Enderal:Fourth Letter of the Kor
This morning, Dryella had an attack. Right in the middle of the prayer in the parish hall, she started to scream and to strike out wildly, and it needed three of us to calm her down. Even after we managed to calm her down, she did not stop screaming — something about “corpse grimaces”. She must have referred to the faces she sees in the walls. Sullyres had her brought to the parish hall and gave her a potion made from dawn flower juice to sedate her.
As a matter of fact, her attack was not the bad thing. It was Sullyres’ and the other men’s half-heartedness in carrying on after they had brought Dryella to her cabin — as if nothing had happened. To them it seems to be awfully simple to shrug off her state as delusion. I cannot. And, which is even worse, I know what she is talking about. For a long time I talked myself into believing that it is just my imagination, but this is not the case. The whispering, it is there and a shroud of certainty that something “is wrong” lays upon everything. I feel like a child to whose father gave it a lifelike wax figure from which he tries it to convince to be its friend. No matter how skillful it was crafted and how immaculate the skin seems to be — in the end it is dead. And was right from the beginning.