My name is Helen Antonia Wilkins - I put it down in its entirity here for the simple reason that to see it written reminds me who I am and reminds me who I was, even though the memory has the potential to destroy me. Not yet, as this new life is still too much of a novelty to me, but eventually...
My only regret in all of this is that I wish I was able to see my family again. Even as I am now, hideous as I am, I am glad of what I have become and what I now do. Here I can make more of a difference than I ever did in the mortal world, and for longer. Here I can do genealogical tracings and actually talk to people who were around during the times I'm researching... if only I could get over this strange shyness I seem to have developed. I feel that it is a holdover from my dark days as a ghoul; not that Michael ever treated me badly, but he did - quite literally as it turned out - scare the life out of me in order to turn me to his goals. For a very long time I wasn't sure about what was real and what was in my head. It takes a long time to accustom oneself to the revelation that there are such as we in the world, and I am still learning how to deal with them. I must redouble my efforts. I cannot let the Clan or Michael down.
It's hard to believe, looking at the picture above, drawn by my own clumsy hand - yes, I can still see myself in mirrors, though I know you might think "more's the pity", believe me when I tell you that the power of the Nosferatu that comes into you when you take on this form, the week or so of screaming in pure agony as you twist and mutate, is more than worth the incidental problems skin flaking and oozing bring - that once I was considered to be quite an attractive woman, for a librarian. I was fast becoming sick of the constant "When are you going to get yourself a man, dear? Time is running out, you know, and you're such a pretty girl..." from the well-meaning old dears that came into the library. If only they could see me now. I now have myself a Clan, and I have Michael - well, not in that sense, of course, for he is all of ours, but he is a very special being. What more can I ask for?
The Nosferatu archive is proceeding as planned - I have worked out the "shelving" arrangements, though I suppose that "storing" is more the appropriate term, given there are very few actual shelves involved. I am receiving donations from others apart from Michael now, which is heartening. Soon I will announce that all is ready for others of the Blood to access.
Life in the sewers isn't all bad. One day I will even set up my own garden down here - Michael has given me free reign in that regard. I only wish he had been able to Sire me into the Clan as well. Oh well...
I have changed a great deal since my early dealings with the Camarilla; it's almost amusing to think back over those times, though even now, when I do similar things on almost a nightly basis, I remember my initial experience with Michael with horror. I forgive him, of course, but still... We are horror personified, aren't we?
Read Helen's Ghouling story here
Read Helen's journal here