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It's Sunday. Nothing like a little Parkour to get the blood flowing.

Anyone in? I'm also up stupidly early.

I am going slowly growing accustomed to what is occurring because of these dreams. I would say, even, I am growing to sympathize with my dream self. That is perhaps not an appealing notion to most, but it is an interesting history to dream. I dream of being a man who is heralded as a folk hero in my home country, and yet I am not that man at the same time.

And I have now received a gift it would seem. I walked into my home upon returning from work and found a pungent order met my nose. In my kitchen was a create, which was filled with a dark soil. I know from my dreams that I must take this soil with me where I go, so I may rest better, because it is Transylvanian soil and that is my home. Upon relocating from my castle to England, my dream counterpart shipped many boxes of this to be buried in his new home. I am not a superstitious man by nature. This place has made me think of things differently. I think I will find a way to carry a bit of this earth with me, lest I be caught somewhere and unable to rest. Perhaps a vial I may keep in my wallet, or in my pocket.