I am writing this because if I don’t, I will certainly go insane. In fact, I’m not entirely sure I’m not already. My name, for now, is Helen. The way things are going, I don’t know what it will end up becoming. Probably Mud. Nothing seems real anymore. Sometimes I wonder if I’m not in a coma somewhere dreaming all of this. It cannot possibly be true. Maybe the man with the knife actually got me that night - perhaps this is my self-induced Purgatory. I had no idea I thought myself so evil. No one must ever know of this. Whether it’s all in my head or not, I don’t like the idea of being considered insane, or worse, committed. I also know that if I tell, I will be punished; by Michael, by the Camarilla. He has seen to it that I have this information stuck in my head. He has seen to it that I cannot break their rules. Even to write of it is difficult, knowing that one outside the Kindred may someday read these rantings, but what else can I do? Michael did this to me for whatever reasons he may have had; and monster or no he has to understand that I have to analyse this - my mind is in too much of a whirl for me to concentrate on this, my work and the tasks he gives me as well without doing this.

 I am torn. I loathe him and I love him. How can I not? He made me what I am, here. He has terrified me out of my mind, yet here I sit, almost lusting after what he can offer - his knowledge, his teachings, his power. In a way I pity him (though he would kill me for doing so); yet I know he is greater than all of us… you… I keep forgetting, in this world, I am now more than the average human. I am not you… I am not them… Once again it is just me, alone… my only link to anything human is the library, my work. My only link to Life is an undead Vampire. 

How ironic.

 It will horrify many of the characters trapped in here with me in this maelstrom of madness to know that I need his blood. Chilling, isn’t it, particularly to those of you who know me out in the real world? "Gentle." "Wouldn’t harm a fly." "A sweetie." Well, I’m not anymore! For the past three months I’ve been presenting myself to Michael. I watch with eagerness as he slits his own wrist - as the "vitae" (as he calls it) pools into his cupped hand, I nearly knock him over in order to get at it; in order to taste its sweet ferrous fire. The rational, still-Helen part of me is horrified - I can imagine that in the real world I’m screaming in my hospital bed, or perhaps crying in my straitjacket in my padded room. But the other, new part? The part that seems to grow day by day…? I know what the addicts go through now - that’s all I can say.

 This is not me. This is not my world. I just know that it’s going to get worse - Michael is getting me further and further involved in his world; I know there are greater nightmares than him out there.

 I only wish I could wake up before they strike.

I find myself analysing what this world means. What does it show about me, my psyche? Perhaps if I can work that out, I can wake up and resume my old life. I wonder if time is passing there at the same rate as it appears to be here? The hardest thing, the most secret thing I can admit here is that… I increasingly find I don’t want to leave this life. Maybe I don’t wake up because subconsciously I don’t want to? Oh God, what if that’s it? I’ve always wanted to be special - maybe my brain’s latched on to that and now… I should never have read "Dracula"… Why couldn’t it have been Paradiso instead of Inferno? The only thing I console myself with is that no matter what happens here in my mind, my body is safe. I cannot die, no matter how much pain I feel. I may wind up permanently catatonic in the real world, but here I cannot die. I have to remember that if Michael or any of the others become violent towards me.

IT’S NOT REAL! 

 "Hi, Mum!… Yes, I’m OK…looking after myself. No, it’s still falling out; the doctor says it’s just a stress-related alopecia… Yes, I’d tell you if I had cancer… Yes, I’d tell you if I was getting chemo…" …I just wouldn’t tell you that I was sucking on a Nosferatu’s brachial artery every month, that’s all… Something dark inside me tells me this isn’t the only change I’m going to go through. At least now I can still pretend normality (Ha!) this way. And to think I always thought turbans and the like were ugly…

 My First True Assignment.

 Something big is happening here in Melbourne; something I cannot pretend to know much about. (...) Those homeless men were a great source of information, though if it had been someone else on shift in Napier St. when they were leaving instead of me, it would have been missed. I must plan to take on more shifts… with these new abilities, most of my own work can now be done at night. I have to ask though… who wants to reveal the existence of the Vampires? If they do, I am dead… in one way or another. Whoever it is must be stopped, but what can I do?

