I knew they were coming. They had passed three nights before, at dusk, in search of Harlequin, the young woman who sits at Little Summit to watch the Moon rise. Funny to think, she always said she enjoyed their songs, their awful howls…but that was before the Bloodshot came to The Wood, before they tempted Lilith to set this horrific enchantment upon us. Look at them now, dressed as men, standing upright – their suits and ties neatly arranged in an array of worn and torn pastel colors, feather capped hats atop their pointed ears, their unnatural, crooked limbs forced through sleeve and pant to mask their filthy, wiry coats . They mock us now…well, not me, but the sophisticated men who travel eastward from Neventier. Every once a while they are able to pick a poor soul off as he travels through the trade routes to expand their palette. I will not stay in the Cabin much longer, so tonight will be the night – tonight they will Feast with me, as they sought to Feast with Harlequin. They will get their fill, and we will be rid of them.

They’re calling out to all their friends, I can actually hear the engagement take its shape. What a referendum; it’s meticulous and ornate! Suggest by dusk I serve these Gentlemen their fate?

To whom do I have the pleasure of catering to tonight? Certainly, what fine features to match their hands of slight. I guess I am not surprised to find that they’ve designed, a rather indulgent spread to quell their appetites.

I find it quite consoling, but not entirely unique, as this celebration, this routine, grinds to an end. The bravest poison (and I am doing as I must!). The fairest split at which I dictate they will trust.

One, two, and three, four! The Wolves are waiting at the door and you know we better let them come in. Fine tricks at heaven’s gate (and though I’ll overcompensate), a drop of this should bring them to the floor. Let them in.

This House of Wolves is just a House of Cards built upon these broken backs of ours! So let it fall. But this meal, it’s not their last- because the Wolves of future are not the children of Wolves past.

Sweet surrender, it looks like I am just a repeat revenger of my own self inflicted misfortune.
— This House of Wolves, Callous Vernier VIII