In a way Bertram might have been right. I am starting to make mistakes. Though I still disagree that being lenient on young Lord Elyot was none of them I have to face the truth and acknowledge that I am growing old. And make the mistakes that, in earlier years, I never made.

Terrifyingly I committed this sin when hunting. There was this woman…. Elisabeth… Admittedly I put more effort into the hunt with her. I should not have. Once she was there, I could not hold back. And when I did it was almost too late. I gave her of my blood to save her life. Her life, in contrast to taking it. Or to turning her. That I could not do. Even now I feel I am too young to create progeny of my own.

Now she is my servant as well she should be. By now I feel no remorse over the fact itself anymore. Merely regret over failing to control my own thirst.

What is left is to talk to my Seneshall. I am sure Olivia will not like those news much. But she must know. A certain trust must be kept. Still I dread the conversation. I dread her looks. Yet then, who am I to crouch before another’s glance. I will not falter.

Perhaps I should contact another again. Her presence was distraction enough to pretend, if only for a few brief moments, that we are not the monsters that others fear at night but still left with a shred of humanity. Is it this that drove me to show mercy for a boy? That which made me safe a mortal woman, despite knowing the ways I would have to introduce her to? Or am I delusional, fooling myself that there is still a part of me that might be worth saving, one part that should not be damned to hell as faith would dictate… I must find out. Somehow.