From the writ of Dr. Richard Morton

September 11

I believe that you will find the enclosed very interesting. I acquired this manuscript from a rather odd woman on the night of August 26. I assume that this was originally intended for a Dr. Hapsberg or perhaps one of his colleagues at the University of Massachusetts at Dartmouth. Her claims of having a hand in ceasing the Immortium are at best unsubstantiated, though she does seem to have a clear understanding of the facts surrounding the terrible goings- on in Gloucester of the previous year.

The night the creature came to visit was filled with thunderstorms and brownouts. One more superstitious than myself would believe that she'd had a hand in stirring up such activity, but she didn't appear to be enjoying the weather any more than I, having been soaked to the bone in her simple white dress from the downpour.

She claimed she had been referred to me by Dr. Hapsberg for "emotional troubles." Upon inquiring, I found that the woman, whose long hair was obviously dyed black and whose bright colored eyes were red- rimmed with tears, had the fanciful notion that I could cure her of love! I nearly laughed at the absurdity of these words and replied, "But love is the most human of emotions."

The young woman's pale features changed to a frightful looking face and her brilliant green eyes smarted. "Love is not known among such creatures as I."

"Perhaps not among people as young as yourself, but it is quite natural." I assured her.

She shook her head and glowered at the floor for a moment. Then she proceeded to to ask if Dr. Hapsberg had told me about a certain Elisha Kilrow?

I nearly dropped my tea in bewilderment, for the doctor most certainly had during his last visit here. He was fascinated by this woman, who he claimed was more than a "mere mortal." I thought him to be delusional in this at the time, perhaps out of infatuation, but said nothing. He had, after all, convinced me of the existence of creatures far more bizarre and terrifying than this.

"You are her?" I stammered.

"Perhaps." she murmured. It was then that I noticed the faint mark on her shoulder, which she had attempted to hide with her badly dyed hair. I tried in vain to inquire about it, but she ignored my question entirely and looked out upon the storm. The mark seemed more like a scar from a burn, and was of a curious design; a series of concentric rings and an equal armed cross in the center. I shudder to think, now that I know part of her tragic story (assuming that at least part of her writings contained here are true), of its historical significance what with the Immortium and all.

She handed me an envelope before her abrupt departure, but not before asking in her soft British accent, "Is love as terrible as I have been lead to believe?"

I regret to inform you that I was unable to reply, having been totally thrown off guard by the question. She left without another word, and I have not had any contact with her since.

I do not know where she has gone to now, nor can I find her friend Dr. Hapsberg. I have also received word that there is growing unrest in Gloucester again, and fear that both may be there now as I write this.

Please hold Ms. Kilrow's manuscript securely within your library, at least until we have found both persons and can substantiate her writings.

Regards,

Dr. Richard Morton
Professor of Neuropsychology,
Brown University

---

From the writ of Elisha Kilrow

You have asked that I tell my Life story to you, but I regret that I cannot, out of concern for my own self- preservation. This must amuse you in some way, given that I have expressed desire to you to die as a mortal [the remainder of the sentence is scratched out].... I can, however, tell you that I have been many things to the people throughout the years: Witch, Angel, Daemon... and the unfamiliar term you use to describe myself and my kind. I suppose that this last term is closest to what I am, though I would prefer to be called as the Druids of old Britainnia referred to us: Cymruiadh. Among those who remember the old lore, we came from a place as yet unknown to you out of sight of the stars. Beyond that, dear mortal, I should not tell you, as there are many things that people strive to know that they should not.

I shall begin my story at the time I took on my current Human name now, as I feel this is most important for you to know.

My memories of the Life I had led before this have been deliberately altered [remainder of this sentence is illegible].... [I] shall only tell you, then, of what I know at the moment. I came to Life in this Body, as it were, during one of the worst periods of European history: the Burning Times. With my memory clouded, I was easy prey for the wretched 'Witch Hunters' of Bavaria during that black age of Humans' existence. I know not how I appeared to these mortals then; I have a vague recollection of how I have appeared to others in previous incarnations, and it is never quite the same. I know it is they who altered my appearance in my attempt to rip the gut out of the true evil in your world; it is they who tore, hacked and burned my Wings off of my Body. It is they who gave me the Marks I bear in shame on my right shoulder and between my shoulder blades. And they, too, are the ones who defiled me and caused me to turn away from my duties and spend centuries toiling in empty vengeance while the Immortium's power grew.

It was some time after my Wings were stripped that He came to me. I could not, for some reason, be executed in public according to the local diocese, as was the custom at the time. So I had been chained to a prison wall and tortured with various instruments for their perverted pleasures for what must have been several days. Being weakened, I was unable to fight back or escape, something which still causes bile to rise in me whenever I recall this. Blinded, rendered mute due to a broken jaw, and essentially crippled, I kicked out and thrashed as best I could at Him, fully expecting another round of torture and silently hoping for Death at last. He simply laughed and set me free. I fell to the floor and lay there a moment before He lifted me up and carried me outside.

I soon learned that it was winter the hard way, as the frigid Bavarian winds chilled my bare flesh almost instantly. I can recall hearing the faint crunching of snow beneath us as He walked to the shelter where He spent weeks healing my damaged Body-- and little else. In time, I regained my sight and the ability to speak as you mortals do. Despite all of this, there was a darkness in my Soul that would steadily grow through the years, one that He Himself would gladly feed.

I have heard mortals among you say that whenever two Souls meet, they carry a part of each other with them for the rest of their lives. I realize that it is as true among my people as it is with all of you. I have come to the uncomfortable realisation that no matter how hard I work to undo the wrongs I committed in my past, I will always have Him in my Soul.... [the remainder of the paragraph is illegible]

As you now know, He who had rescued me was one of my kind. I knew him as the Arch-Fiend of Light. I shall call him Lakhun, as this is the easiest name for Humans to pronounce.

Anjeline

There are those

[more later after I've slept, or whatever it is I do when I'm supposed to sleep]