Ladies and gentlemen, both and neither! Boys and girls, children of all ages of consent, prick up your ears and Please! Attend! Carefully! [Morden is excited, and when a man like him is excited there can never be anything good very far behind. He is positively aquiver, unable to sit still and so instead he paces feverishly about his tent, the sounds of the carnival ringing loudly through the tent - though the sounds come from the walls of the tent itself, the Circus still sleeping after the fun of the night before. Laughter, music and screams... always screams.] Though many of you, either through ignorance or design, may not be aware of this there approaches an auspicious day! This coming Thursday, February 9th, just so happens to be the four hundred and forty-fourth birthday of one Morden Garrard, lord of passion and the greatest living practitioner of the artes moste occulte.

Yes, dear darling readers and monsters, I shall be almost halfway through my fifth century dominating this green and pleasant land - and how better to celebrate than with a party the likes of which hath not been seen since the last time the walls of reality broke down and the Monks of History had to stitch everything back together! [He is giddy, and frankly it's amazing that any of this even makes sense now. He takes a deep draw of a pipe filled with a strange bluish smoke, before returning his flighty gaze to the page.] I know what you're thinking - how does the most powerful and ancient mortal magician in existence retain his youthful complexion? How does he keep his skin so creamy, so smooth and inviting like a lubed-up virgin in the rain? How does he command all that awesome power at his fingertips, whilst still keeping buttocks looking like two hard-boiled eggs under a handkerchief!? Well, it's part dark ritual, part healthy living and a dose of good genetics, but...I'm babbling!

Back on topic, darling perusers. TO CELEBRATE MY BIRTHDAY, I am throwing open the doors of the Palace of Dreams! My exhibit, my home, my dark burlesque - all will be welcome in its fulsome bosom on Thursday night. Good, bad, undecided, human, monster, vampire, mutant - agents of the best and brightest, and denizens of the hellish bowels may cast off their allegiance and their vestments under one banner of brotherhood that night! Come to my arms, my beamish boys and girls - come and see in my 445th year amongst the shining stars. The Circus welcomes one and all! As remarked upon by my dear friend Archbishop Whitgift, "Shalt thou carouse like 'tis 1599? By God, thou shalt!"