>> EVERYTHING CHANGES SO FAST <<

[Filter: Private, in Kilian]

I wonder what they would have thought if they knew that Dian was an impersonator. They both loved him. Father more than Mother. At least Ness was never a fake.

No.

No, just a monster.

Not as much of a monster as Danu, perhaps, but ... to collaborate on a plan like this, they'd all have to be monsters. To go on with life, kidnapping and killing people who happen to look close enough to how they used to ...

Anyone would have to be a monster.

Maybe that's what grief does to you after long enough untreated. Maybe that's the festering wound Nessa was trying to save me from. Maybe I'd have become that monster, if I could believe that ... I could bring them back.

[Filter: Lauren and Nessa, in Trade]

Did you know it's especially difficult to find the core of yourself, under the years of lies, when you're told that something you hadn't even considered about yourself was also a lie?

[Filter: Lauren]

This is ... horribly embarrassing, to be honest~ But can you come let me out of our room? The door seems to be jammed, and nothing I've tried will pry it open. And for that matter, I can't seem to find my key, either. But I'm sure you have yours ...

When you have a moment, please~

[Filter: Franelcrew]

So ...

So~!

That was certainly something. I can't even imagine what sort of magic must be at the base of this ... thing, to just ... produce stew like that. Ha, and after all this time it was a cook pot, wasn't it. Here we were, so sure that we were overlooking some complicated translation. And it was a cooking pot all along!

I suppose this means that we should go to Taln next, doesn't it.

Is everybody feeling ...

What does this mean, exactly?

[Filter: Franelcrew + Doolin]

I'm going to be honest, I made myself some dreamfoil tea hoping that I could just sleep through all of this. The day in general, I mean. I was going to do it even before all of this happened, but now that it has, and with the -- the noises from Faith's room --

I'm rambling, aren't I? Hm.

I think I made it wrong, is what I'm saying. I'm not drowsy, I'm just ... I don't want to move from here. I feel like I'm rooted to the floor. Is that a symptom of dreamfoil poisoning? Did I use too much?

Does anyone else hear that?

[Filter: Private, in Kilian]

Is it because the monsters have come back, I wonder, that the nightmares are happening more often.

I thought I was too old for this. What sort of grown man wakes up panting in the middle of the night, certain that the mists are chasing him? Chasing him and howling, no less. Ghosts in the trees, spirits with glowing eyes, the same damn things I've seen since I was sixteen.

It's the monsters. The fear. It drives everyone down on their knees. We all know that. We all know just what those things do when they scream like that, and they're getting bolder again. Maybe Prudence has even missed a couple, the last few nights.

I'd go back to sleep if I didn't think I'd dream about the same thing.

[Filter: Franelcrew and Labhri]

It took some time. And I'm not sure how much it will help.

Labhri's dreams ... Labhri. You needn't worry. I saw nothing -- nearly even close to embarrassing, if that's what you're afraid of. I didn't see much at all, to begin with ... I was moving quickly.

But I did have to dive deep to find the light. It was buried so far down that I didn't know if I would even find it at first ... but it was there. Deep, deep down ... I thought I'd have trouble on the way back out, at first. But ...

Well, that was the easiest part.

I'm afraid I couldn't communicate with it. Not the way that Diarmid always implied he could. Not the way Millerna implied that she could.

It's simple, as he said. Very ... basic, at its core. It has simple wants and needs, simple impulses. There is no alien energy or intelligence behind it. It's almost like ... like a small child. Less, even. Like an animal, or a pet. It wants something -- someone -- who can use it. A master. Apt, I suppose, if its intelligence is so ...

It's confused. I tried to ... well, tried to speak to it as much as I could. But it would only respond with confusion. A sense of being lost, of being adrift and waiting, more than much else. And that something was wrong. A piece was missing.

Every time I tried to steer it toward -- toward Baethan, the confusion got worse. The only -- well, the only response, of a sort, that I could get, if you could even call it that, is that something is wrong. A piece is missing. Something is not as it should be, and that's why this is happening.

It wasn't pleading. It wasn't even asking for help. Simply repeating that there was something wrong.

[Filter: People helping with the journals]

I think it's a cipher.

I've been over it several times, now, and it's nothing like any language I would recognize. Admittedly, I hardly know anything about Hanlish -- but who does? I have my doubts that even your grandfather would have, Jayne, Labhri. No offense intended.

The problem is, I've never been the best at ciphers. If this was the sort of thing -- some dead language we had to try to decipher, well, Nessa and I have certainly done that before! More than once, actually. But a cipher, I'm afraid I'm all thumbs.

That doesn't mean this is a dead end, though, certainly not. I'm sure one of us can figure out what needs to be done ... the key to this.

[Filter: Those in and around Baethan]

It doesn't matter if I try to speak Kilian to them, either. They still won't open the doors. Or even answer. You can see their lamps on in the windows, but the instant we come knocking ...

How are we meant to solve this if no one will even speak to us?

[Filter: Franelcrew]

Hm. I have ... odd news. Nothing about the town with the funeral, yet, I'm afraid, but ... odd all the same.

One of the librarians who's been most helpful to me was missing today. Her name was Daimhin. I asked around a little bit, and while, as usual, no one wanted to speak of it ... she has been missing for a few days. And I managed to worm a little bit more out of them than that. Being a native helps, for that.

There's rumors flying that Daimhin isn't the only one who's vanished. People are muttering to each other about what this means, but none of them would talk about it when I tried to ask further. Daimhin and the others will be back, they said, shooing me back to my books. Please, sir, she has a history of locking herself in her bedroom and working until she collapses. She'll be back soon. Don't fret. And then even the rumors of the others they laughed off. Oh, they've gone to see family, I'm sure. Perhaps they've fallen ill. Excuse after excuse after excuse ...

I tried to keep asking, but none of the library aides would help. There was another patron there, though, who heard me asking, and pulled me aside. He wanted to know if I was asking because of Caoilinn. And when I said she was part of it, yes, he started asking more questions. How was she behaving near the end? How long ago did she disappear? Did I know if anyone else had witnessed her odd demeanor before she vanished? On, and on, and on.

It was altogether very unusual. For someone to even so much as acknowledge Caoilinn, much less ask me so many questions about her.

[Filter: Franelcrew]

I have our answers.

Aoife said that all the works in her horror selection are commissioned works. Ones written by other people, based off rumors circling out of various Kilian noble houses. All the examples I offered her, she had detailed stories about the writers of, and information on the rumors they'd based them on and where they came from. Aileen, she said the story based on your family was ... quite a popular topic of talk around Tarra, when the incident happened, and she doubts that story is the only one of its like.

As for the seeing magic -- scrying, we call it, Aoife said those rumors came from close by. The woods just north of the city, in fact. She didn't have more information than that to give, but she was very eager to give us what information she did have, and wished us luck.

I suppose the question we have to ask now is what we do with that information.