12th of June

As I expected, the dreams have been the same. There have been shapes and curves once more, and a voice... or voices... I do not remember. Nor do I remember the words. Just the sound, the quality of it... and the effect it had. I awoke hot, and sweating... and, to my shame, with my member so achingly hard it tented the bed sheets.

Miss Blake has expressed concern for me. Apparently, she heard groans and pained, unintelligible muttering from my chambers last night, although she could not discern what I said. I did my best to appease her - I could never relate to her the effects of the dreams, much less the dreams themselves, even if I remembered more of them.

My haggard countenance has been noticed at the institute. Three days of bad sleep are not easily hidden, it seems. I have assuaged any concerns in the hopes that this is simply a passing spell of bad dreams. Miss Blake has prepared a light dinner with a drink of milk with honey, a folk remedy that her mother made for her in her youth when a young Miss Blake slept unwell, the good soul.

We shall see how much it helps.