we're going to get her back.

Another May come and gone. It never seems like much of a milestone, but then it hits me once it's over: my birthday. I was born in May. Funny how I never seem to remember that anymore.

Though I'm sure I'm the not the only one. What say you, fellow immortals? Birthdays simply aren't what they used to be, hm?

I feel like doing something a bit different today. A poll, in fact. Generally, just how many of you have recently been very naughty girls?

This must be what it feels like to find religion. Not religion. Redemption. Not much difference, is there? Still so cynical? Whatever. Believe what you like, Louis. Doesn't change the fact that you're wrong. The difference is her.

Goodness. Purgatory's rather minimalist, isn't it? Remind me never to do that again, or at the very least to kill a decorator beforehand. I've never seen a place so unforgivably drab, and I lived through the seventeenth century.

Well. The cage is here, but no werewolf in sight. Come out, come out, wherever you are, Georgie. We're waiting.

(Is that creepy? Oh, I suppose it is. Well. C'est la vie. After 300 years, you can't expect me to plead normally, can you?)