Chapter 11
§11. Bizarre! A Werewolf Appears in London!
Throughout the preceding half-year, I have found myself entangled in a series of uncanny occurrences that have tested the very bounds of my mental faculties. Miraculously, the abyss of madness has not yet consumed me, a stark divergence from the fate that has befallen countless victims within the annals of the Cthulhu mythos. Over the last sixty days, I have ruminated upon the reasons for my unyielding sanity, yet no satisfactory answer has revealed itself.
The most conceivable conjecture is that I am the incarnation of another soul.
It occurs to me that my initial awareness of the Cthulhu mythos as a work of fiction may have fortified my psyche against its insidious influence. Beyond this, I have identified no singular quality that sets me apart.
Regardless, I have not been wholly consumed by insanity. Yet, this is not to say that I remain entirely unscathed.
"Master, as summer is upon us, might I suggest that you partake in a bath…?"
Marie tentatively proffered.
"What purpose would that serve? I remain confined to this abode."
Time and again, I would dismiss her proposal with such a rational pretext.