We have to give him a little break.

There was an awkward silence in the tavern as Natalia stood still in shock. Within the hat was a similar experience, though I didn't have much of a reason to talk at the moment anyway. It stayed that way, us both in disbelief, for a long time.

Eventually, we were both startled by a voice, "I believe you were going to your room?" Natalia jumped and spun to look at the barkeep, who was back to cleaning his mug and not looking at who he speaks to as normal.

Natalia shook herself out of her stupor, "Ah yes, right. Thank you." She gave a slight bow, which the barkeep nodded to without looking. 'I really do need to figure out what is going on with him.' I thought as I squinted at the glorified camera screen in front of me.

Natalia left towards the rooms, silent and seemingly deep in thought. Once she was far enough, she stopped in front of a door I did not recognize, though I assumed it was her room. She simply stood there, hesitating for a long time, before at last grabbing the handle and slowly opening it.

The room within was nothing special, it looked rather similar to mine. There was a shelf that was stuffed full of books, and some novelties about, but otherwise it was a near copy. Even the bed had near no sines of rest upon it, just like mine. This lead me to believe she probably slept on the large nest of pillows behind me, which was strange to think about.

She silently moved into the room, and closed the door behind her. In a smooth yet robotic motion, she took her hat off her head and placed it upon the nightstand next to the bed. Finally getting to see her face for myself, she had this distant and lost expression.

She sat down on the bed and stayed like that for awhile. After letting out a large sigh, she fell backwards, simply laying down on the bed in silence. It felt strange to be here for this, a spectator who couldn't interfere if they wanted to. I still didn't know how to leave the hat after all.

After a few awkward moments of me being there, she grabbed a pillow and covered her face with it, screaming softly into it. At this point, I felt it would be a simple curtesy to busy myself with something I could find within the hat, and let her have the least bit of privacy.

Looking around, I had a few options of things to pass the time with. I admired the many gizmos about, investigated some of the piled up books that were near everywhere, and took a rest in a chair at the desk with the art, as it would feel weird to lay down where I had come to realize she slept.

While laying back, I noticed that there was a drawer I had not seen before on the desk. Pulling it out, I saw something that surprised me. There were a few papers inside, all of them appearing to be much older than what was on top of the desk.

I looked at the top paper before I touched any of them, not wishing to damage the clearly delicate documents. The top paper was... seemingly a journal entry of something. It seemed like it was written angrily at fist, in very sloppy handwriting and sentences that weren't absolutely grammatically accurate. The top left corner was torn a bit, cutting off a small amount of text. The rest, with my corrections, is as follows:

---------3379, It's a jolly day, now isn't it, Marckus? You did it, you proved me wrong you fucking bastard. I hope you're happy, because we both know that I knew I was lying. But why, you may ask, why would I lie about something being impossible when I could gain so much by proving it was possible? For a simple reason, Marckus. Because of what else comes with that discovery. Do you not realize what you have done? What you have permitted? It is a horrible concept. 'Monsters to fight monsters', that was your speech, right? What happens when the monsters we make kill the ones we fight? What do we do with them? Noone wants them, that's why we are at war in the first place. I just don't understand. How could someone with such vision fail to see something so clear? Was it because of that man I have seen you with? Oh yes, I saw you. I don't know who they are, but whoever it is that keeps showing up on the balcony in those cloaks and robes can't be worth this. I don't care if you have some sop story to tell about forbidden romance or some shit, you're dooming all of us!
Ugh, I need to calm down, this is an entry, not a letter. I can't address this whole thing to someone who isn't in the target audience. Well then, for the updates on my projects. As could be inferred, Marckus has proven they work. As much as this has ruined my plans, I can still continue. My prototype is near complete, something better than Marckus' "Machines". It is capable of speech, and thought. By the father, I almost have it able to feel empathy. It was a rough road, with so many failures, but I am almost there. The newest one has shown immense potential. It knows pain, and has recognized it in the animals! No other one was able to before! I will write more when I have the time, but right now, I must return and finish as quickly as possible, before I get found out.
This is ---------------, Signing off.

The name of the writer at the very end was scratched out, leaving great confusion as to who had written it. The page itself also raised many questions, 'When was this written? What is it describing? Why does Natalia have this?' My questions went without answers from the first paper, so I considered investigating the second.

I carefully moved the top paper as not to damage it, looking upon the bottom one. I raised my eyebrows and went wide-eyed at the second paper. It had less writing, as well as being near entirely soaked in blood to the point that almost all of the paper was a different color. Trying to piece together the words, it seemed to say the following:

Failure but worse. I was wrong, so wrong. A monster that knows pain is a mistake. How could I have done this. I was wrong. I was foolish. I don't understand what it is anymore. It was something else just this morning, but then it found the others. It is dangerous, angry, murderous. It knows pain, and it wants their pain. I looked where the failures were, nothing but stains, not even bones. I gave it too much, so I trapped it. I bound it, gave it restraints. I didn't, I lie. It was not me, but the other one. The one who started this all. They came back today, right when it got out. Said they knew this would happen, knew all of it. I then realized. They wanted this. Marckus wasn't the only one damning us. I am so sorry, for what I have done. For what I have made.

There was no signoff this time, which was somewhat poetic. I carefully put the paper back down and closed the drawer as I thought about the implications of what I had read. There seemed to be something important in them, but I lacked the final pieces.

Alas, I may never know the secrets of these journals, but they gave me an idea regardless.