The ancient and tragic journey of the vampire Vittoria de Luca Bonenfant as she so vividly recalls. The struggles of an immortality she deems to be forsaken by God. A Christian who is loath to see her faith wain. A vampire with the profound inabilit...
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I am here now, and I will speak of that night and attempt to explain the totality of my despair, though, my loss cannot be weighed, save by the measure of a blade.
It was here that had begun that downward fiery spiral. When I think back on it, I feel hopeless depression. Even now I know it was my darkest time. Now, as I wish for death and keep it there locked away.
I wrestle with the thought still.
Yes, I do.
Quietly within myself as, I step away from the light creeping my footing, I contemplate. Silently, I dare myself, and, too, I scold myself and tell no one.
But then I do not speak much at all. To no one do I speak of my suffering, for that is simply not the vampire's way. Not at this age, at the age where oblivion seems all the more appealing, all the more comforting. Where stamina seems lost; lost as I am from myself to the ever changing world, because by natural design, everything always changes but I do not.
And, so, I will eternally be both old and new to the world, disconnected from age itself. And it tethers my temperament in such a way, that I speak with death so lovingly upon my tongue.
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—1827–
I had, alas, been made attuned to the set of the sun as no mortal creature could hope it, so that I was up with a start the following evening.
I was the wind. I felt what he would do. He is a selfish heart and does not know real pain. That he should live long enough, I'll make him feel it.
But I could hear their cries now, and then it was as if I flew.
In fact, I had. Somehow, I had willed myself into flight by some powerful miracle, but I would never be fast enough. Already, I could smell the ash.
I rounded the final corner as he fled through the vista.
David. I shall forever hate that name. How many David's have I killed?
