still. Staircases vanish halfway down. I drew a corridor that was no longer there when I looked up. The page in my hand kept writing itself long after I stopped.
A woman I didn’t see hummed a song I’ve never heard. I woke up holding her note.
Hazards: Thought Bleed, Narrative Loops, Sudden Lexicon Collapse
Recommended Exit Strategy: Speak only when spoken to
Sustaining Glyph: Spiral over closed lips
SITE RECORD: THE MIRROR CORRIDOR
Entry 006 // Repeating frame geometry
The hallway bends like time remembering itself. It does not reflect your body. It reflects your decisions.
I saw a version of myself walking toward me. They looked scared. I smiled. They ran.
There are no doors, only openings made by surrender. The air is thick, metallic. My own footsteps echo too late.
Observation: The longer you walk, the less you believe you ever started.
Hazards: Recursive Identity, Dissociative Sync Drift
Field Note: Keep walking. But do not run.
SITE RECORD: TESLA’S CONDUIT VAULT
Entry 007 // Vault interior – unstable discharge frequency
Lightning sleeps in cables here. They are coiled like serpents, humming with half-formed thoughts. Machinery pulses with silence. My pencil began to spark.
I saw something that looked like a man suspended in a glass sphere. He opened one eye. I dropped my book.
Copper hangs in the air like incense. Nothing inside is grounded. Not even your breath.
Recommended Gear: Rubber tongue ward, null-magnet boots
Warning: Do not name what you see.
Frank M. Anderson's Writing 
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