When you're a 700-year old creature, attempting to fit in with the modern lifestyle may be a bit of a drag. Perhaps you'll make new friends, find a wonderful career, a nice place to settle down in, or manifest true love with someone. Maybe you'll be...
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Quilke took off his top hat. The black attire gracefully held a white trim around its edge. Rapidly, he spun it around in his hands. With each pause, he landed his thumb over the trimming, staring at it, briefly. "My wondrous Caralein would always kiss me goodnight, her luscious, dark hair clouding my presence like the warm air of a moist night." Yinara's eyes widened. "Whoa! She sounds... ideal! Like, wow, I think I've heard stories about women like that before. Especially- Yeah, especially back when I was a part of... normal society. I think my human parents used to read me fairy-tales of stuff like that. So- So, what you're saying is... she was the womanly ideal? Hm. It's interesting that humans and vampyres have the same ideals for women." "Ahahaha. My dear, little Yinara, Caralein was beyond all ideals. Her precious face always glowed the dim hallways of my castle. I grateful to have a castle, and even more grateful to have her. To have... a Caralein." "Wow. I mean, wow, sir. She sounds... wonderful. I wonder if her and I would've ever gotten along." "Hm. Perhaps! She was never cruel to any other women. When we -- her and I -- would lay together, she'd always hold onto me like I was her world. Her Earth. And she, my sun." Quilke looked down into his top hat. "She loved looking at flowers. Hmmm. Yinara, that quality is something you two share in common. She loved to, how do the humans say it? Stop and smell the roses. The wet ones, especially, had stretched a deviant fragrance across all of Polidoria, once." Yinara bit her bottom lip. She watched as Quilke's voice lowered the further he spoke. The more words he said, the lower his tone seemed to shrink. The lower any active voice would protrude from his mouth. His pale lips seemed to retreat a tad behind the syllables in which he used to articulate his wistful reverie. He sat on the grass, this seasoned man, with his head full of curly, raven-like hair. Yinara gazed into the locks, each clump resembling the wild fur of a long-haired cat. From the tufts of his neck, there was a light blue ribbon. Seeping down, the rest of the Posh man's jacketed back became doused in more of his own hair. As dark as the bottom of a lake at night, Quilke Weldspar's locks matched the tainted hue of his outfit. "Quilke, you seem... so distant." "Hm? I'm sorry, my dear?" "These days, you seem... like you're somewhere else. I mean, I'm one to talk. I'm always trying to be somewhere else. But you- Even when you talk to people, and even when you're right by them... you seem further." Quilke cleared his throat. His eyelids grew heavy. His breath quickened, then went shallow. Bags under his old eyes, a smile crept over his pale face. Underneath his long nose, those apricot lips perked up just a bit. "Perhaps, I am. Perhaps, a part of me... is still with my beloved." "And... where is your 'beloved', sir?" Yinara's wide, spur-green eyes blinked. "Hm." Quilke clapped his hands together, a giant, black pole materializing into the air. Out from the deep crevice of his top hat, a black cane sprang forth, through the wind, and into the garden. As the blue sky above twirled its clouds back and forth, Quilke's black cane whipped through the wind. It danced beside him, as if it possessed a life all on its own. "That will be quite the interesting story to tell, but, to be honest, I have yet to complete the works myself. I have yet to dig down into the shattered bits of my soul... and figure out just what happened that night." Princess Yinara's eyes bobbed vertically with the staff's jumping. "Sir, that's... very cool. What is that?" "Hm. I used to like doing a lot of magic tricks. They always cheered me up. Always cheered her up too. Those rounded cheeks would just light up with a blush, you know. Her eyes... melded such beautiful radiations. Those delicate hands... would grip me like I was King of the world. But a King is nothing without his Queen, you see. Oh, how I miss her so. Every night I fantasize about her embrace. My precious, sweet Caralein."
