Journal of Magthew Budj
I remember our life as country surgeons back in Nashkel—we only ever wanted to be the best. To learn how to staunch any mortal wound. How did we get here? Kressa hasn't been herself since her pet True Soul was shipped out on that Nautiloid. I haven't been able to so much as touch her, I find myself growing green at the thought. My own wife revolts me with those experiments. Not really my wife any longer. I thought that getting that favourite creature dispatched would bring her back to herself, but she pines for that damned feral corpse with aching need. If she finds out I ratted out to Balthazar that she was keeping it, and got it sent away, she might kill me.