Getting Out

Written: Now (see post time). This is closer to most of the tiny chunks I tend to write for Midwel (there's an awful lot, some alright, some terrible)

Getting Out

    The real reason you'll never see me again? I know what you've become. I can smell it on you. Being born a werewolf helps with that. Being taught about all the types of vampires - yours included - is why I know to stay away from you. If you had become a mistwalker, aristocrat, baseline, hell, even an imp, I'd believe what you said about 'being alright'. Well, not baseline, and you were far too coherent for an imp, but that's not the point. You're a brute.
    It's funny, actually. You're as close to a werewolf as vampires get - grouped in packs, vicious, strong. Yet also genocidal and fanatically devoted to the pack (albeit also far less openly homicidal). I don't know why there's a pack in town (in a city! I had been taught that brute packs kept away from large groups of people, but not your new pack, apparently) but I assume it's expanding - and up to something terrible. So I'm leaving - running away. I could kill a few - maybe even all - of you, but, well.

    Your scent is not the only new vampire scent I've been smelling around town. Hell, I haven't just been smelling vampires. There's at least three, maybe more, werewolf packs. The other day I even smelt a freaking parasite. A parasite! Your pack might not even know what they are, but I can assure you that I've only ever smelt one before, and it was caught and killed soon after.
    So. You'll never see me again. If you come round to my place, unlock the door, and find this note, maybe you'll be able to understand, knowing what I am. Or, at least, hate me for what I am. I'm sorry I wasn't there to protect you when it happened. Goodbye, love.