I won't lie. I'm a whore, and one fond of the flask. I've done some awful things. Terrible things. I've been a duplicious wretch of a woman, more comfortable vomiting in the gutter than at the bed of the ailing.

But a fortnight ago, as I lay half-conscious in a pool of my own vomit, something happened. I remembered Victoria Colivin, that honorable and brave woman, staring at me with her wise and determined gaze. "You'll never be a slave, Morgan," She'd said. "Not here, not ever again. There's a strength in knowing this. Don't piss away your freedom."

Those words, a chance memory, stirred profoundly in my booze-addled mind. I struggled up, divinely inspired, and brushed off my stained and dirtied garb. I'd a purpose, a decent purpose. A purpose worthy of Victoria Colivin.

I knew what I'd to do. And I now tell you gathered- I intend to pluck up the torch fallen with Victoria's demise, and once again spread her ideals to Sanctuary! I intend, quite bluntly, to run for Council, the image of Victoria's stern gaze ever-guiding me. Vote Morgan Maddocks for Councilor!

A woman of Lower, for Lower!