 I have finally been introduced to the world of darkness - I have met other Vampires. I have been recognized by the Prince, Kythys. I did not conduct myself well, I must say. I think my fear was justified, but I never realised how paralyzing it was. It overrode my self control - I must have seemed more than a little insane. Poor Johnny. Now, here at home, with my journal, with my lights on, I can see that he was only trying to get me to have some fun; introduce me to the "joys" of this world we are both stuck in, but when we went to that park and he murdered those people… I have never seen it before. Michael has taken care not to show me that side of himself - I have always known it was there, but I had never seen it. Then, in the middle of my revulsion, what does he do? Slits his wrist and offers me his blood! God, it was tempting… so very tempting… I very nearly took it… I could almost taste it - was it as ferrous and burning as Nosferatu vitae? Or is Malkavian vitae sweeter? But if I had, I would be dead… Michael would have seen to that. The Malkavian curse would almost be as hard to bear as this Nosferatu one promises to be, and an insane Ghoul (for that IS what I am. Johnny proved that to me like no other tonight.) is one that is of no use to one such as Michael. But it was tempting… Johnny proved one other thing to me tonight… It is pointless to panic. In a way that display of his in the park has shown me I have little to fear from them at this point. I am essentially one of them. I am a Ghoul… the blood is my addiction. I need it to survive. And as Johnny said, I will get tired of freaking out all too quickly. I already am, for that is not me. I am normally calm, composed in company, even if I cannot contribute to their small conversations. Now that I have been amongst them, I think I will do better next time. The main thing I learned was that the Vampires are just children. I was shocked at just how flippantly they take this un-life of theirs. If humans could see how they act amongst others of their kind, they’d be shocked… and wouldn’t fear them at all. Well, at least until one jumps on them from high and drains them of their blood… In a way, they disgust me. Don’t they realise what they have been given? What chances they now have? Why squander it on frivolous games when you could do so much more with it? Don’t they realise they should be paying attention to what is happening outside of the Court? Life (and Un-life) isn’t all fun and games. Sometimes you have to actually work to keep your position, no matter how you were given that position in the first place. They are in danger, and they don’t seem to care. Perhaps it’s my still relevant sense of mortality (heightened by Johnny’s escapades) - I haven’t gone through the dying process… I am still alive. But they were alive once. Don’t they have imaginations anymore? Can’t they see? Don’t they want to protect what they have?

 Fools.

 My hair is continuing to fall out, and it’s now getting beyond the point a hairnet can hide it. Huge flaky patches of skin are now visible through it - I’m beginning to look like Michael! So it’s to the hats, scarves and turbans I go, awaiting with trepidation the day I see the irruptions spreading down to my face… Sometimes I can feel it die - it seems to simply shrivel at the roots and let go in clumps, leaving devastatingly cratered patches behind. I never realised how much I valued my beautiful hair until now. I think of how I didn’t care what I did with it; tie it up in a bun, or in that tight ponytail; even worse, just let it slop around into my face unwashed, too focused on my work or my study to notice how it looked. When Sean asked me today if I was seeing a doctor about it, I nearly cried, that’s how regretful I am. Yet I don’t hate Michael for it. One would expect me to - I would expect me to - but I don’t. Throughout all of this he has been as kind as is possible under the circumstances. He thanks me for my efforts and information; he treats me as though I am if not an equal, at least a valued ally. Though he is evil, and how he chased me into this new life was cruel, and to some point unnecessary - if he had offered me the knowledge right from the beginning, I might have taken it more than willingly. But the vampiric - or is it Nosferatu? - nature insists that he had to be cruel. Either way, I am beginning to see that he has given me a great gift inside this curse, the second greatest gift he could give. I still wonder why he picked me for this, but I believe I am closer to the answer. He deals in information, and not only can I provide access to the library after dark, but I am no slacker when it comes to research myself. I have contacts he doesn’t, and I can go out in sunlight. That’s why I wasn’t singled out for the greater gift. If we survive, I am sure that fate awaits me, if I am worthy of it, but Michael is playing a dangerous game and if he Dies, I will surely follow him. I don’t want to think about that. I am becoming too accustomed to the idea of limited immortality to give it all up now.

