[Carillon]

It was Rhiannon. They found her head, on the Hempstead docks, a bloody note stuffed into her mouth.

I was at Connor’s when the word came. He, Anna and I set out for Hempstead immediately. Thank the stars that Lindel and Merlin were there to watch over Finn and Aislin, for I do not think I could have withstood being left behind after the news came.

When we arrived, the docks and the city were still abuzz with talk of the gruesome sight. After ascertaining that the authorities held the head and the note that he had stuffed into her mouth, we went to them to try and claim the remains and find out anything else that might help us. They were reluctant to divulge anything at first, but Connor, Anna and I can all be quite persuasive in our own ways, and once we claimed to be warding the girl’s brother and the nearest thing she had to a guardian at present, they spoke more frankly.

We were shown the note, and after some persuasion the constable, a man by the name of Tarkus, agreed to oversee the release of the remains to us. I was prepared to bribe him to obtain them, but it seems it was not necessary. Still, bureaucracy demands a great deal of paperwork and wait time, it appears, and we have been told it will be two days before we can take Rhiannon’s severed head home with us.

Having seen the evidence of the violent means of her passing, I worry more and more for her spirit. How can the soul witness such trauma and still pass gently beyond this life? Rhiannon was so full of anger after her first death that I worry she will somehow transmute the anger she feels now into something ugly and evil. Connor told me how Merlin nearly became a revenant. It is from a fate like this that I wish to spare Rhiannon.

It has occurred to me that I may not be handling this situation well. Analytically, I can determine this, though I know not how to remedy the problem. I cannot reverie without waking to horrific scenes peopled by laughing half-orcs and crying children, and grisly piles of child-sized remains. I have seen what I believe must be every variation on how Rhiannon might have met her end, more clearly than any image through a scrying pool. I am haunted by the knowledge of her suffering. Surely this means her soul yet lingers, and I might do something to aid her?

I am losing weight. I have no appetite for food, though I ply it upon Finn and gently chastise him when he does not want to eat either. I am hypocritical in my grief. More worrying though, I have noticed a dwindling appetite for life. I feel set apart from things, as if there is a veil between me and the rest of the world. I push against it, but it is like trying to swim through quicksand. Even the simplest tasks seem to involve colossal amounts of effort now. More and more often I find myself leaving Aislin with Connor or Anna or Lindel or Merlin, or even Elgon. It is as if what has happened to these children is affecting my ability to care for my own child.

I know not what to do.