Day 5

For three days and nights I have stood before this cabin, sitting amidst the ancient rubble of whatever once stood here. I watched in fear, wondering when a soul would appear from that old weathered door and I would have to strike them down. But not only fear drove me here, for part of me hoped for something else. It to be abandoned. On the final day I at last pushed open that creaking door to find only the scent of old, old decay. A single skeleton sit hunched in a rocking chair, the remnants of a white shirt and black trousers still clinging to those bones. The weathered journals and books that sat about were mostly full, ramblings of a man who seemed to be like me. A dagger lay mounted over the small brick fireplace, the fire long burnt out.

To whoever it was who built and lived here, I must thank them for this gift. For now I have somewhere to rest my own weary bones. To carry this armor through every waking moment is a burden I cannot describe. And it is in an empty journal found tucked upon a shelf that I will write these memories so that I may keep myself sane.