From the journal of Dîshmab Vukrigustuth
At the height of our growth there were dozens of us, then twenty, then ten, then seven, and now two. Just me and her. Atír Emgashdatan. I know she’s one of them. She went into a fit of rage a few nights ago, but claims she had just been stress-drinking. Well I’ve seen a lot of stress-drinking in the past few months, but I’ve never seen anyone destroy a rock door with their bare hands before. But my conscience won’t let me strike her down until I have absolute proof. Or maybe… maybe part of me knows deep down that I too have turned, and that part wishes her no harm. Am I one of them…?
To make matters even more complicated, today she gave birth to a baby girl. If my instincts are right, the child is infected, too. Gruesome as it seems, I know what my task will have to be.