I'm exhausted. Totally drained. These past few days were not easy, even for an Old One like me. There have been too many cases of werelings in the hunt for it to be a coincidence...Who could have the mental power to control one big group at once? Perhaps its the full moon. Such is the latency of the moon. My mind still reels from the ambushes by the werelings. 'Tis no laughing matter for something is afoot in the Netherworld.

I have to recuperate. Have to meditate to regain back my lost energy. For I chose not to feed on the humans anymore. It disgusts me. Some other creatures will have to suffice. When I have the energy to hunt that is. Ironically, my muse came back. Talk about being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Is that what you mortals call it? I think 'tis something like that. Enclosed in the parchments is my next work, Primrose in the Wild.

Yours truly
Aristocrat