The Moonlit Secret: Diana’s Journal and the Unfinished Truth in Kensington’s Locked Safe

Deep within the hallowed walls of Kensington Palace, in a locked safe tucked behind a false panel in Princess Diana’s former study, lies File 98B—a private journal that holds the weight of a monarchy’s darkest secrets. Unlike her other diaries, entrusted to Charles Spencer and recently exposed for their accusations of marital sabotage, this leather-bound volume, penned in Diana’s looping script, is unique: its entries are dated not by calendar days but by moon phases—crescent, gibbous, full—each a poetic marker of her restless spirit. The journal’s final page, torn halfway through a sentence, ends with the haunting words: “If not me, then…” Discovered in 1998 during a discreet inventory after her death, it was sealed under royal directive, its contents known only to a trusted few. On October 24, 2025, as Buckingham Palace reels from King Charles III’s confession of complicity in Diana’s 1997 death, Princess Beatrice’s DNA pact bombshell, and the “Alma Echo” dossier’s assassination proof, this journal—still locked in its Kensington vault—emerges as the ultimate cipher. Its unfinished sentence, like Diana’s life, cut short at 36, demands answers: Who tore the page, and what truth was too dangerous to complete?

The journal’s existence, first whispered in royal circles, surfaced publicly via a leaked MI5 memo on X at 9:37 a.m. +07, October 24, 2025, hours after Charles’s seismic admission: “I knew… forces at play I could not stop.” Unlike Spencer’s diaries, which detailed a “mastermind” cabal of courtiers undermining Diana’s marriage, File 98B is ethereal, almost mystical. Entries, as described by a former aide who glimpsed it before its sealing, blend personal anguish with cryptic warnings: “New Moon, July ’97: The shadows follow closer now, their eyes in every lens”; “Waxing Gibbous, August ’97: Dodi sees it too—our love is their threat.” The moon-phase dating, a nod to Diana’s fascination with astrology (she consulted clairvoyant Penny Thornton), suggests a deliberate code, shielding her words from prying eyes in a palace rife with betrayal. The final entry, dated “Waning Crescent, August ’97,” stops mid-sentence: “If not me, then…”—the page ripped, its lower half missing, as if torn in haste or panic.

The safe, a steel Chubb model hidden behind a bookcase in Apartment 8, was Diana’s fortress for sensitive documents, including her Panorama interview notes and letters to her sons. Paul Burrell, her butler, confirmed its use in his 2003 memoir, noting he placed her August 30, 1997, note (“They are planning something, and it won’t look like an accident”) there before its theft post-funeral. File 98B’s discovery in 1998, during a post-death audit ordered by Prince Philip, was hushed; Queen Elizabeth II reportedly decreed it “indefinitely restricted” to avoid fueling conspiracies. Yet, the X leak—allegedly from a disgruntled Kensington staffer—describes a journal “heavy with dread,” its torn page suggesting sabotage. “Someone got to it before it could speak,” the leaker wrote, sparking #DianaJournal and #File98B to 3.8 million posts by 11:05 a.m. +07.

This revelation lands amid a royal maelstrom. Charles’s October 24 confession of suppressed MI6 warnings about Diana’s Paris risks, Beatrice’s exposé of a Camilla-Andrew pact to bury William’s paternity doubts, and the “Alma Echo” dossier’s C-4-laced Fiat shard and “light the path” audio frame a conspiracy too vast for coincidence. The journal’s “If not me, then…” dovetails chillingly with the Saint-Tropez “Alexander” mystery, where Diana circled a name in the sand weeks before her death. Was “Alexander” the “then”—a successor to her truth, a child unborn, or a confidant like the MI6 courier who delivered the “Tunnel Camera B” tape? X sleuths speculate it points to Prince Harry, her “spare” meant to carry her torch, or a whistleblower silenced by the “Crown Veil” faction named in “Alma Echo.”

The torn page is the crux. Forensic experts, analyzing leaked images of the journal’s jagged edge, suggest it was ripped post-mortem, likely between September 6-8, 1997, when Burrell’s desk was also rifled for Diana’s warning note. Operation Paget’s 2006 probe ignored the journal, deeming it “private grief,” but the MI5 memo claims a royal aide—possibly tied to Camilla’s circle—accessed the safe under “urgent protocol.” The missing half could detail “they”—the MI6 cabal, rogue courtiers, or even Prince Philip, whose 1996 memo in “Alma Echo” urged “royal purity” against Diana’s Dodi romance. Bob Dylan’s “kings will tremble” lyric, echoing in protests, feels prophetic as Charles’s confession admits complicity.

Buckingham Palace, battered by Charles’s “I knew” and Beatrice’s pact fury, is a fortress under siege. William, at Kensington, demands the safe opened, but courtiers cite “legal barriers” as abdication looms for January 2026. Catherine, her forget-me-not brooch gleaming, pushes for release, whispering to William: “Her words are your shield.” Harry, at Althorp with Spencer, vows to “find the page,” linking it to Diana’s stolen note and the Paris vigil’s sapphire silhouette. Camilla, shadowed by the DNA pact, faces accusations of orchestrating the theft, her silence fueling protests outside Clarence House.

X is a tinderbox, #MoonJournal and #IfNotMeThen at 4.2 million posts by 11:05 a.m. +07. “Diana dated by moons because she knew calendars could be traced,” one thread speculates, tying to the BBC’s “man in black” at her funeral as the page’s thief. A YouGov poll shows 76% demanding the journal’s release, with 85% of under-35s calling it “Diana’s last will.” Skeptics, citing Burrell’s flair for drama, question the journal’s authenticity, but the MI5 memo’s metadata—verified by tech analysts—lends credence.

File 98B joins Diana’s missing pearl, the MI6 tape, and Saint-Tropez’s “Alexander” as fragments of a truth the Palace can’t contain. The torn sentence—“If not me, then…”—is her final challenge, a lunar-coded cry from a princess who saw the trap closing. As Althorp’s bells toll and Kensington’s study light flickers, the journal, locked yet louder than ever, demands: Who completes her sentence? Harry, William, or a world ready to listen? In the moon’s eternal cycle, Diana’s words wait, unfinished but unyielding, for the truth to rise.