I must confess that as the fall progresses I find myself feeling rather out of sorts. My frustrations with Ste.Croix have abated somewhat, as she has been much kinder to me of late, even assisting me with my research into historic asylums and suggesting that I get into contact with Ms Kingsley, who so kindly led me through the former site of Northampton State. Stone remains as obstinately infuriating as ever, although I find he grates on my nerves somewhat less than he used to. One becomes accustomed to anything, I suppose. Ritter ignores my existence for the most part, reserving only an occasional sneer for when he must acknowledge my presence. But that also does not disturb me.

I find that my sleep has been troubled, and that when I awaken, I seem to be hearing voices. I do not recognize them, nor can I quite determine what they are saying, if anything at all. I think some are children crying, but there is no real reason I can determine for why this might be. I think it is time for me to review the texts on dreams that are in my office, although I do not clearly remember most of them.

–VKB Angell