Definitely the prince writing those entries. Is he following me around? How the hell did he write that while I was sleeping in the same room?!
I wish I’d had time to look for a hiding spot, but, another day goes by and you’re still stuck in the rat farms, diary. I didn’t find a single moment to go searching today, because, um, I... had to... sort of... run away from Libby all day?
I couldn’t sleep in the rat farms forever, so eventually I got up and went back to the apartment. I needed to at least brush all the yellow stuff off my clothes, and besides that, I’m still a husband. A man can’t be afraid of my pregnant wife all of the time.
Or maybe he can, ‘cause as soon as I opened the door the lung I brought Libby the other day smacked me in the chest. She was waiting for me. Her mouth was lined with white frothy stuff, and she said something frightening, something that I’d probably translate as ARGHLBARGHLGRABLAGHCASTRATE. Or, y’know, any weird, unearthly noise along those lines.
She jumped at me, diary, and I’ve never been so afraid in my life. Even the elephant that beheaded Philip didn’t come close. I managed to slam the door shut, but Libby’s a strong woman, so she ripped it off its hinges and tossed it at me. I’m good at dodging, luckily, and I managed to duck out of the way. The chase was on!
It was a long pursuit, diary, and not one I enjoyed. Libby tore half of the castle apart trying to catch me, hurling books and treasure chests and chairs and, frankly, anything she could get her hands on. I’m convinced that Philip the Ghost joined in at some point, partly out of spite for getting him killed and partly because he seems to like throwing things around, because Libby was heaving more junk than should be physically possible for any one person.
After a few hours of running, Libby calmed down. Me and a few of the other guards escorted her back to her room. The captain was even nice enough to charge the repairs to Libby and I. We’ll be paying the castle back in installments for several years. Yaaaaay.
What spooked me most, though, is what Libby said when I finally got her back into bed, just before she fell asleep:
“The child made me do it. It’s like it’s wrestling with my intestines. I can’t take this much longer, Dragomir.”
That’s too ominous for me to bear, diary. What’s going to happen next week?
Worried,
Dragomir the Guard
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