The Curse of The Vampire

Three days later, I found them camped on a plateau in the west, their fire burning boldly in the night. What had they to hide from? The Widows are strong; they have not been defeated in over a thousand years. I tore into them like a demon, silent and relentless. I did not let a single one escape. It was easy.

I strode directly into their camp, amidst cries of alarm. I sat down in the dirt in front of the largest tent, while they surrounded me, shouting and cursing. I waited. One bold girl approached, bouncing on the balls of her feet, hands raised. I looked into her eyes, saw the fire reflected in them, saw the anger, the fear. Lazily, I flicked out a claw and swiped it up her leg. She fell onto the ground, and I leapt upon her. I opened her neck and moved on to the closest Widow, who was shouting at me in some foreign tongue. Implacable, I hunted them down, until the ground was watered with blood. Some hid. Some ran. All perished. None escaped to tell the world of The Butchering of The Widows.

I walked quietly into the largest tent, allowing the smell of fresh death upon me and the scent of stale death inside the tent to mingle. They had lain her out on a table, perhaps to bury, perhaps to send to Stefan. It mattered not now; she was back with her family. I would take care of her. They had not deigned to find her a covering, so I attended to that first. A brief search unearthed a dress that would served. I wet a cloth and cleaned her skin of dried blood and dirt. Her skin was pale and cold, just as it had been in life, but her eyes were dead. Here and there were bite marks in her flesh, messy wounds with tearing around the edges. They told the tale of a struggle, which brought a smile to my face. My girl always was such a fighter.

The fire outside was burning low when I left the tent, walking towards the distant mountains with her in my arms.

“One last journey together.” I told her.

I climbed for hours before I found the right spot. A rocky cliff protruded from the mountain-side, open to the air. There I laid her while I searched for wood. Her pyre was not large, and her mourner left much to be desired, but it was a better rest than a grave. She wouldn’t have liked that, being locked in the ground. The flames licked at her hair and her dress, like a ravenous orange beast savoring the taste of a choice meal. But I looked not at her body but at the sparks. They gleamed brightly, and were extinguished before they could reach the heavens. Each seemed to carry a bit of her spirit, for they continued to rise, despite the impossible climb.

Man was never meant to touch the stars; they are too bright and too beautiful for his hands of clay. I am no man, but my star burned me regardless, and left her mark upon me. She was still too bright for me to touch. And yet, I gazed upon her beauty as a man gazes in wonder at the stars. I looked upon her face one last time, and whispered her name into the night. I prayed to whatever God or gods there might be, that she might have a place of honor at their table. She deserved that much.

She was Evangeline. She was my star, my angel, my light. I could not have earned her love in a hundred years or a thousand, but she gave it to me any way. She was slain because of two oath breakers, two brothers. The earth shall not see her like again.

I told you once that to be a vampire was to be thirsty. I was wrong. The curse of the vampire is not his thirst, it is his past. Eternity is a long time to remember pain, but it is even longer when your light is gone, and with it all your hope of a bright future.

Rejoice, then. Your suffering will last only a few decades.

Mine will last forever.