Faranell has been fidgety around me, uncommon for a forsaken. I am unsure as to whether he shall discharge me, murder me, or infect me. I suspect none of the above will actually bother me; I’ve grown restless and bored without new challenges. Anastasia has been gruesomely cheery of late, I suspect she’s covering for Faranell. Her disgusting physiognomies, those that she can still muster I should say, aren’t helping him any.

The plague bearers have been spotted everywhere. I don’t doubt that he is bitter about this and sees it as some sort of infringement. The chaos has consumed many; they fritter about and store goods, weapons, even money. As if a few silver will be worth anything when the living ceases. No, the only currency that will be worth anything will be a pulse.

I’ve spent my last few nights drinking heavily, I admit. I’m not ready to ascend, I’ve not had my fun yet. But there is little fun to be had of late. My tryst with a young elf is over; he was far too interested in moralizing over his conduct with me and dissecting my actions. I found it all quite senseless and self-righteous. What good is it to torment oneself over morality? As a hedonist, I will always seek pleasure, especially before satisfying a few of this accursed society’s arbitrary rules. If my finding pleasure means I must consent to cause you harm, I most likely will. It is nothing personal, I just want my life to mean so much more than good behavior and hand-wringing before others. I want to feel my own flesh before it is torn away from me for good.

But I admit. I am lonely.