Killer

A wonder to the world for my sadistic, lethal ways.

A lace of tattoos trim my scars that swirl around my body as if the great artists of the world worked together to paint them upon my body for all eternity.

Love is a wretched, wretched creation. Love was made to dim the scary truth of life; to make us more vulnerable as the predators came down upon us in our happy little heads filled with dreams for the future.

Reality hit me hard. My creator, my father, had warned me not to run home so fast, that I would need to stay...to learn to restrain my rage that his old blood was filled to the brim with due to memories of harsh battle. He warned me that I would fall.

I ran home with my recently acquired skills of great speed and endurance. I knew my husband would be worried, three days had passed since I was last home.

I walked in the door, through the study, and silently slipped into our bedroom. I assume it was around two in the morning. My husband lie asleep clutching the first letter I wrote confessing my love for him, tear stained and wrinkled by his firm grasp.

I moved my hand through his hair until he woke, he was relieved to see that I was still alive; he had almost given up hope that I would return. He feared that I had died, or had left him for another man. But no... even in my human years, I was strong willed, and I would fight, I would make sure that he suffered too. As for another man...well, this was the man of my dreams. I had loved him since childhood, as we would clean stables for a kindly old man who had lost his life many years before giving birth to their only child, a daughter.

I wanted to cry, and my eyes burned in protest to relieve the pressure that was building up inside me. But I couldn't. How strange, I thought... I had almost forgotten that I was now a daughter, a slave, to the night. No more walks in the meadows with my love...no more adventures in the burning sun. My creator warned me of its hatred to our kind. (Though as we know, those who aren't quite as set in the old ways don't feel much effect. It really all depends on location and the way in which we were trained.)

I couldn't cry. But my dear husband did. We were soul mates. Bound together for life; never to be apart...

I won't go into details. I'll either have more tattoo trimmings to get, or I'll end up feeding upon the innocent; neither of which I feel like doing now. The moon is so beautiful tonight, and I wish to lie in the secluded woods to gaze up into my other half.

I killed my soul mate. And if I could die, I'd be rotting in Hell for it. I want to burn in Hell for it. Become the Devil's adversary to show the other demons the pain we have caused our victims.

To Clear Things Up...

Now, some of you may be confused whereas I am supposed to be a good guy, or a bad guy. Lets just say I'm a classy murderer.

I still drink human blood. I refuse to drink like a "vegetarian" by drinking from animals instead. Their blood is full with the monotonous taste of grass and thoughtless actions, where humans provide deceit, happy memories, feelings, and the delight that their sweets provide; it never gets old.

I do NOT sleep in a casket. I hardly sleep at all, I'm powerful enough where I don't have to. It's only something I do when I'm really bored or after a few decades of rough melee. But when I do sleep, i prefer it to be in my bed of the finest silk. Though I could sleep on the rough ground all the same.

I won't burn in the sun; and I don't sparkle. I could be out in it all day, and it would only irritate my eyes. Everything is so much better at night, which I even thought before I became the being I am today.

And as for powers...well, of course I have inhuman strength and speed. As well as the ability to live forever. Pretty much like your comic heroes already, huh? Except I'm much stronger than them. Generations of power runs through my veins with the Old One's great abilities. But I also have a type of mind control; nothing like voodoo, but more to the point where people can't tell me no when they look at me.

Mourning

It's been quite some time; my game is not being played as it should. Though seeing as I've yet to acquire my audience, it makes no difference. And the reason behind my absence? I had to grieve for my child, and hunt down his merciless killers. Slowly...slowly I showed them the pain that they have caused me. And they call us Wretched Beings! Ha! It is they who are wretched. Pitiful excuses for mercenaries of God. I've lived for many a year; God has yet to show himself or any mercy on the world we live in. So I say - what God? Where is he to save you now? There was nobody to save my James as he was away from his mother. I wasn't there to protect him - like all children, they love to stray from home, they seek independence. But he was mine! How dare they take him from me? So young...

