Candle light flickered an ominous yellow light against the pale cheek of Symorial. His smooth features had barely a crease, except for the lines around his eyes which deepened. He peered at his king, whom was enjoying a glass of dark crimson blood. Symorial felt a whine rise from his throat. It had been awhile sense he fed. He noticed his master look at him, causing him to whine again. Begging wasn't his style, but he was starving, and weakness was what his majesty loved. He didn't have to say anything for Symorial to know he could walk over and have a drink for himself. His master simply lifted the glass to him, and Symorial wrapped his small thin fingers around the glass, and his majesty's. Then he began to viciously drink, feeling the warmth return to his white cheeks. The dark lord sat un-phased, watching.
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Disgusting small rat, you abomination. A disgusting mistake, a disgusting little boy. Oh how I loath myself for creating you. Too young. TOO. YOUNG. A child I have damned forever... I'm so selfish. I just had to have you didn't I? Your weak pale green eyes had won my heart, and now I'm stuck with you. Stuck with you till you realize your body is your prison, and you kill me. Oh no. Its whining isn't it? I've gone and starved it. Haven't I done enough to it by creating it? Let him feed, let the child consume. I love you small Symorial. You should have been left to die my sweet baby... Feed for now. Feed to get strong. Feed to find your desire to kill. Then hopefully one day, you'll find the desire to drain me as quick and as greedily you do that glass.
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Symorial combed out his hair having to stand on a stool to see himself in the mirror, Nirvana's Teen Spirit played loudly in the other room. He jumped off the stool, making sure his boots loudly slammed against the ground. He chuckled. Then he grabbed his flannel that was far too big for him, and threw it on. He glanced at himself in the mirror again, just catching a glimpse of his eyes and forehead. His gaze met that of a little boy's in the mirror. But he was not a little boy. He hissed, throwing a bar of soap at the mirror so hard it shattered the reflection into a million pieces. He made a loud howling laugh of victory, and slid his tongue over his needle point fangs. He slowly smirked hearing a woman's blood hurling scream. "JOHNATHAN! OH MY GOD JOHNATHAN!"
"Mothers home..." he thought aloud, pulling open the shower curtain to reveal the mangled pile of visceral in the bath tub. "God Pop... That ol' bitch really knows how to spoil a good time." He sniffed the air and chuckled fanning his nose at the stench. "Why's everyone gotta be so square these days?" He looked down at the remains of a bloodied head, a look of terror and its mouth agape as though in a permanent silent scream. He laughed loudly, and swung open the bathroom door. "Mooooooom~!" He was ready for his next meal.
