Krimson Mind: The Krimson Cycle Vol. 1

Chapter Three - Krimson:

I stepped out of the shower and checked myself in the full-length mirror that hung in my bathroom. Despite being an over 1000 year old vampire, I really didn't look that bad. Maybe it was because I was a damned old vampire. I was never sure about shit like this.

I stand five foot six and weigh somewhere in the neighborhood of 130 pounds. Honestly, I don't keep track like all of these modern women. It seems a bit silly to me. Women used to be thick, not fat mind you, but not like the skeletal versions you see on today's streets. Anyway all of my weight was toned muscle. I work out regularly because I was trained from the time I was a young girl to hunt were-wolves. You can't be thick, and expect to outrun an angry thrope.

Even before I became undead, my skin had been pale due to the Irish blood that flows in my English veins. Being undead made my skin almost alabaster white. The only parts of my skin that weren't undead white, were my lips and my nipples, which were always a pale pink color. They became down right rosy after I've fed. I know, I've checked.

My hair is the color of freshly spilt blood with black undertones. The rich red color comes from my typical habit of avoiding sunlight. I can tolerate it but I try to avoid it whenever I can. My eyes have always been a bright crystal green. I've been told they are the kind of green that resemble perfectly cut emeralds. That's why I've always had a special place in my heart for the green stones. I have a pair of emerald studs in my ears. If anybody cared to notice, I've had them for nearly two hundred years.

I grinned at the eternal eighteen-year-old in my mirror. I looked good and I knew it. I had to work at it though. Being undead didn't mean I'd always have a perfect body. It was one of the great lies of being a vampire. If you were a pudgy middle-aged gamer when you got turned, you'd still be a pudgy middle-aged-looking vampire. I'd used my looks to get me by in a world that increasingly has had a rather unhealthy fascination with youth and agelessness. I mean, have you seen the internet lately. And what was with these child predators. That shit wasn't looked upon kindly in my day. I still don't tolerate it. I've gone out of my way to take out those sick human fucks.

I grabbed a towel from the rack and began to dry off. I had a new life to get to and really didn't have time to deal with my inner monologue or its dark idiosyncrasies. It was time to get moving.

Every twenty years or so, I change my identity and move to a new place. Part of this deception is so that those humans that I inevitably have dealings with don't become suspicious of me. The main reason, however, is so that the reigning Vampire King doesn't find me. I escaped from him and his insanity. And he would like nothing more than to recapture me and torture me until I was more than willing to do anything he demanded of me. It's become harder however with the advent of things such as the internet and cameras on every street corner and the advent of the cell phone. I've had to change my appearance more times than I can count. It's only been recently that I've gone back to my original hair and eye color. While I was relieved that I could quit dying my hair, I was hoping like hell that it wouldn't be my last mistake.

For most of my early life as a vampire, I have been his special pet. His favorite assassin. I did for him what my father trained me to do before that bastard darkened my door. I hunted thropes, and I was damn good at it. And thanks to his blood and a lifetime of training, I had become something of legend to my prey. They tell stories about me. They fear me. Kind of like I fear Lord Kaign, the Vampire King.

I have an astonishing kill record. As far as I am aware, nobody has even come close to matching it, much less surpassing it. There are a few groups who can compete, like the Deck. But no single hunter has killed as many shape shifters as I have. To date, I have killed 6,847 of the terminally furry. Well, that's not entirely true. Eighteen of those were vampires. A thrope, if you haven't guessed, is anybody who goes furry during the full moon. Thropes are were-people.