Day Two-Eighty-One: As it should be

Hi, diary. I guess I'm back.

It's… it's been a while, hasn't it? I'm glad Libby's taken such good care of you over the last few weeks… even wrote in you, I see… dunno if I'll read her entries or not. She hasn't said I COULDN'T… but… y'know. She doesn't read mine, so should I respect hers…? Weird predicament.

I guess it depends on ownership, y'know? I mean, you're my diary. Dragomir's diary. Nobody's gonna contest that. It's the way it is. But… technically… or not even technically… I was dead for a while, according to June. And when somebody's dead, they don't HAVE ownership over their stuff anymore… soooooo in that time, you were LIBBY'S diary… which means… you know?

I don't. Ugh. My head hurts. I've been crying a lot. And Libby's been taking turns hugging my brains out and beating the crap outta me. She can't blame for dying, can she? Yeesh. Women are all over the place with emotions. I'll never understand 'em.

Still. Nice to see her in one piece. After I left, I half expected those damned royal guards to go back on their word. They're led by that traitorous asshole, so… how can they do any less…?

I remember everything that happened, except for the stuff after I died. The hole… The Baron… Prince Logan and King Jeffrey… the penguin… the door… dark, horrible creatures… and… Eve…

Eve stabbing me.

Eve… saving me.

That's the fucking kicker of it all. Eve saved me. She must've known that June could do… whatever she did… and she sent me out the only way she knew how. She got me out of trouble, back to the people I love.

And she told me, in her cryptic way, that she loves me.

Gods, I'm tearing up again. My daughter loves me, diary. I always knew she did. As soon as… as soon as I saw her crying, and smiling, and… even with that sword in my gut, I… ach

Sorry. Sorry sorry sorry. Heartfelt moment, there. Got so sad I gagged. Maybe I shoulda stayed in a stuporific coma.

It's especially bad when I think about where Eve is right now. She's in a crumbled castle, surrounded by… somethings… under the control of a fucking bald madman. Possibly an undead bald madman. She can take care of herself, I know, but… still… a father has the right to care for his daughter… and to want to save her from harm…

Fuck. I need to get her out of there, somehow. But if I go back.., I might just die for good… so I can't, because then I'd be no use to Eve… and she can take care of herself, so it doesn't really matter if I… ARGH, CIRCLES, I'M DIZZY

I'll focus on other things for the moment, and there are a lot of things to focus on: I'm in Goblinoster, held captive and expected to talk to the king. My wife is pregnant again. My home is in ruins, captured… fucking… things. Barrel's missing, nobody knows anything about Robert the Librarian, Cedric and Bernard are dead - I know I heard them screaming, I remember the sound so vividly - and… and…

And…

And I've lost my helmet.

I loved that helmet.

DAMMIT, when did everything go so WRONG?! Things have been sliding into the shitter for a few months, but this descent… it really takes the Jeffmas day cake, y'know? The proverbial cake, covered in strawberries and cream and icing and stuff? That delicious cake of doom?

(Sorry. We had cake for breakfast this morning. Sooooo good.)

I dunno what to do. I dunno what I CAN do. I'm just a guy, now, a guy with a hole in his armour and a house that's probably been burned down or stomped or eaten or something, a guy whose faith in humanity has both been deeply shaken and reaffirmed within a span of five minutes that felt more like five days. There's no obvious direction for me to go, and I hate that feeling.

Balls.

I miss Cedric. He always gave me something to do. Even if I never did what he asked. Those were simpler days.

I'm steeling myself for a conversation with King Gok. The last time I saw him, he didn't even speak English to me. Babbled in that weird goblin tongue the whole time. And now, now I hear that he's been feeling up m'damned wife! He's got a lot to answer for… though apparently all he's lookin' for is answers. And June won't even agree to bust me out this time, not 'til I talk to the stooped bastard.

Bah. This sucks. 'least I got you, diary. Damn glad you made it outta there in one piece. Remind me to thank Edmund for that. He's a good man.

And, uh, yeah. Guess I'm writing in you again. Surprise! Drago-writer lives! Don't have much else to do - Libby won't let anyone besides Edmund near me. Wonder why…?

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Refugee