Deaths Embrace

Chapter 1

Love.

We all want it, we all crave it, but have we ever achieved true love? I'd be crazy to assume I had, after all, what is love, really?

I have tried everything, sex, drugs, violence, some thing I should never say out loud, nor even think because of how prude and ungentlemanly like they may appear to people.

How do we achieve love? Well first I suppose you reach out to the nearest woman or man and declare your interest in them.

I've always found the courting part tedious and dull, so that part had always been the hardest for me, the easiest though... well that's another thing entirely.

See, I've always had love or so I thought, until I reached the great peak of 18 I thought I was a always loved by my family and friends, but love is a trick of the mind to make us believe we are happy, to make things more bearable.

Some do, some don't, but me... well I'm a lost cause of course.

I could never love, or truly be loved by another, I was too much of a monstrous child in my young and now I was simply a monstrous adult.

With great teeth and a face of an angel.

Yet none of that was me, it wasn't who I was, o was just a bag of bones and flesh but inside I was hallow, emptier then the worst of the worsts.

Why you may ask? I'll tell you why.

Just not yet anyways.

What would be the fun in that? I have all the time in the world to share my story with you, so now then...

Where should I start?

I guess I should start with the woman who laid bleeding to death on my very expensive Persian rug.

I didn't mean to, of course, but sometimes it's either kill or be killed, and I didn't plan on dying today, not when today was important.

Now the woman, whose name ignited a flame so fierce its a wonder I hadn't killed her soon, Camilla Clemont, a truly annoying creature to no end... until now.

She had taken interest upon me almost instantly the moment our eyes met, apart from my interest in her family, she was a finely dressed dull woman with no common sense or sense of humor.

Her family on the other hand were one of the most prestigious families in Europe, one I knew very well in another life... but that was a years ago.

Camilla, a desperately pathetic thing, if she had just simply taken my rejection as such, she'd never be dead on my floor, ruining a perfectly good rug.

I'd like to say this was the first time something so irritating has happened to me, but I'd be lying, wouldn't I?

The first time I had killed someone was the first time I was turned into what I am today, a flesh eating, blood sucking, vampire.

I came from a well known famous family with deep ties to the royal family, so I grew up knowing exactly what I felt like to have the life sucked from you.

1820 was the year of my downfall and of everything I thought my life was meant to become.

Marriage, sure why not, it was my right as Lord to produce an heir, love didn't factor into my family nor the people I was surrounded by, it was merely a means to an end result- keeping your name alive through centuries.

Surely now, giving how wrong things had turned up, my dear departed parents would be turning in their rotting graves.

Now Camilla here knew fairly well what I was talking about, she was brought up with the same insane ideas that were also drilled into my head at her age.

She saw me with money signs in her dull eyes, a life of luxury without having to lift a finger in her life- or children's lives, God forbid that ever happened, I wouldn't know how I'd survive offspring with this woman.

Well, I didn't have to worry about that anymore.

Not that I could produce, that ship had long sailed, vampires don't reproduce, we simply create, but that's beyond the point I'm trying to make.

Camilla wasn't the first and she's likely going to be the last to sought after the wealth that I acquire, and since I had produced no heirs before my untimely death, it all ended with me.

What a pity.

Nah, just kidding, I didn't care about any of that, what I cared about could never be understood.

Not by Camilla anyways, she was dead, and the last time I checked, dead people don't talk.

Good news to me, she never knew when to shut up.

Well, I better get a move on, today was an important day and I couldn't let Camilla's rude previous actions ruin my evening.

Afterall today I was turning 30, again, there was to be a celebration surrounded by my colleagues, and the circle of upper-class spoilt brainless dimwits I have found myself in.

You'd think after so many years that I had learned my lesson, but I'm nothing if hungry for the hunt of a new muse.

When I was turned in 1820 I was at the peak of my popularity, having created a masterpiece, my best work, I was very famous before I died.

Now I was teaching art to a bunch of dim-witted brainless students who couldn't tell the difference between oil and acrylic.

But it wasn't all that bad, no, I found my place in this society and I was thriving, I perhaps had another 5-7 years before people started bringing up questions like 'how have you not aged a day, you must tell me your skin care routine.'

If I hear that question once again, I might just have to impale myself in the heart.

There was a knock at the door, four knocks, the last being louder than the third.

Ah, perfect timing.

"You may enter."

Once the doors open, my butler, and possibly the only person alive that knows about my 'condition' walks into the room, closing the door behind him.

"Ah, Lenard, you're timing is spectacular as always." I said, getting up from my chair behind my study desk.

"See to it that Lady Camilla Brooke is taken care of."

"Certainty sir, and... the rug? He asked, looking on with displeasure on his face.

What to do indeed. "Find me a replacement, perhaps something more modern."

"Modern sounds great, sir." He bowed then clicked his fingers, causing a chain reaction.

Ah yes, I had forgot to mention my staff, loyal and easily pleased, they'd do anything to appease me for a favor.

Three staff men came through the double doors of my study and had immediately gotten to work on departed Lady Camilla Brooke.

The last thing I saw before I left my study was Lenard and the three men rolling her lifeless corpse in my very expensive rug, yet all I could think of was.

What a shame, that was a family heirloom.