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Still ain't haven't found the little girl, Sofia, in the dreams. Went looking for her in the middle of the night, in the woods. Found some poor sap who opted out, hanged himself. Wasted an arrow to put him out of his misery. Wasn't even anything worth scavenging in his camp.

By morning, we moved on, heading up to the farm where Rick was with Carl. I went out again, looking for Sofia. Found a farmhouse, looks like she might have been there. I took a Cherokee Rose back to her mother and tried to give her hope, but fact is I'm not sure how much more hope I've got. I ain't giving up on that girl, but it's been three days now. Her chances ain't looking so good.

Woke up feeling like road kill. So that's fun.

And on this, the 231st anniversary of storming the Bastille... my stage husband reaches out to me about a tribute cabaret to Frank Wildhorn and how isn't it such a coincidence that my brother, husband, and I all share names with someone from The Scarlet Pimpernel, which of course will be on the set list?

I mean don't get me wrong, I've loved the Frank Wildhorn shows I've been in and of course agreed. But he just had to make a comment on the names. Though there is no one better to sing the role of myself, especially as I've done so twice now. And of course Percy thinks this is hilarious.