Omens

Mircalla

My name is Carmilla Karnstein, and I have been a vampire for over three hundred years. And no, I don't mean in the traditional sense of the word like those dastardly teenage novels written about us today would lead you to believe. It's true that my heart no longer beats in my chest, and my lungs no longer require air, but despite what I am, I don't exactly consider myself dead. Though, I suppose, given the circumstances, it would also be inappropriate to claim I'm alive. Because I'm not. Not in the same way as humans are, at least.

In truth, I did die to become a vampire, but that was a long time ago, back when death was the most frightening idea a girl could entertain. Unlike my mortal self once did, I no longer fear death, and I'd be lying if I didn't admit that there have even been times in my life where I've begged for it, or come shockingly close to meeting my inevitable end. Yet somehow, here I remain: alive, but not exactly living; my body kept animate by magics that even an immortal as old as me, with all my years and experiences, have never quite been able to fathom.

For the record, I am nothing like those problematic, emotionally constipated, blood-sucking fuckbags you see on television; with their unrealistic fangs and inane allergies. I'm not some borderline pedophilic, stalker immortal doomed to walk an eternity banished to the night -- that's bullshit, and also, kind of offensive.

The modern idea of vampires would have you believe I'm some centuries-old lusting fiend, with a laughable one-dimensional personality, and a toxic, bad boy, victim complex for young girls to swoon over. Unfortunately, for humans, the reality of such delusions have a much darker end. One that involves less of the star-crossed lovers and more of the gruesome, bloody, schoolgirl demise at the hands of a hungry -- potentially sociopathic -- vampire.

That's not to say that everything in vampiric literature is wrong. Some humans were mildly accurate with their depictions of us. Bram Stoker, for example, did a fairly decent job, but he did botch several things too.

Unlike the infamous tales of Dracula, I can't turn into a bat on command or hypnotize my victims, and I can't make another of my kind by simply biting them or having them drink my blood. As for sunlight, while I do prefer the cover of darkness over the day, being out in it affects me very little; as long as I don't remain exposed to it for too long. Sunburns are a bit of a bitch, I'll admit, but nothing some aloe vera and a little accelerated healing can't fix -- which is something all vampires have.

I do drink blood because I crave it, that much I have in common with the Count, but it's not the only thing I can eat; though as far as I can tell it is a requirement for me to live. Honestly, I haven't exactly tried the whole starving-myself-for-science thing, not intentionally, at least. I'm masochistic, but not that masochistic.

As far as weaknesses go, silver is particularly annoying, but it won't kill an immortal, just burn them. And not to shit on the classics, but staking isn't the most effective way to kill a vampire either. A normal human would have to be very lucky to get close enough to use one, and if you're that close to a vampire, to begin with, it's probably because one of us is making a meal of your carotid.

For the most part, the myths children grow up with about the bloodsucking monsters who stalk the night are grossly misleading and overdrawn. Many of the rumours told about us today were tailored by vampires themselves centuries ago, to hide our weaknesses from those who would use them against us.

Truthfully, even with my general assholery, I like to think of myself as a fairly civilized individual, not some blood-lusting fiend who should be prosecuted for the more animalistic urges that come with being what I am. Though, that isn't to say I can't still be dangerous when provoked, nor should I be underestimated. Only a fool would confuse my civility for docility, and fifty years ago I most likely would've ripped out their spine for making that mistake. But I was a different vampire back then and now it's safe to assume that my days of carving red swaths through the towns I come upon are long since over. While I'd like to say that my lack of human killing sprees is because of me growing morally as a person, it's mainly just because modern science makes covering your tracks extremely difficult, and characteristically speaking I tend to be a very lazy person.