Dear Diary, November 7th 1888
Many a morning I wonder what I have gotten myself into the night before...it only happens at the change of moon. When it becomes full I must say. I wake up with scratches and the smell of blood on my skirts. I have told you of this a few months ago when I did not at all know about the nightly creatures. Father kept the stories away from me when I was younger. Because of that I have only feared the known dangers like murderers, robbers, rippers and other kind of criminals. Those were the ones that made me decide to work for Scotland Yard as a secret investigator. To make the streets of London a bit safer. Never could I think of other creatures creeping through the dark. My parents told me to consider them as folklore.
But dear Diary, my memory fails me and I can only pick up such small pieces of story. I remember that one night when I was too impatient for my carriage to arrive. I decided to walk home...if I close my eyes I can hear the growling of a beast. Mind you it could have been a wolf...
Sometimes I have memory flashes of moonlit nights. Flashes of chasings and I feel a certain hunger within me I cannot explain. I have been to the library, to the dusty, restricted section and I can only come to the conclusion that I have been bitten by a werewolf that very night...
It is not in my nature to harm others.
What am I to do?
Indeed...
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Currently doing a course at Utrechts Centrum voor de Kunsten to sharpen my skills
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