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.