 There are some remnants of my former, mortal life I cannot give up easily. I can see the irony in my desire to protect Workcare in its current form - apart from the facts I can now heal most wounds instantly (though I cannot grow anything back - witness my hair) and I can withstand injuries which would kill me, it is my new employer who poses the most danger to me, as well as the most benefit. He will not be pleased if he sees me on the news tonight. But then, I do not know all of the facets of his thinking process. Perhaps in this show in daylight hours - an obvious demonstration of Helen Wilkins’ Life-As-Usual - he will see a symbol of caring librarianship, a woman caring about what happens to her people. I don’t know nor pretend to know what his reaction will be. Nor do I care. I must do this. Soon enough I won’t be at Fitzroy to do anything about this, one way or another, so I must do what I can now. That’s why I’m going to stop work for today. That’s one thing my parents taught me - care for people. The "government" certainly isn’t.

 Life is a gift. Savour it, for it is gone all too soon. Don’t live your life as though it is a trial - relish it. There are far too many out there who are all too eager to take it from you. Rejoice in what you have; don’t court death. You "Goths" - how many of you have I seen pass through the door here at Fitzroy? - do you know what you attract with your Vampiric looks and mournful solemnity? "We are the dead life", you intone, hating and shunning colour, sunlight, nature. If you had seen what I have, you wouldn’t turn your back on it so easily. You would keep your back to a wall at all times.

 Another month has passed, another meeting attended. There has been much going on since my last attendance - for example, first and foremost to note is that Kythys has gone on "extended vacation"; she left the city before things caught up to her. And they were going to in a big way! That much I can be sure of, with the Archon here and everything. The new Prince has potential. I do not know of him, still being so totally new in this world, but I understand that Michael approves of him for now, and that judgment is one I can live with. I do not know why, but I find myself allowing Michael to guide me through this world relatively unquestioned. It cannot simply be the Blood Bond doing this, nor just my absolute ignorance of the politics and machinations within and without the Camarilla. Can it be that I trust this monster that has done this to me? I know that I would be loyal to him no matter what, given my nature and how comparatively well he has treated me since my Ghouling - I believe I have written here at other times of how he treats me as almost as an equal. It’s an interesting concept, given that in a traditional sense I gather I am supposed to be his slave and he my Master. There is very little of that in our relationship, though I suppose I would see it if I decided to go against what he wanted me to do… It’s very strange how these things work out. I am starting to make my acquaintance with certain others within the Camarilla, and it turns out that instead of the run-of-the-mill member that Michael would prefer me to associate with, it appears I am gaining contacts within the Primogen themselves! Johnny turns out to be the Malkavian Primogen (not that I would have picked it) after Weezel "went on holiday to Alice Springs to see the sunrise", and then I was talking to the Brujah Primogen and the Gangrel Primogen, not to mention the Tremere and Toreador Chancellors from Dandenong… Of course, Michael is now the Nosferatu Primogen after talks with Laurie… It seems the Nosferatu run things a little differently to the rest of the Clans. To be honest, I am glad I am becoming a member of their group… To be a Toreador would be the greatest torture on Earth.

It’s also interesting what Johnny said to me - he asked me if I liked to see animals free… Given what’s been happening at the Zoo of late…?

 Hmmmm… 12 year old girls, huh? Interesting word from the streets…

 I have done all Michael has asked, though it mostly entails finding newspaper articles and finding certain resources for him. I think I have pleased him with my work. I also think my days in the sun are almost at an end. He hasn’t said so in so many words, but he is starting to make allusions to setting my affairs in order and getting things settled. I am not sure how I feel about this. On one hand, I don’t want to join the immortal rag-tag the majority of the vampires seem to be. The thought of meeting my death and then going on in a state of such ennui that… how does Kim put it? "Pissing about"? No, that’s not right, but I know it’s something similar… messing around seems to be the main form of pleasure (apart from the bloodletting), leaves me cold to the bone. To give up my family, make them believe I am truly dead, to give up my work, my friends, my life to service them? The thought is sickening. However, I also want it with every fibre of my being. If I can use immortality in the same way that Michael has, but different, to fade into the realms of the forgotten until my services are required… To use my extended death to study and build that library I have dreamed of… I could be more than I am, and I don’t think that would be a waste of Immortality in the same vein as the others. That is a truly tempting thing. I know that I will be of use to Michael and others for quite a while yet, and as Michael’s Childe, I won’t be much better off than I am now, but I aspire to greater things…

It is over.  I am finally free of the shackles of my former existence.  I have become that which I was always meant to be, and I am glad the pretense is over.  Though I am dead, my life may now begin.  I am free!

