Chipped off a bit of writer's block!
Yahoo!
It's cause for celebrayyyy-shunn!
*dances around*
Here it be!
If
‘Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it.’
Green eyes stared back at him from a dirty, cracked mirror. His fingers tightened on the edges of the sink as he studied himself, noting his tanned skin, broad shoulders, and short black hair. ‘What a joke,’ he mused, smiling mirthlessly as he tore his gaze away from his reflection and twisted the tap.
A quick gush of water preceded the slow-running stream of questionable liquid that now pooled in the sink. He looked down in disgust before quickly splashing some on his arms and drying it with a piece of rough cloth. Not bothering to twist the tap back, he left the washroom.
His room was… well, it could hardly be called a room in the first place. The walls were a shade of colour that could only be described as filthy. Totally, completely, and disgustingly filthy. The only piece of furniture in the small room was a bed in one corner. A rucksack and saddlebag, packed and ready, had been placed on it. He reached for his cloak, which lay on the bedpost, and swung both his rucksack and saddlebag over his shoulder after tugging on the cloak with one hand. Looping a careless knot with the strings hanging from the collars, he strode out of the room with a sense of relief.
As he was about to walk down the corridor, his stomach heaved and he blanched, turning on his heel. He slammed open the door to his recently abandoned room, flung his rucksack and saddlebag onto the bed, and stumbled into the washroom, pulling back the hood of his cloak and leaning over the sink, panting. His stomach heaved again, threatening to hurl its contents out, but he forced it down. Slowly, the churning feeling grew to become an excruciating pain ripping at his stomach.
“Damn it,” he gasped, clutching at his stomach. He hadn’t expected so much resistance. The pain coiled in his stomach, allowing him a momentary relief, but then shot up to his head with such intensity that he dropped to his knees, grasping his hair in an effort to stop himself from yelling out.
A metallic, copper taste spread in his mouth and he relaxed his jaw, realizing that he had clamped his teeth down on his bottom lip. The pain… it was like someone within him was ripping at him from the inside. ‘Interesting analogy,’ he smirked at himself weakly, ‘What a pun- argh!’
‘Why?’
The whisper rose up from the depths of his own mind, eerily soft, yet loud enough to drown out his frantic heartbeat.
‘Why did you do it?’
He peered through the window, green eyes gleaming as they found their target and followed her as she walked. An intense yearning pulled at him. She was so… carefree. Could he really do this?
Yes.
The voice in him answered his question. He had been living in this town for six months now, and already, the savage instincts had begun to grow within him. However, the instincts were not strong enough to block out all of his compassion. ‘But she must want a family one day,’ he argued, ‘She’s so full of… of…’
Blood.
And the hunger overruled his humane thoughts. Yes. Blood. He grinned, revealing perfectly straight teeth. It was time. Straightening up, he brushed dust off of his overcoat and walked up to the wooden door.
“Maria,” he called, knocking twice on the door, “’Tis I, Kaϊen.”
He heard a soft thump and a nervous giggle. “Coming!” a female’s voice - sweet and demure - responded. A few moments later, the door opened, revealing a beautiful woman with creamy skin and long, wavy blonde hair. She wore a simple dress, yet managed to look effortlessly elegant.
His heart skipped a beat. The human in him longed to be with her, but he knew he could not. His previous victims were just as breathtaking, and he had learned that he could not fight his savage, animal instincts. “I apologise for dropping by on you like this,” he began, and then seemed to properly look at her.
“You look…” he trailed off, a pink flush colouring his cheeks. He looked the perfect picture of a shy noble.
She laughed; a rich sound serving only to fuel his yearning. “Yes?” she teased.
“Stunning,” he said softly, a slow smile playing across his lips as he made and maintained eye contact. Right on cue, she blushed.
“Come in.”
He inclined his head and stepped in. The door closed behind him. He could feel the adrenaline rushing through his veins. The hunt had begun.
“What brings you here?” Maria’s voice broke into his thoughts.
He blinked, turning to face her. Green eyes met blue, and his smile widened slightly. “I felt like dropping by,” he replied offhandedly, his gaze unwavering.
It was she who looked away first, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I… see,” she said softly. They stood in silence, barely a yard between them, each thinking of something neutral to say. He knew, however, exactly how long the silence should last, and after a few moments, said with implied casualness that somehow failed to be casual, “I… I’m leaving tomorrow.”
