From a friend

The Start

And ever since I had met you, everything had changed, how I noticed and saw things. Smells, views and colours. You had the ability to make it all seem so easy, but behind your fassade you had built up with so much power, I saw the fragile, depressing being that I loved without hesitation.

We met in Paris, as children. Your family was the richest in all of the town and we traveled from London to exchange, buy and sell. You had the biggest house, if it could even be called that. There was light everywhere, it seemed almost like a church. It seemed like god loved your family so much that he gave you the light made for the entire city. I still remember running through the halls of it, it always seemed like a castle out of a fairytale to me, filled with laughter and light. And there was one certain room, of course we weren't allowed to even take one step into it, which gave off a weird smell. Looking back it was the smell that your grown up self has. Tobacco and Opium. I remember your more than strict parents, which just didn't seem to fit the thought of you being raised by them. I don't think I remember any occasion of us visiting where you didn't get slapped at least once. I think I had always loved you, from the very beginning. You seemed so unreal to me, like a burning candle in the darkness. Like a porcelain doll, almost. With skin so fair, it could be compaired to snow, lips and cheeks rosy and full and beautiful blue eyes, just like heaven, which you loved so strongly. Our comparison was comedic, with me being much taller, dirtier, rotten; So I thought back then. I naturally had a darker teint, dark brown, almost black, scruffy hair and I was tall, a natural wolf. Thinkkng back, a pure cliché. The older we got, the more obvious it got, in actuality. We would sporadically visit your family every two years and stay over the summer. Up until this day I'm not actually sure, what our parents talked about, since they didn't seem to even happily stand each other, but I'm not to be concerned. I remember you showing me the city, as I talk of it, everyone greeted you, they asked how your parents and your grandmother were, but nobody asked about your grandfather. You'd show me your little hiding places, like under the small bridge or in alleyways. These days were fun and I will always remember Paris like it was back then, in the hot, humid summer, without all of the corruption there is today.

We'd dine like kings, getting drunk on the wine we had stolen from our parents as children and sleep in the same bed, reading together, trying to teach each other the other's language to understand each other on even more levels. Of course my parents would scold me, but they were loving, gentle and loved every member of the pack like they loved each other, deeply and without an end. That's why your parents intimidated me, I was scared to death by them. Our families were like summer and winter, they all had secrets, but they were way too different in heritage. Of course, as children, we couldn't have cared less, we had fun and lived day after day, but someday we stopped being children, especially children of God.

Eventually we found out about the other ways of living and loving, raw, bodily love, the final stage of understanding each other, which we had longed for for all the time we knew each other, willing to know every detail about the other. We started it in ecstasy, letting our instincts take over, it was hot, I still remember it because I was surprised by the naive Varieabelle knowing what he was doing. Why that was I would only get to know much, much later. It held hours upon hours, up until this day it seems kind of weird, but in a good way, I'd guess. But after this, it all went downhill. His moods went over, he didn't seem happy anymore, but that was my judgement of his letters. I think his parents found out because afterwards our family never visited theirs again. Gladly, I thought, I was 18 then, being able to move around without my parents, planning to meet my beloved once again. His last letter had reached me months ago, even though I had answered almost directly. But when I arrived, the situation worsened, all I could call it was pure horror. Their house, the castle-like domicil I remembered so clearly, was set in flames. There was folks everywhere, screaming about vampires, liars and ungodly creatures. The Bouvier family had died, was all that reached me, in the big fire, started by a mere citizen of Paris. The people felt betrayed by their highest priest secretly being a 'monster' as they called it, they all had seemed to have gone mad. A priest secretly being a monster and his son, which all of the town had loved ever so dearly, turning out as a sinner, a man to love another man. I was in pure shock, my mouth would not let me form words, I could not take my eyes from the great flames, which I had never seen as gigantic. The fire took some stress off of me, so wildly raging I could forget my pain, before falling onto my knees, uncontrollably sobbing in horror.  It felt so surreal, how so much could happen in so little time. I was forever changed, falling into the devil's arms, drinking his blood to ease my pain. I wasn't known here, gladly, and would not reveal my person. The man who had devoured Paris' purest angel into hell and a monster of another kind, half man half wolf.