Michael was Primogen, and has now become Prince.  How he has come up in the world, and how he drags me with him.  Not that I mind.  It is interesting to see the mechanics from the inside the power structure, but I do not wish to die quite so soon.  I need to have time to live as myself.  I want to sink into the underground for a while and learn how to be myself.  I want to become the best hidden Nos I can be.  I want to learn to hide…

I  read back over my journals from so long ago - it seems a lifetime (such a strange term for this plane of existence.  I have to chuckle over the irony of it and how it applies to this, for want of a better word, "life") ago now.  Some things do not change even as everything else around me does.  Perhaps I should have kept this journal up to date during my changing times as I once used to; perhaps it would help me in my later "life" , or another who falls into my fate later, understand what it is I went through.  Perhaps it can ease the Embrace for them, knowing that even for those who are prepared, the Embrace doesn’t come easily, but doesn’t need to drive you into madness.  In fact, in my previous existence, even as Michael’s Ghoul, I never would have suspected the pure enjoyment of being Nosferatu.  Certainly, I am ridiculed and considered outcast by the rest of the Clans; not that in the current state of affairs would any in Melbourne say anything to my face.  I know that if I were to frequent the more populated areas more often that would change, but in the shadows and sewers I haunt, I am not bothered too much by them.  I haven’t yet truly encountered the Nosferatu curse.  Not even from the Toreador.
I am still at a loss in the Court.  I still cannot seem to interact with my others, even those new people I have met from the Clan itself.  I know it is my shyness, and that I will eventually overcome it - I will have to overcome it for my sake, for Michael’s sake, for the Clan’s sake, for the City’s sake, but it is one of the hardest things I have ever had to do.
I find my mind drifting back to the Library.  It is something I want to do, for the future, for the Clan.  What happens if the city undergoes another Culling?  What happens if the Nosferatu are exterminated because of Michael’s visibility?  What happens then?  Who will teach the later generations what we know now?  If we die?  Even if it isn’t unearthed for five hundred, a thousand, two thousand years, just to know that something I built may be used to rebuild what we could have now…?  That is priceless.  And it is something I can do without needing to interact too much with the others yet.

I  sometimes wonder about the fate of my family - my mortal family.  Did they make it out of Adelaide in time?  I know that what I did to convince them to go was perhaps too over the top; perhaps too outrageous, but I had to convince them that there was someone chasing me and perhaps gunning for them as well.  If they knew the mortal family of a Melbourne Camarilla Nosferatu was still in Sabbat territory, it would be very bad.  They could be used against me, and I know that if they were in danger, I would have to do what I could to help them, even though I would know it would certainly mean my Final Death.
I hope they haven’t taken my death too badly.  I hate to think of my mother in particular grieving for me.  The same goes for the Library, though I can check them much more easily…
If I wasn’t so busy settling my affairs here and learning the ropes, as it were, I would go and look them up, to set my mind at ease on that score at least.
Life in the sewers isn’t so bad.  It’s terrible, awful, the smell is atrocious and everything is slimy and wretched, but there is a feeling of safety here.  I can go unmasked in certain places.  Not many can follow me into the places where the gas builds up, or where the filth builds and builds until you’re squeezing through muck holes to get to where you’re going.  But I do try to keep a change of clothes in zip-lock bags hidden near the surface if I need to go out - makes one less detail to worry about in the Mask of 1,000 Faces.
All in all, I love being a Nosferatu.  My appearance no longer binds me to other people’s expectations of breeding and mating.  I can concentrate on larger matters and learn.  Michael says that I will have to learn about the other things, but at least being a mother and a wife aren’t amongst those.  It’s sad that my branch of the Wilkins line died with me, but then as long as I remain undead, will the Line really be dead?
I suppose I should really call myself Wilkins-M^cGowan, but then that reveals far too much about my past for my liking.  If I have to fight to find out about their linages, then why should I give them mine on a platter?  Let them think that there’s some rogue Nos out there with the name Wilkins… they’re almost right, now.

