Morning, 6th month, 22nd day
A new journal to add to my ever-mounting collection. I must remember to thank my lieutenant for his attentiveness to my habits. Oh, what can I say to further break this little book in? I suppose there's not much to say for it, really. There wasn't an extraordinary amount of noteworthy unnatural occurrence today. Perhaps this will be enough to break it in for now. I have business to attend to.

Midmorning, 6th month, 30th day
New month coming up. As of my last entry, little else has occurred. The clan is running smoothly; no one has had to be executed or euthanized. In fact, I almost can't remember the last death in the clan. Well, no, I retract that statement. One of my hunting party had a severe case of photosensitivity. A form of ultra-sensitivity that I've only seen a few times in my lifespan. He was one of my best, too. An eccentric old bastard, but a loyal man nevertheless. (He liked to collect things. He liked feathers for some odd reason or another.) It was a shame to lose him to the light as we did.
What makes it all the more unfortunate is that even I didn't know about his condition until the report came back from a late afternoon scouting excursion. He had been forced to stand in direct light; no shadows were about for him to hide in, despite the fact that he would always cover every inch of skin in a manner that makes mortal man shudder to even entertain such a thought. So he was well protected, except for his eyes. The head scout informed me that he had left his polarized lenses here.
Despite the party's best attempts to get him to shade, he fought them every step of the way, throwing them off the rooftop upon which they were perched. His punches were renowned to shatter even our bones, slowing our regeneration by half; this made the situation worse. Moreso by the fact that the party was forced down to ground level. Down among the mortals. Needless to say, they were seen, and some prey have eyes like an eagle's. The encounter was up on a blog the following hour.
Somehow, they managed to get him back to the clanhome, but it was too late for him then. Prolonged exposure had driven him off the ledge of mere eccentricity to full-blown insanity. Solar madness, we call it. We have thus far been unable to create or discover a cure. We held him in a darkened room for days, passing him medical blood packets as needed. It did nothing to help him, even with his beloved feather collection in the room. He never even touched them while in there. From day one they remained unmoved from their general vicinity in the southwest corner, factoring out disturbances.
We waited about a month to no avail. There was no way in Heaven or Hell that we were going to recover him. I made the choice after a long deliberation and a couple bouts of anger. He had to be euthanized. I can still hear his screams of "Make the flashes stop!" to this very day. I shudder to recall it. We took him from the room, blindfolded him, and explained what was about to happen. Whether he understood or not, I'm still unsure. It's assumed that he did; he struggled less just before decapitation. We cremated his body and the severed head shortly thereafter, and laid him to rest via our own set of rites and ceremonies. Not that we are forbidden to use Christian methods, nor that we cannot due to some fabricated, nonexistent alignment with Satan (I have a crucifix in my bedroom, for that matter, hanging over my desk.), but it was the way set by the late Elder Acheron and I am not about to change that. I revered him too much.
Well, that was quite a nostalgic trip. I'll probably lapse into another now that I've mentioned Elder Acheron, but that is best left for another time. I've taken up three pages of this little book with this entry alone.

Late night, 7th month, 3rd day
There have been whispers about the clan concerning some strange behaviors noted in the prey, generally when there's a large group of them all together in one place. I know nothing certain yet other than what rumors have been passed up. They may well only be rumors. I'll know whether they are or not if the stories don't die down, or pick up, after a few days.

Night, 7th month, 8th day
It would seem that the rumored behaviors are true. I, myself, went out into the light today on the pretext of purchasing a couple of classical CDs to add to my extensive collection of music. Bookstores seem to be a favorite haunt for the humans which my scouts describe, as proven by my entry into the local Borders establishment. Now, I've seen books stacked into an almost temple-like setup, but nothing quite as grandiose as what I saw. I paid it little heed and went about my business, selecting two piano albums and one gothic metal disc after hearing a preview of the latter.
As if on some unknown cue, a swarm of school-aged mortal females made a beeline for the stacked books. I watched them from behind my darkened lenses, confused as to their mannerisms, but writing it off as a young human thing. I continued to the register, handing the clerk my merchandise and making a small remark on potential sales for today. She replied that the store expected to make quite a few sales, indicating the shrine of books around which the chittering prey had clustered. I merely laughed as she rang it up. I was still chuckling as I paid, nodding a farewell and leaving just before hearing one of the girls scream in a high-pitched wail I had never heard before. It didn't quite sound like pain, but it kicked my hunter's instinct into overdrive for a moment.
Having hurried back home, I still wonder what caused that human to squeal like a stuck pig. Maybe something injured her. Maybe not. Ah well; it's a thought that shall have to be put aside for now. My music calls to me, begging to be listened to. I feel quite obliged, as I was unable to open them due to business as soon as I returned…