Case File: Diary of Ernest Nightray

Day 7

Uncle took me today to Pandora for some reason or another—perhaps about my rouge ballerina, but who can even keep track at the end of the day?—and I must say that it was a boring time. Firstly, I must say that there are no attractive women who work at Pandora. Vanessa gets all a-twitter about Lord Barma's assistant, but I cannot say that a single specimen there attracts me. To make matters worse, I had a run in with the Mad Hatter.

None of what happened after that was my fault, no matter what Father says. I was only joking with a school acquaintance of mine about the Mad Hatter's frightening red eyes and maybe doing a little impression of him to make my acquaintance laugh. It was trivial. Merely nothing. That is why I found it quite unnecessary for the Mad Hatter to sneak up behind me, lift his bangs and say, "Who said that I had two eyes?"

Oh and how my acquaintance did laugh as I screamed and fell backwards onto my behind. However, even as my cheeks blazed red, I found it necessary to uphold the honor of my family—something that Father should be proud of, I do say—and challenge the Mad Hatter to a duel. Despite his reputation, he only has one eye! How was I supposed to know that it was an old injury, not a fresh one, and that it would have no effect on his performance?

Later, after Father took me home and called me a disgrace, Elliot had the nerve to say that the Mad Hatter is the best swordsman in the world. Vaguely I remember him saying—a long time ago—that the Mad Hatter was his hero, and that he would like to be like him when he grew up. I scoff at that—no matter what happens to Elliot, I know he will not be a trained killer like the Mad Hatter. His duty, honor and, above all, loyalty to the Nightray house will mean that he will never take a life without thought, as I know the Mad Hatter has done countless times.

Excuse me for the poor penmanship—a shiver crossed my spine as I wrote those words. I cannot fathom why. Perhaps I will go to bed before my injuries are joined by a cold.

Yours in humiliation,

Ernest Nightray