T he gang seem to have accepted my presence quite happily; well, as happy as a gang can get.  The fact I can appear to them as anything I want certainly helps - if only they knew that the thing they were banging was such a pus oozing mess.  My, my, my… they’d be horrified, but not as horrified as the mayor would be when I start in on regaining some of my influence in local government!  It’s a shame I had to give all of that up with my Ghouling - at the time I was convinced all of the Michael stuff was not real and so anything I did had no consequence, so I withdrew from the Government side of the library and concentrated on the street programs.  I don’t know what possessed me during those times.  I was a fool.  It wasn’t Michael’s fault he didn’t know how to pitch his attack - I have come to realise over our time together that he sees what he wants and tries to determine the quickest and most effective ways of obtaining it.  That was what he did with me.  I can forgive him that - I can forgive him almost anything.
But I have found that I cannot feed on <...>.  I cannot stomach their blood <...>

As is his wont, Michael told me what is going on, and what happened in the council meeting.  Interesting times with this Brujah problem in the Docklands (what is Frank di Blanco doing, and why does he want to enrage the Brujah?  And also, what was he hiding from the council?  Jamiroquai telepathically spotted that he was lying, but what about?  Who did he dominate, and what was his plan?  That stuff about Michael’s ghoul coming for him outside the Haven of the Brujah…).  There is so much I still need to know; Michael tells me to rely upon my Blood, that its in-built memory will tell me all I need to know, but after living for six month in a nightmare world that I found out is all too real, I want to rely on something a little more trustworthy than my head.
And then there are the questions of Varney’s child as well as the ashes of the Prince of Hong Kong.  I wish I understood all that’s going on.

There are some very strange things going on overseas!  The reptilian things being found in the sewers in Cleveland (though this came from Sebastian Thorne, who might be a Setite - disinformation is their business) and found dead in Toowoomba (The information that our sources revealed was that it was one of our brethren that had polluted his body with something similar to vaulderie and it managed to mutate him.  I do not know the validity of this information, but it was all the information that we could gather on the subject. - quote from the email, though the writer believes it might be rubbish)?  The Gus who is Abaddon who may or may not be warring with Bethany?  Bethany is Sabbat or not?  Is she a Justicar?  What is the Eye?  What are the worms that are appearing in kine and Kindred?  What is the fate or destiny so many are warning of?

Setites - "snake" vampires, that have abilities golden eye and serpent’s tongue.  Ability is also said to be their undoing, like evil in Eden.

Gehenna - the end of the world.  Armageddon?

Children of Osiris - like Setites, only a smaller clan/bloodline.

Vaulderie - have to look this term up.  Sabbat?

I  have commenced planning the library - Michael has approved it for placing in the new warrens - I just have to devise a system we can all live with…  Flood-proof, fire proof, confusing and mold resistant.  Ahhhh, welcome to the dark ages, Helen!

More following - another task to fulfill.  I don’t mind.  I enjoy being useful and doing something for Michael, the Clan and the City.  This one is proving more difficult.  How do I observe someone from a distance when I am under strict instructions to run at the slightest hint of danger?  Yet I know why and whole-heartedly agree with the thought behind it.  I have no desire to die, after all! 
<...>

Nosferatu clan meeting.

