Dearest bugcat, your histrionics are impressive, your gaze is wide, but alas I plead, the end is nigh, and your rhetoric does little to calm my soul. If we do not call to action what will save us? We will all be pricked at the fuzz of our neck, our bodily fluids let out… how do we not know if the jester himself will not rise, fiendish, thirsty…?
I fear someone must have lead it, or worse, brought it here, invited it in… was it the jester himself? How many of us are vampires? How will we not be drawn out, tempted and fearful waiting for the inevitable? How can we defeat that which we fear, a monster, construed by stories and twisted through the shadow of our perspective?
I fear the worse. We may not be able to both save ourselves and also kill them.