Finally my excesses usurped my social credits that the uncivil powers beneath counted and gobbled like it was the sweetest heart's blood.

The only sorry surprise was that my sheriff sold me out, it turned out loyalty and obedience, the very blind spots where I'm most comfortable, were more important to him than a thirty year old friendship. Fleeting, I am sure, but very real to me in a most delicate and binding way. He could not face me as I cried bloody tears staining the living room rug. Then they staked my lovers and I started to grin. A most disturbing grin I'm sure. In vain, but, I am vain by nature.

Joseph, the ventrue, through and through.

My most trusted right hand in court.

Touch my hand, because to you,

knowing that it was you; a false steward.

I have a final gift and it's hoot and a half, a manic giggle.

Some of my madness for you to nibble.

I do a cartwheel and a little jig as I invite him to the dance macabre.

His horrified face twisted into a slack-jawed grin as he falls to the floor.

I send him a flying kiss when hauled through the doors.

He won't make a domain of Portland nor ever be alone.

I am playing patty-cake him, without body, sans soul.

"We'll they can't diablerie me twice, can they?

And death is still final, anyways.

I've wanted to try it for the longest time."

I did not die that night dear diary.

They could not muster the gusto to do it. Fearing vengeance and rightfully so.

Sheriff, I name thee. I unname thee. Croneborn Baali. I see you. "Viktûr of the Samí"

It's only magic if you believe in it.


With more than welcome openings of the artery from Janne...