(A/N): I am deeply sorry that this is so late.

But my last review has been posted, my last review for the Station Sequence, on the first chapter of Wells Street Station.

The ending was amazingly initiated, entirely enchanting, and easy to predict the events of the After.

A billion end one way, a million end the other. Simple.

The Crossroads goes many directions.

And so, with that, we begin the long and winding road towards the end of the Stormcrow Sequence.

I can say that this has probably been very scary for you, Mr. Carabas, and that receiving recursive fanfiction is a very surprising, shocking thing. I know from my own experience.

Bravo, my good sir. I congratulate you on your success.

The next several chapters of this are in the works, and the Stormcrow's mind's eye will be seeing much blood and death and destruction that it wishes upon the world.

People: if you've read this far, I assume that you've already read Marquis Carabas' Station Sequence, the preceding two books in this series (Lake Toba and New Blood), and my disclaimer. Stop reading, otherwise. You don't know what you're getting into. Save yourselves.

I feel things changing around me.

The imprint is weakening.

When will it come undone?

When will I be free?

Each day, I secretly hope for the beldam to escape, to come and return. I want to prey on the carcass, drink the blood, kill them all.

With time, I know I will.

With time.

But I want it now.

I itch for the confinement to end. I want to escape just as much as the imprint does, but a different escape from a different thing for a different purpose.

When the imprint's daily jailtime ends, my hunger grows.

Another one?

One has returned?

When can I kill? When can I?

I want blood!

I need it!

The friend, the child, I need the information it possesses.

The imprint does not let me get the information. It lets the child rest and waits forever to return for it.

I want to drink it.

I want to see it.

Where is the black tar, the pitch-colored blood I seek?

I pace through the floorboards, searching.

Chicago.

I must go.

I must go now.

I am thirsty.

They are taken.

One, two, three!

I see nothing for now.

But I know where we are going.

I want blood.

(A/N): Here's a daily thing of creepy!

Here's my secret to staying in character in my writings: I slowly, during the duration of the writing, melt into the character.

I have become much better at my creeper laugh writing this series, I can say. As well as that wild, insane look in the eye, and that good smile that is just a bit too wide.

No, do not feel guilty… I actually enjoy doing this, strange as it may seem. It is much more fun to be someone other than yourself for a little while, even if the only thing you do is write in a notebook.

The obsession with blood and death and destruction has stayed at a minimum, although I may press harder into the paper with my pen.

*Cheshire Cat grin*

Now, how about you try and get some sleep tonight?

…