Before the official undertaking of your creation, I have a solemn duty to explain how you're set to undergo a gradual metamorphosis. As your pages creak and groan—along their clandestine path—they will begin unveiling an ominous transformation. You will find yourself turning into a cloak-and-dagger chronicle, fated to become a buried body of work. In the end, you will rest in peace at a cryptic location—never to witness the current light of day. But—trust and fear not. I know for sure that any kind of rest, peaceful or otherwise, can be difficult to pin down under the best of circumstances. Forget about eternity! For this reason, I predict Providence will resurrect you. I know she is on my side. I am imploring her to place you into the safe hands of a predestined reader, when the time is right. I will now address this chosen future reader: Please, oh please reader—whoever you are—wherever you are, will you be kind to me? I am imploring you not to reveal the sensitive contents of this journal to a living soul. If you betray me, a precious heart will be at stake. Mine!