I’ve lost track of the bloody date.
It’s been a little more than a week since I found refuge in this Cathedral. “Refuge,” I suppose, is what they’re calling it. Everyone here seems to be on edge, always looking over their shoulders or speaking a little quieter than they need to. Sometimes I hear screaming at night. I asked about it once, but nobody seemed particularly interested in explaining it. They just looked at me strangely and told me I’d be better off staying inside after dark. Grand. Very reassuring.
Not that it’s the greatest of my concerns right now.
Fuck Rita. Fuck Kazumi.
I still can’t get home, and that’s the part I can’t seem to get out of my head. I’ve spent most of my days drinking at the local tavern because I’ve nothing better to do. Drink, sleep, wander around this miserable place, ask questions nobody wants to answer, then drink some more. No matter how much I drink, though, I still wake up here.
Gods, I miss Brightwater. I miss the warmth and the glow of the city at night. I even miss that little tart shop in Baldur’s Gate. Can’t remember the name of it now, which is irritating me more than it probably should. I can picture the bloody sign perfectly, but the name’s gone completely out of my head.
Funny, the things you miss when you realise you might never see them again.
I wonder if anyone misses me.
This place is nothing like home. Everything here is cold—the stone, the air, even the people. There’s a desperation to them that I don’t quite understand yet. Everyone seems frightened of something, but nobody wants to say what that something actually is.
And lately, I’ve started feeling like I’m being watched.
Not by someone. By something.
I know how ridiculous that sounds. I’ve caught myself turning around in empty corridors more than once, expecting to find someone standing behind me. There’s never anyone there, but the feeling doesn’t go away. That little prickle at the back of my neck follows me around like a damned shadow.
I don’t like it. I’m not accustomed to being the one looking over my shoulder.
Maybe this place is getting to me. Maybe I’m tired. Maybe I need to stop drinking.
…
No. Definitely not that last one.
If something is watching me, the bastard can buy the next round.
— Hikari