There was a split second of silence. Maria frowned slightly. “Why?” she prompted, stepping forwards.
“I’ve stayed here long enough.”
“But you can’t just leave-”
“I have to. You know I have things to do.”
“But I don’t want you to,” she responded defiantly, standing directly in front of him. He sighed, “Maria, your father-“
“I don’t care for the other suitors,” she interrupted, glaring up at him. Even upset, her features carried a certain ravishing beauty. He returned her gaze. She stared at him stubbornly for a few seconds, but then shook her head and looked away. “Why?” she whispered.
He touched her forearms tentatively, and when she didn’t pull away, looped his arms around her and pulled her into a hug, resting his head on hers. The scent of her hair rushed into his senses and an unexpected, unfathomable jolt shot up his spine. Maria's sobs quietened, and he loosened his grip as she looked up, her blue eyes glimmering. Once again - eye contact does wonders - he met her gaze and almost flinched at the emotion in her eyes. Smiling inwardly, he leaned in.
Checkmate.
The slow drip of water flowing out of the sink was mind-numbingly uniform. Otherwise, only his ragged breathing penetrated the silence. His head throbbed and jolts of pain shot through his very being. His green eyes gleamed, reflecting none of the turmoil within. His knuckles were white from grasping handfuls of his clothes with profound strength. His forehead glistened with sweat. The water from the sink pooled onto the floor, but he saw none of that.
His lips pressed against hers, his hands on her waist as she responded with the same amount of passion, her fingers running through his hair and grasping a handful firmly, but not painfully.
The voice screamed out from his core and he spasmed, gritting his teeth as he pushed back against the force threatening to overwhelm his body and soul.
He pushed her down onto the bed. His shirt was already off, and he savored the feel of her hands on his skin and her lips on him.
The pain in his head expanded, stretching branches out to every inch of his body and withdrawing energy. His breaths were painful, his vision blurring, and still, he persisted.
He was on top of her, his hands wandering. Her arms were curled around his neck. His lips left hers and trailed down to her neck.
Can’t…breathe… He writhed on the floor, his lips parted in a silent scream of agony.
He pressed his lips against the smooth skin of her neck. She threw her head back with a soft moan. Baring his teeth as the fangs descended, he barely noted her gasp of pain and pleasure as he bit gently.
The pain subsided slightly, and his breathing slowed marginally. He was regaining control.
He knew when she was filled with blissful ecstasy. He knew what to do and when. He knew how she felt and whatever emotions she experienced while with him. He knew of her desire and lust. He knew when she started feeling confused. He knew when the pleasure turned to pain.
The voice and pain disappeared, having lost the battle for control. He was still for a while, but soon regained his composure and stood up. He twisted the tap, halting the flow of water and using the accumulated water in the sink to wash his face.
She had been a lively one. Her reluctance to bow down to him even once he had acquired her nectar proved that. Rarely was the resistance against the energy transfer this strong.
He glanced at his reflections and almost snorted. Humans. Their legends were all wrong.
He had none of the characteristics that were famously linked to vampires. His skin was tanned, not pale; his eyes green, not blood-red. He could walk in daylight and he certainly did not drain his victims of every drop of blood. Instead, he left them with the minimum amount needed for them to continue living. He possessed no superior strength whatsoever, or speed, but indefinitely possessed extraordinary charm and good looks.
Contrary to popular beliefs, blood was not his main target. He absorbed the energy - the soul - of his victim through her blood, adding more years to his lifespan. His victims were left dull, ill, and soulless, but with their lives, nevertheless.
He took a deep breath, grabbed his rucksack and saddlebag, and walked out of the room and down the stairs. Nodding to the innkeeper, he headed for the door. If he had had the chance to, sixty years ago, would he have chosen otherwise? A life as a normal human?
Would he have allowed his love to die, knowing that if he didn’t, he would bring suffering into others’ lives? But she died, anyway, he thought bitterly. Her death had only been delayed. She paid for what she had done, and he paid the price of attempting to save her.
If he had had the chance, would he have chosen differently?
“Kaϊen…” she smiled at him, blue eyes twinkling. Her beautiful black hair curled enticingly around her shoulders. She looked better already. “Thank you,” she told him, reaching for his hand. He kissed her hand, smiling at her. “You will live,” he told her, his voice soft, “And we can be together.”
He opened the door and stepped out into the sunlight, the question lingering in his mind. Would he?
