The Screaming.

-           Lips sewn together crudely, budding flower stems growing through the lips; upon removing the stitches, we found that xir mouth had been deeply packed with soil, in which the weeds had begun to take root.

-           Heavy mutilation to the genitalia and chest. Wounds were ‘bandaged’ and packed with salt.

-           The removal of several fingernails.

-           Already-existing scars cut open and widened. These, too, look to have been packed with either soil or salt.

-           Deep scratches all along the scalp, which appears to be either a very crude scalping attempt or xir head having been forcibly shaven. Perhaps both.

-           Three broken fingers, fractured wrist, both on the right hand.

-           Deep bite marks on the leg.

Blair has yet to regain consciousness, since we found xim.

Perhaps it would be more apt to say, since xe was brought to us.

To expand upon what happened last night, I must first confess that, despite the accuracies to Alyssa’s reading, I remained entirely skeptical.

I was not alone in this, in a sense; Sheryl had deep misgivings, a sense of failure.

By failing in our attempt to locate the Tower…we found the Tower. To succeed, failure was first required. As Alyssa said, ‘freaking riddles’.

I opened the door to go check on Windmill one more time before we turned in for the night, only to find that the hallway had been replaced by a winding sort of path.

The Tower loomed in the distance, and even from where we stood, we could hear the screaming.

For a moment, both Alyssa and I lost our heads. We were entirely prepared to charge the Tower with our weapons drawn; Sheryl acted as a voice of reason, reminding us that we required something considerably better thought-out.

Despite the cards’ warnings regarding self-sacrifice, Alyssa seemed to feel that the most effective (or, at the very least, the quickest) way to Blair and Daisy Chain would be to act as bait. It was a subject of much debate, as we drew closer, only halted whenever we were given indication of a Doll’s approach.

Sheryl’s Zephyr Doll was certainly useful, in that regard. It seemed to know…and, in turn, Sheryl seemed to be made aware, also. That kept us as safe as we possibly could be.

We had made it quite close to the Tower – the screaming was deafening – when we heard another sort of uproar.

Growls, yells, a great calamity coming from just within; a great Hound, a shady beast of ragged flesh, was dragging a figure out, jaws clamped around the victim’s leg.

It was Blair.

The Hound was pulling Blair like a wolf hauling limp prey – the jaws released, leaving Blair in a bleeding heap, and the beast charged at the Dolls in pursuit. Every one of them, weeping, crying out – they were not like Daisy Chain. Unwilling slaves, put on the front lines of the Hound’s assault like fodder.

We were quick; we took Blair, and we ran. The Door was still there, at the end of the trail.

Alyssa and I have yet to rest. We spent all night tending to the wounds. We cannot be certain whether or not Blair will pull through.

If xe dies here, it was all for nothing. I can’t decide if that would be for the better.