Day Five-Hundred-Two: Passing the torch

Out of my way, peasant dog. I'll show you how a true writer works.

Yes, I know. Harold isn't a peasant. Nor is he a dog. I think he's better described as self-delusional gerbil. Forever running about in a maze of his own construction, only doing as others expect, never indulging in selfishness. It's something of an admirable trait, but… ultimately ineffective. Pitiable.

I'm only writing all this because I know Harold will read it. I like to tease him. He's the only one who will put up with it. The rest of the nobles are too snippy, and the peasants… well… subtlety. It doesn't work.

Hi. My name is Evangelina. Welcome to my diary.

Harold succinctly described the current state of affairs yesterday, though he omitted one important fact: as far as we know, Pubton has been cut off from the rest of the world. There hasn't been a single merchant travelling to or from Pubton in weeks. The bard attempted a brave scouting mission to an adjacent town a few days ago, but his travelling party forced him to turn back. All were too fearful of what they might find. (Which may explain why search parties refuse to check on Pubtwon.)

I suspect scouts would find dead bodies. I would find the absence of bodies more frightening.

I'm honestly surprised that Pubton still has live people to its name, let alone a fully-stocked, self-sustaining population. The Non baited and taunted us for two weeks, and though their 'attacks' kept the town penned in it also helped overall morale. Many defenders came to think of Pubton as unbreachable. A bastion of safety and security. No evil could get in here, no sir nor ma'am.

The defenders were wrong. Once the penguin was ready, he and the full brunt of his forces immediately came knocking. The blackness surged over the walls in great droves, so similar to the cascade I'd watched from my windows months earlier, and they subdued anyone and everyone they came across. I think we're damned lucky that they didn't murder us on the spot. They lined us up in the field, waiting in the rain for death.

And then Dragomir appeared. Dragomir and his brat. And the brat, though he's now gone, saved us all. I suppose we should be thankful to him for that… though every time I looked Grayson in the eye, I knew something was wrong with the boy. Call it a witch's intuition at work, but I suspect that even with my powers unlocked I wouldn't stand a chance against him. I fear that we may still have a confrontation, some day…

Kids. What a pain in the posterior. Though I do wonder how my little girl in Bottomless fares. It's been so long since I sent Lena a letter.

Harold and I continue to knock at Dragomir's door without success. He has vanished from public life. I know that he has these spells of immense self-pity, and that this one will eventually pass, but… the people of this town need to see their hero. If only to dispel some of their doubts as to our future.

We're only alive right now because of Dragomir and his family. Without them… him… how long can we last before Pubton begins to fall apart…?

Sincerely,

Evangelina the Co-Mayor