Chaya's Journal #9

Village of Vallaki: Festival of the Blazing Sun

The Festival of the Blazing Sun. A day meant for joy, for light, for laughter. And for a time, I let myself believe in it. I walked through the streets with my companions, watched the people of Vallaki put on their forced smiles, their tired hope. For a moment, I let myself pretend that things might be normal.
But I should have known. Barovia does not allow such illusions to last.
I found the boy—the one I saw sneaking from the church last night. Milijov. I do not think he is a bad child. Desperate, perhaps. Frightened, certainly. He told me he had stolen bones from the church and delivered them to the coffin maker, Henrik, for coin. My stomach turned at his words. Bones? Who do they belong to? And why would Henrik want them?
I told the others, and we agreed to investigate. Perhaps I should have waited, spoken more with Father Lucian before acting. But I feared what we might find, and more than that, I feared what would happen if we did not put the bones back. Horvar picked the lock; Gretch broke in first. The first floor was unsettling, but nothing more—rows of coffins, crafted with care, standing silent in the dim light. But when the others called out from the second floor—shouts of panic, of warning, of pain—I knew we had made a mistake.
Vesper threw the stolen bones to me. I caught them instinctively, barely thinking, and then I ran. I ran up, toward the danger, toward my friends, toward whatever horror lurked above.
I pray we are not too late. I pray I have not led my friends into something we cannot fight.
But most of all, I pray that I have not doomed them.