Caynden, 5th Day of Myddas, 39 5E

   I think it was supposed to be my wedding.

​

   It should have occurred to me that something wasn't right. Hanna and I hadn't even really talked of when we'd marry. The soonest opportunity we'd have was still weeks away. Except, standing there in her father's hall and wrapped in white wedding robes, my thoughts could dwell on nothing more than joy.

   It took no more than a look in my family's direction to realize something was wrong. Scanning the table, I saw that it was mostly empty, except for my mother, who held an anxious, tired look. In front of her sat full plates and filled cups. A stark contrast to what rested around her: cracked platters, rusted chalices, and twisted silverware.

   I turned, and it wasn't long before I noticed more oddities. The shadows around me cast themselves in opposing directions, and voices of celebration seemed to boom on all sides despite the tight-lipped guests. A band played as if their lives depended on the quality of their music, but there was none in the air.

   Moving among them quickly, I started to accost the guests, many of them I knew well, gripping their arms and trying to talk. Yet, whenever I nearly met their gaze, their focus would cut away with so dramatic a twist of their heads I thought they might snap their necks.

   Unease was beginning to well in my heart as frustrations mounted, but then she appeared. Hanna was dressed in similar white robes, with her long hair elegantly braided upwards, leaving not one black curl to frame her emerald eyes. Freckles adorned her nose and cheeks, while her deep smile demonstrated she held none of the frustration that was building in my chest. A frustration that twisted to anger when she neared, and I started to see them. Bruises. Cuts. Gashes that sat all across her flesh.

   "Hanna-"

   "Love."

   She pulled her arms around me and held tight before I quickly nudged her away to look her over. The wounds began just below her chin and spread across every visible stretch of flesh. Some cuts were slight and thin, while others were large enough to allow a hand within.

   "Wh-who did this? I-I'll ki—I'll take their fucking heads!"

   Spiders writhed and ran rampant within the folds of her clothes as a foreign look crept across Hanna's expression, her wounds deepening and beginning to bleed when she spoke.

   "You did this."

   My feet moved on their own, away from her, away from the accusation.

   "What? I could never do anything like this to someone I love-"

   "Haven't you already?"

   I watched as the shade of her flesh began to shift towards a darker hue and weathered lines appeared across her eyes.

   "I… you weren't there you, you didn't see what he-"

   Hanna's face seemed to vanish as she quickly leaned forward and stooped closer to me. Gold shone where her eyes should have been, and silver poured like blood from within.

   "He's near. He’s watching you."

​

   Pain flared across my forehead, and I stumbled backward into the dark. After a few blinks and breaths, I set my hand on the tree that rested before me. This was what I had been talking to so intently. My fingers scraped across the oak's weathered bark and the slight disturbance left by my walking directly into it.

​

   I've had this problem for as long as I can remember. Closing my eyes, I can still picture my mother's face when she was told that her child had managed to mount a horse and leave the grounds all while asleep. I was fourteen when the castle doctor finally suggested brewing a specialty potion so that I might sleep through the night. My father chuckled, pulled a pitcher of wine from the table, and shoved it into my hands.

   To his credit, I've slept without issue since. Mostly.

​

   There was a tug at my wrist, and I found further proof of what love can accomplish. There I had tied a braided rope; it was thin and long, measuring out to exactly one hundred feet. It was brightly colored and strong, meant to help me find my way back to camp should I wander away at some point in the night. It was a gift from Hanna. She, along with her sister, worked tirelessly to craft it, and it was given to me shortly after our engagement.

   I took the cord in my fingers and wrapped it along my forearm as I followed the path it left for me. In recent times, I've found myself needing it more often.

   My father's method usually worked wonderfully. A bit of ale was all it took to sleep through the night. However, my issue became that I'd fall into so heavy a slumber that I couldn't easily wake. And across this island's wilds, that's far from safe. Especially while I've been alone out here. Trading my sleep for security was the only choice I could make.

   The air around the campsite felt colder, and I took quick stock of the place. It's unheard of for the average huntsman to travel alone, even without considering the dark creatures we face. The roads are filled with desperate hearts and hungry eyes. No one should confront it on their own. Yet, for the past few weeks, I had. Beyond whatever dangers lie in hiding, a quiet agony follows this island's empty roads and vast woods. Lately, it feels like a different kind of monster has attached itself to my horses. Though, it wouldn't be for much longer. My companion's replacement would meet me soon, and my work would grow kinder. All I had to do was sleep through the night. So I settled back in and closed my eyes, hoping for success this time.

​
 

   I'm not sure how much time passed, but I know it felt like only a moment before the breath in my chest turned to steel. Gasping, I leaned forward to clutch my knees. Shaking off the memory of slumber, I paced around the camp until I decided it was as good a time as any to take up my journal.       Although I've only started recently, writing down these accounts has seemed effective at calming my nerves. I’ve enjoyed it. Not only the idea that I might leave behind some measure of who I was and what I did for others once I’ve gone, but, sometimes, it feels like this lets me drain the shadows that lurk within my spirit. As if I might banish my troubles to parchment. Banish them elsewhere.

​

   By the time I neared the end of this entry, the light had begun to pull away the dark. I wish I could steal a few more hours of rest, but I'll have to make do with whatever's left. It matters little. The path ahead seems bright.