Dear Journal,

I am not in the buisness of learning the names of my victims, but some of these sketches I ...acquired from the graveyard are marked by our little artist. There is a certain... je ne sais quoi about his works, I daresay I begrudgingly admire his expertise...

It is a shame he will be dead by tommorrow evening. 

My birds are gathering, but there seems to be little of interest happening in this backwards place for them to whisper to me about. Everything is so... dreadfully dull. I am looking forward to heading citywards soon.
Arianne 

Dearest Journal,

oh, this is all simply too peeeerrrrfect.

Our little meal is bringing dessert out with him.  I wa beginning to think the crows might have been a bit too much dazzle and a little too much waste - you know how I can be unnecessarily flashly sometimes - but their keen eyes have actually paid off. Don't get me wrong. I have so delighted in watching the growing terror in our mark's actions this last while. His fear is becoming palpable.

But this... this delectable morsel of information really goes down a treat. She seems sweet, you know. Terribly, terribly sweet. I am sure they'll have a wonderful time together. Picture perfect, one might say. A darling of a date. 

I wonder if he'll take it well when I break all her precious little bones when they go to say goodbye? 

or perhaps just her legs? 

My crows tell me they can't keep their eyes off each other, it would be a shame to ruin it in their last moments.

Ahh, young love. It would be a cruelty against art not to let them die together. 

Enjoy the night, my dear artist, I will be watching.

Riveted with anticipation, Arianne x