Week 107 – Berners, Grave Robber

Dear Diary,

I don't know quite what has come over me. I feel extremely peculiar.

There's a music I can hear, very faintly, far away, and I can't seem to shake it. Ever since the Cove, and fighting that… woman. Woman? I don't know!

She was very strange, and very tall, and chilly and haunting and I don't really understand why I went running to her. There was a queer prickling feeling in my skin, and I'm afraid I may have knifed Bosc.

She's fine now, thank heavens, but it was very embarrassing. It would have been even more awkward if, once I'd shaken off the spell, Bosc hadn't gone a bit mad herself. She threw those disorienting powders of hers at me, and if I hadn't been quick enough I might have gone even more 'round the moon than I actually was.

Fortunately, she seems to be content to divert herself experimenting on our cursed compatriots and drinking, or talking, or rutting, or whatever it is she and Dismas get up to. Maybe they just insult each other.

I need some tea.

Signed, Berners.

Week 108 – The Heiress

Wilhelmina Constantine von W-, Heiress and Lady of the Hamlet: Her Diary.

Despite all of my considerable efforts, my attempts to put an end to that monstrous Viscount's mockery have been unavailing. My first expedition failed, and ever since the gates have been shut. The expeditions I've sent to probe the ways into the Courtyard have universally reported that there is no way past except that gate, and it is sealed by some disgusting magic that none of my occultists have been able to breach.

I know they are motivated, too. Especially Couer.

It makes my blood boil to know that insect-thing is lurking out there, giggling and laughing as I try again and again to seek it out and spill its filthy guts.

No matter. There's work to be done. More districts to renovate, more beasts to slay. We finally put an end to the singing sea-demon in the Cove, although Berners and Bosc seem a bit embarrassed about the whole business.

Speaking of monsters, Brèvedent has been bending my ear about the Warrens again. She's all afire to go hunting the swine's flesh-god. Perhaps I'll let her go just to have some peace.

Lady W., Heiress.

Week 109 – Brèvedent, Plague Doctor

I wonder what kind of a doctor Thorel was? Licinius, I should say. I feel almost intimate with him now. After watching him plunge those gorgeous arms elbow-deep into the wonderful, divine, Formless Flesh!

I know that the Flesh is immortal. Nothing we can do to it would possibly harm it. The piece I took away and hid is growing, so wonderfully fast! It eats about a pig's worth of meat every week now, and it twitches and wriggles in the sack I sewed for it. I can see its eyes and mouths peeking out. It is beautiful.

And watching how Dr. Thorel tore into the Flesh… The shifting of his body, the way his veins bulged and smoked with eldritch blood, the howling!

Maybe he will understand. Maybe that beast inside him will give him insight. Maybe I should share the Flesh with him.

Brèvedent.

Week 110 – Fortier, Raven Fiend Abomination

I feel like screaming.

I could tear this horrid place apart if I thought it would help. I can't control my hands shaking. I've ripped the paper already just writing this, but I have to express it somewhere.

I am sick. Not just the other side of me. My skin is on fire, I can feel my hair bristling and when I look at myself in the mirror I get flashes of both me when I am different, and of something else.

I have never even seen one of the Courtyard monsters, and now I am becoming one of them. It isn't –

When has this ever been fair.

My name is Fortier. I am losing my mind.

Week 111 – Bosc, Plague Doctor

Gwenllian has become infected with the Crimson Curse. You can only imagine my surprise. Von Kalmbach doesn't even have the good grace to look embarrassed.

Perhaps he's not at fault, though. The recent resurgence of the disease doesn't seem to follow any particular pattern, certainly not what I'd expect of a lovers' illness. After all, Fortier suffers from it, and as interesting as she is I rather doubt anyone would share such an embrace with her.

I take it the fact that Dismas is not yet ill as a very surprising mixed blessing. With how frequently he manages to blunder into some new sickness I'm astonished that he hasn't contracted this one yet.

I must say I would enjoy the excuse to draw blood from him again, though.

Bosc, Dr. Md., physician.