1801 --
The man stood, watching the people of the small town scream and die. He was young, in his early twenties. Fairly handsome, well dressed and wearing a slight smirk on his mouth. It was sick, he knew, but he was enjoying the sounds of despair and death. Maybe there was something wrong with him, but he didn't care. It was fun, feeling powerful. They're all dogs, the thought, spitting in the direction of the town. Every single one.
He had called out a party to kill the village. They were werewolves, he believed. Children of the Moon. Abominations. Disgusting creatures of Satan. He had learned from his father before him of the cruel and sinful things those creatures did. He was terribly greatful that he knew the truth about those scum, so that someone could act upon it and kill every single one. After all, it was the job left to him by his own father.
"I shan't disappoint you." He vowed quietly.
With a swivel, he walked back towards his carriage. "Monsieur Lee, where would ye like to go next?" Chapman, his butler asked, opening the door. Bennet Lee sat and stared out the small window. He took his top hat off and set it down next to him.
"I would like to go home. Tis been a dreadfully long day."
"Ay."
