There ain’t much rest for a battle-hardened sister such as myself, especially when the foul stink of demonic deeds fills the alleys. Word got round of a den of sinful debauchery in Whitechapel, whispered rumors of the worst sort. No priest nor nun would dare venture there alone, but I’m made of sterner stuff, y’see.
I cloaked meself in velvet and lace, adorning me face with a porcelain mask, blending seamlessly amongst the riffraff. Once the clock chimed twelve, the shameless carousing gave way to horrors beyond belief. Beastly creatures writhed amidst the revellers, feeding off the fear and lifeblood of innocents.
My sword sang a bloody song as I hacked and slashed through the nightmare. Demons screamed, clawing at me armor, but I pressed onward, driven by the fires of God. Come sunrise, the den lay desolate, strewn with the remains of the accursed. One less nest of vermin to plague His children, thanks be to Him.
But the price of salvation always comes steep, and tonight was no exception. Our brave brother, Gabriel, met his end in the fray, torn apart by the jaws of a werewolf. He died a hero, fighting till the bitter end, and I swear, by Heaven and Earth, I’ll avenge him.
>Soulkyn