The Folio
ENTRY ID:
FN_001
SUBJECT:
I don’t know who sent it, or how it came to be here. Only that it arrived.
A simple leather folio, black, slightly worn but not antique, fastened at the front with two simple brass studs.
The nature of my role in the archives means a vast array of items cross my desk: documents from other districts, donations from private archives, and even house clearances. This folio looked different, felt different — though I can’t explain the latter. My initial thought was that it had been left behind by a colleague or visitor after attending a meeting in one of the overflow rooms down here.
However, the note clipped to the front told me otherwise. Addressed to ‘The Archivist’, rather than me directly.
On inspection of the contents, I was initially confused. It contained handwritten notes, maps — some printed, others hand-drawn — sketches, small paintings, photographs, and a variety of other miscellaneous documents. None of the maps offered any pointers to its origin, but they contained locations I’d never heard of. Some of the notes, seemingly journal entries, were dated hundreds of years in the future.
My mind jumped to the conclusion that the folio was perhaps a movie prop, or the work of a writer attempting to build structure for an imagined world. Certainly, it wasn’t something that belonged in our archives, so I put it to one side.
The folio lay at the bottom of my desk drawer for a month or so until I happened across it while searching for something.
I opened it up again, revisiting its contents while sipping tea. To my surprise, there seemed to be documents contained within the folio that hadn’t been there on my first inspection: a drawing that definitely had not been there before; a picture of a small stone ornament or sculpture, partly covered in moss; and a sheet of hand-drawn glyphs.
I was confused and unnerved. I spend my days — and some evenings — in this dark, windowless archive area. Not since the early days of my assignment have I been bothered by the shadows, but the discovery of these additional documents had me seeing things moving at the edge of my vision. I considered taking the folio to the lost-property bin upstairs, or simply destroying it, but a morbid curiosity rose in me.
Over the following days, I spent an increasing amount of time reading through the documents carefully and making a log of the folio’s contents. There was no explanation for some of the material, but certainly the drawings, paintings, and writing all originated from the same hand. I attempted to match the maps to actual locations, without any success. Some contour lines perhaps corresponded to places on maps in the archive, but not exactly.
Several times, new items appeared in the folio. I’m not a superstitious person; science and logic are, and have always been, key tenets of my beliefs — but I could find no explanation for the arrival of these extra pages. I examined CCTV, talked to our site security guards (who raised their eyebrows with something akin to disbelief — or perhaps pity), and even, on one occasion, resorted to fastening a hair to the front of the drawer before leaving for the day, so I could tell if it had been opened. Nothing. New items simply appeared in the folio.
In time, I have simply accepted it. Just another layer of the unexplainable in this whole strange affair.
Now, the folio and its contents have become more than a source of mild curiosity. I spend a great deal of time engrossed in research and analysis. An obsession, perhaps. Certainly more than a casual hobby. I feel a professional and personal urge — a duty — to attempt to explain the folio and its contents. Until now, it has been a personal quest, but I am ready to share some of my findings with others.
I have created an Access Point section to this online archive, documenting some of my assumptions on Adrik Morozov and The Constant State. While there is no real proof to any of this conjecture, it is the best I can do to explain what I feel to be true.
I have adopted ‘The Archivist’ as my moniker here, as attaching my own name would be professional suicide. Plus, the folio was addressed to the Archivist, after all.
I do hope that allowing others into my world — into this archive — will help shed some light on its mysteries. I mentioned I’m not superstitious, or a firm believer in the mystical or occult — but I will say this: finding your way here is no accident. I’m certain of that, just as I am now certain that it was no accident that the folio came into my possession.
In Perpetua,
The Archivist
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