Malachai Parker wasn't the only person to massacre his family. Along with him was Isabelle Martin, a witch who held his hand along the way, letting him siphon painlessly.
You could say she was as crazy as he. Unable to see the destruction he truly...
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Now
She didn't have to do anything. She just sat there with a smile coating her lips. The girl was a picture of beauty as she sat on a park bench.
1993, That's when I realised she would be mine.
Her brown hair was effortless while the wind lapped at the long strands of chestnut. It was one of those moments. I knew I would look back and say she was just there. And that's what I'm saying now.
Isabelle Julia Martin was just there.
Long ago I would've wanted her here. Now, I want to be rid of her. With her presence comes the inevitable memories. Of her laying beneath me, her laugh toward my terrible jokes, her tears sparked by joy or sadness, either way, they were all mine. However, I wish they weren't.
She is here. Not there and I don't have to question where because, she's right before me. She's sitting with a subtle smile curling at the corners of her lips. And worst of all, it's not because of me. No, not me but a heretic. A hybrid witch and vampire, he is old, older than me and his name is Malcom.
Now, if I had to choose, I would rather stick with Malachai than Malcolm.
Out of all this. A ball of frustration builds ever so slowly in my gut. Sadly, I can't make her think like me. I can't make her see the red licking at the corners of my sights. She's her own person now, she's matured even with her adolescent form.
That's all she was, someone to be with me so I didn't have to go down alone. Yeah, that's it...
