"Another Cloven enclave, hidden away, cold and dark, as though the Cloven are afraid of sunlight, or is it something else? More music. Raine thinks the Cloven use music as a bridge, clinging to their past. I found the remnant of a painting, marred by the bizarre red markings. I had seen this very painting years ago when my family visited the Louvre while in Paris. How did it end up in a Rotterdam sewer? According to the Maquis, Paris is sealed -- no way in or out. Yet the Cloven have found a way. I wonder if there isn't something symbolic in the painting, some image that means something to them. Are the Cloven like the people of Pompeii? Or are we? I still remember my father describing 'The Last Days of Pompeii.' Painted by some Russian over a century ago, it told about the people of Pompeii -- crushed beneath tons of volcanic ash and rock -- vanished overnight. The whole thought was too much for my ten year old brain to fathom, and I blubbered like a girl when I first realized my own mortality. Johnny wasn't so nice back in those days, and he teased me about crying. That was the first time I ever hated my brother."
-- Journal Entry, 30 August, 1951 -- James Grayson