Chaya's Journal #4

Entry Date Unknown, Barovia

Sleep is a distant memory. I am tired, more than I have ever been, but the weight of what we have seen, what we have done, keeps me awake. There is no peace in this land, only horrors layered upon horrors. I am beginning to wonder if anything good has ever existed here. The night after the attack, none of us dared to sleep easily. We took turns watching over Ireena, but the greater concern was Lucian. Whatever spell the monster cast upon him, we could not trust that he was wholly himself. We bound him to a chair—not out of cruelty, but necessity. I saw the guilt in the others' eyes, the reluctance in their hands as they tied the ropes, but we could not take any chances. He did not fight it. That, more than anything, unsettled me. When morning came, we left the cursed village of Barovia behind, though not without an encounter both strange and seemingly innocent at first. An old woman selling pies. I watched as Stoick and Gretch bought them, charmed by their simple sweetness. When they ate, they fell into a sleep so deep, so peaceful, I could almost believe they had been transported to a dream of warmth and safety. It was… endearing. And yet, something gnawed at me, something wrong beneath the surface. The old woman’s smile was too knowing. The pies seemed too perfect, too kind a gift in such a wretched land. But I said nothing. I should have. The road was long, and the feeling of being watched never left us. By the time the sun began to set, we reached the looming gates of Barovia, tall and imposing as if they could swallow us whole. We debated our next move—press forward or find shelter.

No one relished the idea of sleeping out in the open. Then, hesitantly, Ismark suggested a windmill an hour down the road. The home of the pie woman. I should have refused. I should have pressed him more on why he hesitated. But we were tired, wary of the dark, and desperate for some semblance of safety. When we arrived, a young girl answered the door, allowing us to camp outside. I should have felt relieved, but the air was thick with something unnatural. Magic. I could feel it twisting in the air around the windmill, clinging to the very walls of the place like a shadow. I did not sleep. I could not. During my watch with Ireena, we saw them—small figures slipping from the shadows, darting away from the windmill. Were they spies? Watchers? Had we been followed since we left the village? The thought sent a chill through me. I knew then that whatever safety we imagined here was a lie. By morning, the magic was gone. Or rather, I could no longer sense it. That alone made me more wary. Magic does not simply vanish without reason. I needed to understand. We opened the door. The girl was gone. The house was still. Several of our group joined me as we climbed, searching for the truth. What we found… I wish we had never looked. Bones. Cages. Children, starved and broken. Flour made from human remains. The pies. The pies... I cannot bring myself to write it. We freed the children, but as we tried to leave, the windmill itself seemed to come alive to trap us. Mist, thick and hungry, began to coil around the walls, seeping into every crack, blocking every escape. We were being held here. Something did not want us to leave. Stoick threw a millstone through a window, shattering the way forward, and we fled. But before the last of us could escape, Gretch and Stoick set the entire windmill ablaze. I should have stopped them. I should have thought of the consequences. But I could not. Some things deserve to burn.

As the flames consumed the building, something… something emerged from the fire. A creature with black horns and purple skin, its grin wide and full of knowing malice. It reached for Stoick, nearly pulling him back into the inferno, but he wrenched free. And still, it grinned. I do not know what it was. I do not want to know. We fled, the children held tightly in our arms, the windmill burning behind us as we raced for Vallaki. And now I sit here, watching the children huddled together in the back of our cart, their small frames trembling, their faces pale with exhaustion and fear. What horrors have they endured? How long have they been trapped in that place, waiting for a salvation that might never have come? I should be relieved that we saved them. But I am not. Because I know now that for every horror we put to the flame, another lurks in the darkness, waiting. This land is cursed beyond measure, and for every life we save, how many others have already been lost? I used to believe that Selûne’s light could reach even the darkest corners of the world. But what if some places were never meant to be touched by the moon’s glow? What if this is a place without light, without hope? I do not have the answers. All I know is that we must reach Vallaki. We must keep moving forward. We must protect the ones we can, even if the darkness continues to swallow everything around us. But today, as I watch the children sleep, I cannot help but wonder—does anything good reside in this land? Or am I simply fooling myself?