Alexander hummed, deep in thought. âWell, if itâs going to stay cold, it might be for the best. Any colder and weâll be trudging through snow!â With that, he flipped open the book again.
âOh how clichĂ©. It IS a diary.â He muttered. âIâd like to think if we were writing the story, weâd have made much better exposition. Donât you?â His laughter faltered into a sigh. The narrator desperately wished he still had some control of the situation.
âAnywayâŠ.what do we have here?
âŠThe amount of travellers passing through Pineburough is astounding. Business has been good for us here. May the General Store continue to flourish. If all goes well, weâll be able to pass it down for generationsâŠ
âŠWeâve entered a partnership with the local blacksmith! Now weâre able to sell swords, shields, axes, most anything metal in our shop! I wasnât sure moving to Pineburough was the best idea, being so small. But I never saw business this strong back in AmberwoodâŠ
âŠIâve been hearing strange noises at night. The wind howls like nothing Iâve heard before. It almost sounds as if nature itself were weeping. Itâs unnatural. The nights were never this cold before. Somethingâs wrong. No one in town believes me. They just tell me âWinter gets mightier every yearâ. It doesnât make any sense. Does no one else feel something wrong?âŠ.
I was right all along. From the fortress beyond the woods. Thatâs where that icy, ghastly, gust has been coming from. The blacksmith mentioned seeing something in the sky last night. Something big. He said it flew back toward the fortress. He had said heâd go to investigate. I havenât seen him since. Henry, be safeâŠ
Itâs coming for us. Thereâs not much time. As I write this, the town is being evacuated. I hope my writing may save your life. To those who may settle here: beware, the monster they called Winter will hunt down anything that lives. May it not claim you tââ
The narrator stopped reading, staring at the final entry. The last word was incomplete and the ink ran in a harsh scratch from the t to the bottom of the page.
âOnly way it could be more cliche is if the diary ends with the authorâs last words haha,â Thursday laughs. âI mean, weâve all see how that comes out in stories with mysterious diaries found lying on the floor of an abandoned building.â
After a short laugh, Thursday finds a place to sit down and listen to Alexander read. She really enjoys listening to him, especially when heâs reading or narrating. His cadence and accent are such that draw you in - something she always envies in other Narrators. Perhaps one day sheâll get there too, and be able to draw her Protagonists in.
As she listens she is sort of halfway between amused and sympathetic. Amused because thereâs part of her that understands that theyâre in a story right now, so the person who wrote this diary most likely was never real and the fact that they are learning about them via the diary is, as Alexander said, kind of cliche. But she feels sympathetic because this is still someoneâs story, fictional character or not.
By the time the Narrator reaches the end of the diary, though, Thursday isnât amused anymore. Not only did something really happen to that person, but sheâs also comparing the contents of the diary to the state of her surroundings. The disarray, the scratches on the counter.
âAhahaha,â she laughs a bit nervously. âI somehow donât think winter is responsible for wrecking this whole place. What do you suppose actually did all this? And would it still be around now that everyone is gone? The diary seemed to indicate it might have come from that fortress. I say we should go there and investigate! Maybe we can find more clues there. But to your point it is coldâŠâ