I was taken with an odd sort of cold recently, and I'm glad it passed. I was unable to work during that time, and my employer became rather annoyed. He went so far as to make a house call and had to be persuaded to no longer infringe upon my privacy.

I've heard there is a detective here who is investigating the case. I suppose that was the next rational step, but it does make the reality of the situation all the more difficult to cope with.

I will do everything that I can, of course, to aid this detective. But for now, the weather is miserable, and I need to go to work regardless.

It's odd. A sensation of loss seems to hit little by little, piece by piece, until you wake up one morning and they all slide together quite neatly. I hadn't realized how lacking this little house seemed all by myself, but as I wake with no need to prepare a large breakfast, or wake my companion, it seems... lonely.

Lonely is a far cry from sad, which I already was, and so... it gets harder. I have been told that time heals all wounds, but I suppose this is an instance where in order for it to get better, it must get worse.

The thought that people could die so violently in Jade is unsettling, but it seems the authorities have no leads.

This house suddenly seems so cold.