Of course, its not my real son. Though we are bound by blood. Ha. Blood related - a whole new meaning. I took James as my own, I gave him the best this world had to offer - I passed onto him my strong blood given to me by my maker, one of The Ancients. He was my son. I took care of him. 100 years ago I saved him from death's firm grasp, and gave him a new life, which he quite enjoyed.

Ramblings

Though the years I've come to learn a great deal about life and death; and its that life sucks. Strange to hear that from an immortal, right? But most of our kind feel that way; unless we've found a mate. And by that, young fools, I do not mean that in just the physical act of love - generally that is in our nature to do anyway with our fledglings. Do not mistake this for "whoring about"; the reason we commit this is because when we add to our family, when we give this sadistic gift to those who do not yet realise the turmoils ahead, it is as if we give them a bit of our soul. Thus, we have a special attachment to that person. But the kind of mate I speak of is in the old sense of a life partner. (Or afterlife is the better term?) When we find a mate, we find what we feel is worth living our eternity for. Of course we love our own fledglings, our friends, and we'd quickly come to help them; but having a mate is a far more powerful reason to want to stay alive and bare witness to each tragedy or act of kindness that the world shall give.

If I have such a grim outlook, you may wonder why I simply don't offer myself to the Hell that awaits me, wanting to claim the real demons of the world. I do not live for my friends, my masters before me, my fledglings, and surely I don't live for the world we live in now as it falls apart, and I have yet to find a mate; I live to repay the debts of my slaughters.

There are many "vegetarian" vampires, so wanting to protect humans isn't such an odd thing. But I was raised as Hell's killer. I was considered one of the most lethal vampires in existence, and I still would be; if I were still killing as I did back in the day. The reason that I have become a protector of my natural prey is because a very long time ago, when I was a young fledgling, I easily took out an entire family as usual, but it came back to haunt me. Guilt tugging at my hair, pulling me backwards into the dark abyss of past sins.

First came the father; reading in his red velvet chair made of the finest oak I'd ever come across. They were a poor family, it must have belonged to a past family member and he was the only heir to it. He adjusted his glasses in the dimming light of the flame's dying embers. He was my victim before he inhaled another breath of the smoky atmosphere.

Then it was the mother's turn. Lovingly brushing her sleeping child's hair. A scream from the woman fit to turn the dead in their graves woke the young girl. She yelled for her to seek shelter with her father once she saw my twisted grin; she knew what was coming. How funny, I thought, that she actually believed her husband was still alive. Once the woman had succumbed to life's end I carelessly dropped her to the ground and noticed the sickeningly ugly child looking up at me. A face with uneven features, twisted teeth, and hideous brown curls.

Tightly gripping a hand made straw doll as her body quivered in fear; but her sharp blue eyes scolded me as if I were the child, and she had just caught me sneaking a cookie before dinner. This child, no older than seven years, stared back at me as if I should have feared her. I was the predator. No mortal had ever challenged me. I ripped her limb from limb. I hadn't even bothered to clean up my feast that night. I was outraged. But as I sought solitude in the deep wood, I realised that the little girl with her ugly features was right in challenging me.

I was Hell's beast that had destroyed her family. She was taught in church to pay no heed to demons such as myself, to show them no fear, to expose them for what they were. Insignificant nightmares that God would banish to Hell. After this display of defiance from the girl, I realised what I had been doing to countless families before hers, to my meals; I knew I'd spend my eternity making up for it.

An Introduction

As the pretenders would do, I shall introduce myself; for it would be rude not to, wouldn't it? A cold, ivory face lacking enthusiasm for the world around her, stares back with the dark stained emeralds for eyes. Lavender shadows kissing the marble smooth skin under the sad, questioning eyes. Pale lips to shade the world from its real danger.

Quiet, but not stupid. Observing the little beauty left in the world, and listening to all the sounds of the peaceful nature far from civilization. A mistress to the night, hiding from its destined, but hated lover, day.

What else to say besides that I'm here to play with my kin as they expose themselves in vein, which I'll also be taking part in; for what reason would there be not to? All those who would find out about our existence in life's cruel game are going to die off anyway. For the rest of us, it's nothing new.