A Rainy Day in Larswood

by Late to the Party

It starts how it always starts: with words scratched into a journal. It ends where it ends. Possibly. For Kartyna, life in Candlekeep was idyllic, her return home triumphant(?), and the journal chronicling her life unbiased(?) and impeccable(?). Whatever one writes down in one's own hand can always be trusted, right?

12. 12

In Larswood, the rain misted, the splinters slowing, seeping into the earth around her saturating the bed of moss 'til it overflowed. The journal sat neatly in her lap, the page full of sketches. Imoen, Gorion, Dreppin, Fuller, Hull. Their charcoal visages seemed to dance, their eyes diminishing until there were only pinpricks of orange, their flesh receding 'til only the skull remained. All the skulls seemed to merge into one while around it, something akin to tears seemed to orbit. It offered a silent invitation.

Leadenly, Kartyna leafed through the pages. The skull grinned back on all of them. Somewhere near the centre, her fingers felt something warm, something… bone. A dagger. As she drew it from the journal, she understood. Like it, she was crafted from death; like it, she was a tool. Reaching up, she slashed across her own throat. Perhaps the dream would finally end.

As the warm fluid spilled down, she felt the skull scream its fury, felt herself growing weak. Her lips began to smile. Finally, she could rest.