I wish I had been able to contribute more.  I could see that Michael was expecting great things of me, but I couldn’t.  New people - my mind froze and even things I knew I knew I couldn’t recall, let alone things I didn’t recall.  The others didn’t contribute much either, save to question Michael’s words which I had to try to explain to them again so they might better understand them.  I hate this shyness with a passion.  I just hate it!  What happened to my ability to deal with new people and situations?  To lead a happy and efficient team?  Where did all of that go?
But on to details…
Michael wanted us to determine what our wants are.  What do we want?  I told him of my dream of the library - but if we die, he asked?  Then I want to survive.  I’m still not entirely sure what he wanted of us.  To follow others?  I will follow to the ends of the Earth to find out what will keep us safe.
The question of who killed Che is still an important one.  It keeps coming back to haunt Michael; when will he find out who did it?  "Why hasn’t he?"  "What kind of ineffectual Prince can’t find out who killed the last Prince?"  I’d like to know who it was… I’d tear his throat out for what it’s doing to Michael and the Clan.  He never wanted to be Prince.  The Clan were never supposed to be in the spotlight.  We need the shadows!
So what do we do?  Find a scapegoat?  I’m not sure I like the idea, though the fact it was one of Michael’s ghouls who did the deed (as Michael has found out), it hits far too close to home.  Frank Lusmden - I may not have spelt that right - was under the influence of someone else to do it, someone who dominated him and caused him to torch the haven Che was in.  How easily it could have been me the Nos were throwing off that building with a broken neck… though I was never a Brujah ghoul as well.  But killing him and framing the now dead Frank di Blanco is an efficient solution, if a bloodstained one.  I’m not entirely happy with it, but it’s out of my hands.
The Brujah are interesting, with their ideas of a hereditary princedom.  I’m don't agree with it, as there should be equal opportunity for any of the Camarilla to have the throne, if they want it and can do it right.  But to jockey for position and want to oust Michael, and for one of the Fausts to still have political allies even when he’s been politically killed…  Aargh!
<...>
We are feeding the Spawning Pool in the warren so that we can create some Ghouled guards for the area.  I will bring in three dogs in a few days so they might become guards as well.  I also hope that soon I can start making my own personal animal ghouls - a rat to listen and a seagull to watch from above would be very useful on surveillance trips.

I have just heard from Michael that the "suicide" of Frank Lumdsen has been canceled.  Apparently he has sworn allegiance to Michael (as he should have on becoming his Ghoul!) and has agreed to bring down Richard Greythorn and Alistair.  Hopefully this will be without bloodshed.  This I like.  No wasting of ghouls, no needless death.

<...>

Varney has been removed as Primogen owing to his activities behind the assassination of Count Augustus.  Who is leading the Malkavs?

Setites.  I wish I knew more about them, apart from their devotion to the Egyptian god Set.  Forked tongued shape shifters…   There is Sebastian Thorne, the one who pretended to be Nosferatu, here in Melbourne - who has left the city - and reports of Setites in Augusta, USA.

It has been some time since I’ve found the time to write in this journal; I have been busy with mixed results.  I haven’t even had time to keep up with my information gathering, and that is bad.  However, the library is progressing slowly - Michael is supportive of this idea and has already provided a few things for it - wild, esoteric things that I wouldn’t have ever thought I’d be dealing with when I was training as a librarian so many years ago.  I love it, of course - it’s all I wanted to be, but I feel that I am letting our Clan down with my inability to…
Since I was Embraced, since I was Ghouled, in fact, I haven’t been myself.  I am reticent and unwilling to participate… I can’t make friends as I used to; in fact, I feel that I can hardly speak to anyone around me, save the people on the street, and even then I am shy and find myself referring to the library more and more.  I know I’m turning into one of those old fart librarians I hated so much, but worse, I cannot make the contacts I so desperately need to make.
My trailing of <...> has been less than successful…  I haven’t found out anything yet.  The only word I hear from the street was in August when I was hearing of the "Batman" killing criminals.  But since I’ve been in the library and in the sewers, feeding the Spawning Pool and tending the dogs.  I even dared to venture near Michael’s area - I saw the ghouled cats he has there, and got out before they could get to me; I like the idea of ghouled cats, though I think I’ll go for a rat or ferret when I make my ghoul.  I wonder what Michael does in his private space?  I have to say I feel a little shut out, but then, why should I care?
The things that happened at our last gathering were tumultuous - the death of Michael Dobbs (Tremere Primogen) after he’d been brought into the gathering - the wounding of Frank Lumdsen by Winston of the Brujah (and later Winston’s subsequent execution by Frank) after Winston said that Frank went for him with a barbed stake.  Frank pleaded self defense later.  I tend to disbelieve this, but I would still stand with Frank; he is in a difficult position, far worse than I ever faced as Michael’s ghoul, and he manages to do so much better with what he has been given.  But then, we both have our own different talents.  I was not chosen for my fighting talent, nor for what I can do with machinery.  I wish I knew what it was I was chosen for sometimes.
I am depressed tonight.  I will hate this when I read it back.  But at least I don’t think it’s all in my own head again.  I should never have re-watched "Dune".  The idea of ugliness equaling evil is a bad one when you’re a Nosferatu.  I don’t think we’re all as evil as we are made out to be.  Borne of evil, maybe, but the world is an evil place.  The Kindred aren’t the only evil things in this world.