I want to ████████████ because you deserve to know that someone came after you. You were not ██████ in vain. Whatever you discovered, whatever you left behind in the walls and the basement and the [something about a garden] — I found it.

Eleanor. I read about you in the archive. 1947. You went into your own corridor and did not ███████████████████. But I don't think you were lost. I think you went somewhere the word "lost" doesn't apply. The case file said "no trace found." I think you left plenty of traces. I just needed to learn to read them.

I have been █████████ this entire project as a memorial. Not to you personally — I don't know you well enough for that — but to the [something about a list, or a series] of people who were drawn to the same thing, who followed the same path, who did not ████████████████ and were not believed when they reported what they found.

I believe you. I believe all of you. The man with the lantern who came before you. The others whose names are on the walls of the basement. ██████████████████████████████ I am going to add my name to the list, not as a loss but as a continuation. This is not an ending. None of this is an ending. It is a record.

Thank you for going first. Thank you for leaving the walls covered in your writing so I would know the language when I found it. Thank you for the fountain — I don't know how it got to my garden but I think you put it there somehow, or something you did caused it to be there, and it was the most important thing. It tasted like ████ and cold and [illegible].

I'm sorry I didn't listen sooner. I always thought I was studying from the outside. I understand now that there is no outside.

[remainder illegible · ash too fragmented · approx. 3 more paragraphs]