Day Two-Fifty-Five: The Long Dark

Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.

We're walking, diary. We're walking down. Way down. I'm writing as I walk, by matchlight, because I'm fucking nervous and I don't know what else to do. Fuck, fuck, FUCK.

Okay. Calm. Let it out, Dragomir.

I woke up today, hoping I'd been stuck in a bad dream about a wedding for the last… nine months, only to discover that, no. My little girl was still married to the prince of the realm. Libby 'n me were in a swanky apartment, abandoned by some noble douche, and it was the day of the reception.

Harold came to us again in the morning. He told us that the king wanted to see us in his throne room, post-haste. He wanted to get the reception underway, to see our reaction when he presented his present to the bride and groom. We got dressed in our usual duds (I wasn’t wearing that stupid frock again) and wandered through the near-empty halls of the castle to the throne room.

The king was there. Still dressed in his outfit from the previous night. Still looking cross. Yet, at the same time, jubilant. Happy-skippy-really-weirdy. He kept looking around the room, as though restlessly paranoid, and whenever he said something he checked with Kierkegaard (who was as shrill and assholish as ever) to make sure it was okay.

"Dragofuck!" the king shrieked as we entered the hall. He waved us to a small group of nobles, standing in the middle of the carpet, surrounded by royal guards. "Come, come! You're the last ones! You too, castellan boy, you too. It's a shame your daddy left on you! Yes, big shame. Daddies should protect their children, right, Dragofuck? Yes, all about protecting children."

We nervously agreed, all huddling close together. For once, nobles and commoners (and Edmund, yes, he's with us too) were one.

"Excellent!" Jeffrey clapped his hands and jumped off his throne. "Alright! It's time for the tour! The tour of the wedding hall! Time to get this ceremony underway AGAIN!"

None of us dared ask what that meant. The king had legitimately lost it. Another wedding? The hell was he on about? The wedding had been the night befofjcel

FUCK. Sorry. Tripped on a rock. Ow, that hurt. Thank the gods Robert's match relights itself whenever you want.

King Jeffrey took the lead, ushering us out of his hall, surrounded on all sides by marching royal guards. They boxed us in, towering over our flanks, more menacing than ever before. They're still doing that now…

As we marched into the corridors, Kierkegaard offered a quick explanation… and he did it in an incredible imitation of Eve's monotone voice. Apparently HE had said yes to the wedding proposal the night before, taking Eve's place in the wedding vows. Consequently, the marriage hadn't been real. It was all a show… so the king could hold the REAL marriage in a much more secluded locale the next day. Where Logan's ungrateful mother couldn't reach them.

Or stop them.

The king, skipping madly, guided us away from the throne room. Down the massive main corridor. And… turning… turning left… he led us into the east wing of the castle. Bernard and Cedric were waiting for us, standing on either side of the entrance into the wing, both looking very nervous, both obviously on explicit orders.

They became wedding prisoners as well. The royal guards drove us all. They drove us towards the hole.

The hole looked much the same as it had the last time I came here. I still couldn't see the bottom, and… now… now that the royal guards have forced us down the ramps, down, down, into the depths… it's black. It's all black, all the way down, as if the dozens of torches lighting the way mean nothing to whatever's at the bottom.

We felt no compulsion to dig. Why would we? It's obvious. The hole's done. Whatever it needed to reach, it has reached.

The king rambled. He told us everything I already know. He'd used people to dig his hole. It had been brilliant! They hadn't even known they were digging! And now, thanks to Jeffrey's piercing insight, they'd discovered something far grander than precious metals. Something that would make all other martial concerns utterly superfluous.

The tone in his voice has everyone frightened. We all want to leave. Even Cedric, who's tougher than any amount of precious metal, looks worried. I think he regrets his fealty to his king. None of us dares try to turn back, though, because the royal guards are there… and they won't LET us leave. No amount of pleading will change their minds, and lemme tell you, some of the nobles sure have tried. Excuses mean shit to these guys.

I can't even see their faces anymore, this far into the earth. They're shadows with horns and spears. That's nightmare material.

We're walking, diary, and I'm writing. I sense, I sense, oh gods, I sense that we're closing in on the bottom. We're so far down that I spotted a food cache a few minutes ago, a sizable one, probably used by workers who had to come this deep to dig. How many of us have been this far down? How many… how many of us came this close to the centre of the darkness without even realizing it?

Gods… the walkways… they're… they're lined with ballistae… similar to the cannons we used to keep Driscol out… why are they here… gods, Driscol, I'm sorry we stopped you, I'm so sorry we tried to keep you out, you wanted what was good, even if you were an asshole, and we, gods, we just

No. No. I see light. Light at the bottom. There's something down there… the path ends… and… there's dirt, and rock and





It's a chamber, diary, a circular chamber, and there's… oh, fuck, there's a COFFIN down here, I can… I








no









the door