(the handwriting of this entry is wildly messy, as if written in great haste or under distress, though it smooths out as the entry progresses)
Please tell me it's not him.
I've just returned from town. I was at the market buying a few things, planning for a nice, quiet evening at home tonight. I looked up, though I don't know what drew my attention, and I saw a man. Tall, lean, dressed in black from head to toe. Staring at me. He was standing near the alley, the one that leads under the Scholar's Stair and towards Beggar's Alley. My heart froze in my chest, I couldn't breathe. A wagon passed along the street, obscuring my view, and by the time it moved along, he was gone. I couldn't move for some time, the woman behind the market stall kept asking me if I was all right, but I couldn't answer her. I finally stirred, took my wares, and hurried towards the inn, the closest place where I knew I'd feel safe. I told myself frantically that I'd only imagined the sight. But I haven't give him a thought in months, so why would he suddenly appear in a vision like that?
The Pony was blessedly empty as I stumbled through the door. Barliman stared at me with wide, alarmed eyes. I imagine I was a sight to behold, frantic and disheveled. I asked him outright. Had there been a man inquiring after me? I could tell at once from the terrified, rabbit-in-a-trap look on his face that it was true. My breath caught in my throat again, and I nearly fainted on the spot, catching myself on the edge of the bar, Barliman reaching over hastily to seize my arm. It was all I could do not to collapse into hysteria, but I demanded to know why he hadn't told me! My fury overrode my common sense, I confess, and I'm ashamed now. Barliman, of course, had been putting the man off as long as he could, giving him nothing to go on that might lead him to find me. And he hadn't wanted me to worry and panic, as I naturally did upon discovering what was happening.
He assured me he would continue to feign ignorance of my whereabouts, even though the man had thrust a heavy pouch of coin into his hands, effectively forcing Barliman to be obligated to him in return. I quietly thanked the old barkeep for what he had done, and told him expressly that he owed me no further protection, especially since it means putting a bullseye on his own head. I asked him how often the man had shown up, what times of day he had done so. It seems he arrives every other day or so, at the same time in the late afternoon. At least this gives me the chance to avoid town during that hour...
But now I am faced with something I cannot escape. If the man has already proved so persistent, at some point, I am going to have to confront him. I will try to avoid him for now, and hope he relents and goes away. But if he doesn't, I will not live the rest of my days in fear and hiding. Strangely, I do not fear what he could do to me in terms of physical violence. No, his terror lies in his persuasion, his silken voice, his cold, calculating eyes, and the subtle, unspoken threats towards those around me. And I must be doubly vigilant whenever I am in town. I must have eyes on the back of my head, as they say.
Oh, how I wish this were just a bad dream from which I might shake myself and awaken!!
I cannot tell any of my friends about this. I simply cannot. It is too... complicated. Too shameful. They would want to rush to a confrontation with this man, and that is like thinking you can outmaneuver an angry cobra. No, this snake must be avoided altogether... if it can be.
