[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/Qt9DFLQ.gif[/img][/center]
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[color=seagreen][i]Who can one trust when the dust is cleared?[/i][/color]

The question circled through Daimyon's mind again and again as the madness unfolded before his eyes in the courtroom. Isaiah's murderous intention flared out and thrashed against Calvin's steel resolve violently while they brawled on the ground. Chaos and bloodthirst descended on the group, the intense atmosphere took a hold over even the most level-headed Infinites as they called for the death of the trickster.

It was all too much for Daimyon. He had just finished writing a poem in the midst of all this, yet he was already aching to return to the world of his imagination. Anything to get away from the all-consuming despair. Jezebel's rundown on the murder sent chills down his spine while the details of how the hapless Marianne died caused disgust to rise in his throat. Disgust that threatened to take over his entire body, to rally his mind and heart both against the perceived evil standing in this very room. He felt his muscles tense at every other mention of the heinousness of the crime. He channelled this horrible energy into the vote, making his with a strained sigh of relief.

When the culprit spoke again, he was no longer listening. He did not wait for inspiration to strike—he doggedly called upon it himself, and started writing a remembrance piece for the one who deserved it: Marianne Roche.

[center][color=seagreen]Like a flower on a roadside field you've been
On a sleepy morning, glistening with dew[/color][/center]

The execution began, the spectacle the vicious masses were waiting for—but Daimyon kept writing, tearing his eyes away from the screen. He would not be dragged into anymore madness.

[center][color=seagreen]Joyous was every traveller who passed through here
A spot of beauty—that's how they remembered you[/color][/center]

One last maniacal cackle sounded as the murderer breathed his last.

[center][color=seagreen]Alas, terrible woe loomed ahead
A rogue came and tore you from your bed[/color][/center]

A man started speaking, quite loudly. The screen now showed a different courtroom, not unlike the Infinites' own. The words came difficult for Daimyon so he redoubled his efforts, focusing entirely on the pen in his hand and the words in his head.

[center][color=seagreen]He ripped out your roots, then hacked your stalk in two
Threw away your petals, left it for the wind that blew
It away, all away...[/color][/center]

Familiar yet frightening chords sounded once more: death's music.

[center][color=seagreen]Worry not, beautiful flower!
The rogue had no command
O'er the gracious wind that wind to
Fly every petal of yours into the hand
Of those you were kind to

Worry not, beautiful flower!
We will keep your flame
We will remember your name
And when we emerge from hell with glory,
We will tell your story.[/color][/center]

The poet closed his notebook with relief. He felt as if a stone had fallen off his heart, and he could finally smile again for the three new Infinites who had just arrived.

[hr]
Everyone was considerably exhausted by the time they got back to their rooms, Daimyon being no exception. He lay down in his bed almost right away, reading over the pages of his notebook as he had done every night before heading to sleep. The thought of Marianne remained in the back of his mind—the last time he saw her alive was when she had been enquiring about his absence. If only he had known what was going to happen, he would have spent more time with her...

He hoped his poem, small consolation as it was, would reach her in the heavens.

[hr]
Blissful rest avoided Daimyon for most of the night. An ominous feeling of emptiness, something he could not quite place, kept him awake into the late hours. When he slept, he had no dreams—although he considered that a blessing after all that happened. Rising from the bed still groggy, his attention instinctively turned towards the partly-deciphered diary on his table. It had already taken too much time away from him, and no secret was worth enough to keep him away from the people he cherished. With this newfound determination—and a refreshing shower to get the last vestiges of sleep out of his system—, he left his room to have breakfast.

People filtered in and out of the break room when he arrived and he found no one to really strike a morning conversation up with. That was not a bad thing; like most other people, he was an all-around more pleasant person to be around when he had a full belly. He headed for the kitchen where he found two people: Bliss Buckly, whom he already knew, and Emily Rishima, who was new. He had some catching-up to do, socialising-wise.

[color=seagreen]“Good morning, ladies,”[/color] he said with a smile. [color=seagreen]“Emily, I don't believe we've met! I'm Daimyon Londe, Infinite Poet, at your service.”[/color] He took a small bow. [color=seagreen]“May I help with anything? Perhaps cooking up something? While I may not be the most talented in the kitchen, I can assure you, my enthusiasm is up there with the best of them!”[/color]

Just after this gracious and perhaps somewhat unwise offer was presented, the screens came alive with the unmistakable sound of Monokuma. He introduced [i]three more[/i] new Infinites, after the initial bunch yesterday.
[color=seagreen]“Goodness...our little group is getting expansive, is it not?”[/color] A hint of a frown could be spotted on his face which he retracted back into his pacifying smile a mere moment later. [color=seagreen]“Well! As they say: the more, the merrier, right? Shall we go welcome these new arrivals?”[/color]