The Diary of Eliza Haywood

August 12th, Sinister Morning Hours

At last, I am pressed to share details of a matter that I have been avoiding for many weeks. And though this is my first mention of the horror I won't deny that my recent entries contain hints of my worsening mental and physical condition.

My aged body seems no longer capable of withstanding the lack of restfulness inflicted by the nightly visits of the creature. And over the last few days, I have often awoken in cold sweats, exhausted from dreaming itself so that I would sink into unsatisfying disjointed slumbers throughout the day.

Upon realizing the severity of the issue and with no one around to provide me with a more sophisticated approach, I was forced to confront the horror head-on within the dream itself and achieve a sort of lucidity therein. And I have been practicing this art without mention here for several months.

However, so far this method bore no fruit. Every night I would supposedly wake to encounter the creature yet upon the first glimpse at the hovering thing would the nightmare resolve and the rays of twilight announce the next morning.

I realize that my obsession with uncovering the purpose of the recurring dream is most likely the cause of its increase in frequency and detail. Studying subjects of such morbid nature usually makes matters worse, especially when one tries not to think of them, much less dream of them.

However, I believe doing so brought me one step closer to understanding the nature of the creature. I stated before that it would appear while I was still asleep. In truth, I was unsure as to whether the thing appeared outside my real bedroom or some kind of reflection thereof, a dreamscape identical in every aspect to its real counterpart.

Only tonight did I manage to muster up enough courage for a closer look at the alien thing which is, in fact, not a creation of my own imagination. And I have come to believe that due to this simple discovery I must leave my shelter behind and journey elsewhere to, at last, find some respite.

Dunwidt is not far. I remember my years of infancy when the free-folk claimed it their capital and pronounced that its gates would not reject even the poorest and living was cheap if one is willing to serve. An old woman like me will surely find a few peaceful months before she passes on into oblivion.

But should the horror follow me there then may the night watch protect us all. Needless to say, I do not know what the thing is truly capable of but I will document my experience:

At all times it remains accompanied by a cold draft as its humanoid body mostly consists of indigo hued flames, the most potent kind of fire that requires large amounts of air to sustain itself. Its head and primary arms seem heavier than the rest of its limbs which float higher and cannot be described in function or number due to their flickering nature and general monochromacy. So it floats above the trees and roofs, restlessly observing the sleeping with its crammed head of countless eyes, noses, ears and other sense organs too alien to describe.

Of its intent, past its silent watch, I can only speculate but my gut feeling accounts the new moon which now shines over the Midlands a harbinger of all kinds of malignant turns and continuations of fate.