like beautiful stories

[Much like a certain Baskerville had a few months ago, Elliot Nightray wakes up in Luceti to find himself a dripping, bloody mess. Though he would love to recall just why that is, he gets the odd feeling that he just doesn't have time for that.

If he could have his way, he'd walk right to the clinic himself, but that doesn't seem like an option right now. He can barely stand, and the smell of blood isn't making him feel better. He'd never make it there alone. He reaches for the journal with a bloody hand and addresses the most important matter first.]

I... I need a doctor, or a healer, or whatever the hell you call yourselves. Now.

[He purposely doesn't state his location, but he's near the rec center if anyone happens to find him first. He is sitting by a tree, conveniently out of sight, putting pressure on one of his hands. Just follow the trail of blood.

In the meantime, he'll idly contemplate the meaning of life, death, and— why does it feel like he's forgetting something important?]

[Like many others, the recent experiment had caused Elliot Nightray some grief. Unlike everyone else, though, Elliot wasn't worried about his "family" situation now that things were over with. Something else has been worrying him instead. Namely...]

Everyone affected by that experiment had dreams last week, right? Did anyone dream of things that didn't happen? Or things that couldn't have happened?

[Unfortunately, there isn't much to do since it's raining, so housemates can find Elliot sitting near the living room window, reading. It doesn't look like he's enjoying it, though. Something's really bothering him about those dreams.]