Dive into the story of Lylith Annabelle Stewart, a young vampire whose existence is shaped by the fragile balance between immortal grace and the dark curse of the gods. Convinced that love is merely an illusion in the eternal world she inhabits, Ann...
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In the shadow of centennial trees, their leaves rustling softly under the caress of the wind, I stand, the sole heir to an immortal past. The manor, majestic and solemn, bears witness to the grandeur of my lineage, but also to the absence that haunts every stone, every corner.
My father, this mystery chained to eternity, chose to slip away into the darkness of love, abandoning his daughter to solitude. The name of the one who ensnared him evaporates in my memories, a distant murmur that has become almost foreign. Kanchala. Yes, it was her. A fleeting presence in the theater of my eternal youth.
In that bygone era, we stood together in the shadows of this eternal manor, defying the passage of time as I was at the height of my childhood. But today, his absence is painfully felt, despite the years that have passed and the wear and tear of life. Why can't I simply forget him?
The centuries flow by, pitiless and stealthy, but my memory of his last words remains etched in my mind like an indelible imprint. "I can no longer live without her," he had murmured, his eyes filled with a passion I did not understand at ten years old and still do not understand. "My darling, I love you just as much. We will meet again in this town, under the eternal stars you watch over. Take care of your uncle, as he will take care of you through the centuries."
Since then, in the enchanting gardens of our manor, I remain, guardian of memories and secrets, in search of an elusive truth: love, that dazzling mirage or cruel lie?
Could it be that my father truly expected me to take care of my uncle, this burden? The one who forgets everything about his existence every twenty years? What a farce. Yet, he remains a paternal figure, his memories returning faithfully every five years after the forgetfulness, a fleeting embrace in the labyrinth of immortality.
— Annabelle, your bath is ready, he announces, approaching with a sly smile.
A sigh escapes my lips as I nod to him, entering this lifeless scene. The frozen gazes of the portraits bear witness to my eternity, a silent backdrop to my endless destiny.
In the coldness of my room, I immerse myself in the welcoming waters, an oasis in the desert of my solitude. The whispers of the past grow louder, the voices of ancestors murmuring timeless tales.
A sweet scent of jasmine perfumes the air, a reminder of a time when my friend Silianie and I, conspired against the shadows of the manor. But she is now only a distant echo, lost in the maze of my memory.
The invisible tensions ease under the caresses of the water. My uncle, faithful guardian of my eternal days, watches in silence, his face marked by the years, his love unalterable.
Love. That word still resonates as an irony, a joke. Does it really exist? These gods who claim to have created their children with love, is it true? They say they are omniscient, omnipotent, and omnipresent, so they know everything, and yet they still created this universe, this earth. I am sure they watch humanity while laughing.
In the bubble of forgetfulness of my bath, I seek refuge. The water, a soothing whirlpool, could it offer the clarity my immortal mind ardently desires? Perhaps, in these liquid reflections, I will find the answers to my age-old questions about love and the nature of the gods who seem to mock us.
After this moment of relaxation in the water, I descend the marble stairs majestically to have my breakfast. I see him sitting there, with eyes reflecting certain emotions, suffering, pain perhaps? I always wonder if he isn't tired of living.
— What will you do today? He asks without looking at me.
— Martha told me that one of our families has been mutilated. Should we go take a look?
— Time has evolved, and the existence of these creatures always leaves me speechless. As usual, I don't think we should get involved because I am sure it is probably a minor branch under the responsibility of the Iris or the Heter. They will know how to manage.
— You may be right, but uncle, am I not one of those creatures? I remind him.
— I wonder what the gods' plan is. Why did they decide that you would share the title of guardian with me when they gave you immortality linked to a thirst for blood. He replies, his words resonating in the air like an accusation.
Only the gods held this answer, and we both knew it. We bear our own burdens. I feel the isolation, like an emptied manor, laden with dark presences. My emotions sometimes drive me to curse the gods, wondering what motivates them. My father transferred his vitality to a woman who became immortal, knowing that my uncle would suffer the consequences, but claiming it was out of love. Before the gods condemned them to work in a city I am told I am the guardian of. What a lie!
Angry with them since that day, I call out to them, seeking the origin of this sacrificial love, questioning my inability to love, this necessity to feed on my uncle's blood. The gods seem insensitive, as if they had put on headphones or are they deaf? Are they really gods or evil spirits? I wish they would answer, these disconcerting beings. I feel like a trapped fish. Is this what is called grace? Peace remains unknown to me, as I struggle with this thirst for blood since I was eleven years old.
Despite everything, I try to follow their precepts. I know they hear but refuse to answer. It is said that gods perform miracles, but it often plunges me into doubt, making me think maybe I have annoyed them or my prayers do not reach them. On the outside, I seem fine, but inside, I am sick, as if they have already judged me and I am already in hell.
