Night after night through the neverending passing centuries Ive walked the streets of this foreign city. Paris. The one theyve so foolishly deemed The City of Love, and I laugh in a disdained mockery of the pathetic little word.How foolhardy are they who fall captive to such nonsense, allowing themselves to become masterless slaves of a most imbecilic emotion. Longing to feel anothers touch and often slipping into a state of endless desperation when they find it not. They waste their lives searching the shadows for the fleeting experience that hides in elusivity and points is elegant finger at them in jest. In all my years I have never understood the pointless endeavor these pathetic little humans take on at such a young age only to have their hearts shattered like glass to be left unswept on the barren floor. I have never entertained the notion until the evening last. When I saw her, merely in passing and I caught the scent of her strawberry flavored hair in the wind and teased my vampiric senses and for the first time in as far back as I can remember I felt something inside me spring to life. I followed her the short distance to her house, taking every caution to remain unseen and I heard the melodic sound of her beautiful voice as she softly sang out into invisible air. Her features were exquisite beyond any I had ever seen and I committed them to memory in case I never crossed her path again. But who was I kidding. I was drawn to her, unlike any other before her and I would see to it as best I could that she remain forever safe in a city filled with beings of my own kind. I imagined what it would be like to run my long, bony fingers through the lush ebony tresses that cascaded down to rest along her shoulders gently bouncing with every step she took. Her lips were the color of the most succulent spring berries and I wanted only to press mine against them and taste the freshness of the unspoiled fruit. But I would not. Instead I chose to enjoy the blissful agony saturated with all that she was. The beautiful creature, so full of crimson life, had slipped an invisible collar around my neck and I was unwilling to stop it. I wanted to run my fingertips along the supple curves of her body longing to feel warmth once again.I could have taken her, I could have enticed her to come to me willingly and I could have fulfilled my own dark fantasies with reckless abandon and I chose otherwise. Who am I to play God? And the answer slapped me in the fact as though it were the hand of an angry lover. I am The Vampire Armand
Posted on: Thu, 27 Mar 2014 15:08:50 +0000
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