Day One Hundred-Fifteen: Artist's rendition

Ohhh crap. I said the shit hit the windmill yesterday, diary, but that was only the beginning of the storm. There's poo all OVER this metaphor, and it's only going to get worse.

The whole castle was, and still is, in an uproar after what we did last night. (I say 'we' only because I was PRESENT, not because I actually DID anything. Please note that I was blackmailed, anyone reading this in the future.) The guards are all pulling double shifts, and we probably will until the king calms down - which won't be for a while, given what happened today.

The king actually came out in public for a short while, I guess to show just how angry he is, and his face is completely clean. And his head! I dunno how Prince Logan did it, but his father's gleaming. Kinda cruel to do that during cold winter, but there you are. The blood that keeps boiling to his face probably keeps him warm, and that happens a lot when he screams.

All us guards and soldiers and whatnot got ordered into his presence, out front of the castle, and he screamed at us for a good ten minutes about how he wanted the perpetrator found, and what he wanted done with the person WHEN they were found. I won't describe exactly what he wants, diary, but it's not pleasant - and much of it involves the rhino guarding the castle's secret entrance. And its horn. And… well, I'll stop there, yeah?

So my heart was pounding pretty good for a long time, there, diary. I thought for sure that I'd get caught. I damn near sweat holes in my undershirt, and my armour smells like the sea. I'm amazed I didn't tremble my way through his entire speech, let alone soil my breeches like I usually do.

But then something happened that kinda let off some of the pressure. Just a bit.

We got sent off to search the entire castle from the rat farms to the top of the king's tower and even beyond the walls, but we got called back to the main castle after only an hour to see something that I guess the royal guards discovered pretty damn quickly: a mural. We were all told to come have a look, as it was a strong piece of evidence.

When I say 'mural' I don't mean a little thing sketched pleasantly on a wall. This, diary, was a massive, sloppily-painted picture that covered the king's throne, as well as the wall behind it, as though the criminal had someone shot the paint out of a cannon and splattered the back of the throne room in one go. The place was a horrid mess, covered in bloody red and steel grey.

What was it, you ask? A heart, diary. With a knife sticking out the centre. Pretty ghastly lookin'.

We've been told to keep our eyes open for the symbol anywhere else, and for anyone PAINTING the thing. They're to be arrested on the spot and brought in for questioning. So that's what I've been doing all day, wandering from one end of the castle to the other, looking for more heart and dagger combos.

Didn't find any. There'll be more, though. I just know it. 'cause I have no doubt that Prince Logan's to blame, after what we saw last night. The kid's out for blood.

This won't end well,

Dragomir the Guard