I came to Bree in search of answers for my family. Looking for any sign that my father was here, if anyone knew where he went, or if anyone knew if he was still alive. I moved into the house that my mother left behind, cleaned it up, put furniture in it. I wasn't interested in making friends when I came to Bree. I didn't expect to stay here for very long, I thought that I'd find a lead on my father and then that I'd leave again, in search of a trail that he might have left behind.
And yet, I did make a new friend. Someone who didn't have many friends either. I was trying to help him be better, to come clean to the people he did consider friends, and to stop acting like a villain sometimes. I thought that if I gave him somewhere to stay and that if I made it clear that I was his friend and wasn't going anywhere, that things would get better and people's minds would change.
Keeping a journal was never something that interested me, but my mother used to do it, and Primrose used to do it. What better thing to start a journal with than the death of my friend? My emotions are all over the place, and he was the only person I had bared such personal things. Now there is no one to tell such things to, except for a brand new journal that hasn't been written in yet.
He had done things that warranted punishment, sure. We all have done things. But he was sorry for them, at least I think so. He did not deserve to die in a back-alley surrounded by people who simply watched, and did nothing to step in to help. I had not come out of the building and heard the commotion sooner, I did not appear at the scene until it was already done. But people were there, and they didn't do anything to help. That speaks more of their character than anything else does.
