How did this happen?  I am trapped, lost, and desperate for answers.  I am not the monster this Vigram claims me to be.  I never planned to steal any horse.  Yet I cannot refute his claims, for how can I be sure I am the same person today as I was the day before?  My mind is as blind as a moth priest, and I cannot see beyond the moment at hand. 

It makes little difference to dwell on the past.  What I did, or may have done to get here, is insignificant.  The corpse beside me shows the future.  In his hand I found a journal, but on its pages were nothing but the ravings of a lunatic.  When the guards came to restock the barrels, I begged one for a piece of charcoal, and she took pity on me, even if her eyes maintained their disdain.

I was likely not the first to make such a request.  Isolation has been known to do terrible damage to the mind.  If I can just write down my thoughts, find an avenue of escape, I may survive my sentence.  Yet if the previous owner is any indication, my remedy may prove worthless in the end.

And even if I manage to survive, what then?  What hope do I have to live a normal existence?  I do not have a home.  I barely have a name.  Lathgwen.  My name is Lathgwen Evenheart of Cyrodiil.  If I can hold on to that, then perhaps all is not lost.