He stared down at her lifeless body, tears flowing freely. She looked divine, even when dead. He knelt down, brushed his lips against hers, and straightened up, his jaw set. After gently placing a rose on her body, he closed his eyes and turned away, “Goodbye, Simà.”
No.
It's cause for celebrayyyy-shunn!
*dances around*
Here it be!
If
‘Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it.’
Green eyes stared back at him from a dirty, cracked mirror. His fingers tightened on the edges of the sink as he studied himself, noting his tanned skin, broad shoulders, and short black hair. ‘What a joke,’ he mused, smiling mirthlessly as he tore his gaze away from his reflection and twisted the tap.
A quick gush of water preceded the slow-running stream of questionable liquid that now pooled in the sink. He looked down in disgust before quickly splashing some on his arms and drying it with a piece of rough cloth. Not bothering to twist the tap back, he left the washroom.
His room was… well, it could hardly be called a room in the first place. The walls were a shade of colour that could only be described as filthy. Totally, completely, and disgustingly filthy. The only piece of furniture in the small room was a bed in one corner. A rucksack and saddlebag, packed and ready, had been placed on it. He reached for his cloak, which lay on the bedpost, and swung both his rucksack and saddlebag over his shoulder after tugging on the cloak with one hand. Looping a careless knot with the strings hanging from the collars, he strode out of the room with a sense of relief.
As he was about to walk down the corridor, his stomach heaved and he blanched, turning on his heel. He slammed open the door to his recently abandoned room, flung his rucksack and saddlebag onto the bed, and stumbled into the washroom, pulling back the hood of his cloak and leaning over the sink, panting. His stomach heaved again, threatening to hurl its contents out, but he forced it down. Slowly, the churning feeling grew to become an excruciating pain ripping at his stomach.
“Damn it,” he gasped, clutching at his stomach. He hadn’t expected so much resistance. The pain coiled in his stomach, allowing him a momentary relief, but then shot up to his head with such intensity that he dropped to his knees, grasping his hair in an effort to stop himself from yelling out.
A metallic, copper taste spread in his mouth and he relaxed his jaw, realizing that he had clamped his teeth down on his bottom lip. The pain… it was like someone within him was ripping at him from the inside. ‘Interesting analogy,’ he smirked at himself weakly, ‘What a pun- argh!’
‘Why?’
The whisper rose up from the depths of his own mind, eerily soft, yet loud enough to drown out his frantic heartbeat.
‘Why did you do it?’
He peered through the window, green eyes gleaming as they found their target and followed her as she walked. An intense yearning pulled at him. She was so… carefree. Could he really do this?
Yes.
The voice in him answered his question. He had been living in this town for six months now, and already, the savage instincts had begun to grow within him. However, the instincts were not strong enough to block out all of his compassion. ‘But she must want a family one day,’ he argued, ‘She’s so full of… of…’
Blood.
And the hunger overruled his humane thoughts. Yes. Blood. He grinned, revealing perfectly straight teeth. It was time. Straightening up, he brushed dust off of his overcoat and walked up to the wooden door.
“Maria,” he called, knocking twice on the door, “’Tis I, Kaϊen.”
He heard a soft thump and a nervous giggle. “Coming!” a female’s voice - sweet and demure - responded. A few moments later, the door opened, revealing a beautiful woman with creamy skin and long, wavy blonde hair. She wore a simple dress, yet managed to look effortlessly elegant.
His heart skipped a beat. The human in him longed to be with her, but he knew he could not. His previous victims were just as breathtaking, and he had learned that he could not fight his savage, animal instincts. “I apologise for dropping by on you like this,” he began, and then seemed to properly look at her.
“You look…” he trailed off, a pink flush colouring his cheeks. He looked the perfect picture of a shy noble.
She laughed; a rich sound serving only to fuel his yearning. “Yes?” she teased.
“Stunning,” he said softly, a slow smile playing across his lips as he made and maintained eye contact. Right on cue, she blushed.
“Come in.”
He inclined his head and stepped in. The door closed behind him. He could feel the adrenaline rushing through his veins. The hunt had begun.
“What brings you here?” Maria’s voice broke into his thoughts.
He blinked, turning to face her. Green eyes met blue, and his smile widened slightly. “I felt like dropping by,” he replied offhandedly, his gaze unwavering.
It was she who looked away first, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I… see,” she said softly. They stood in silence, barely a yard between them, each thinking of something neutral to say. He knew, however, exactly how long the silence should last, and after a few moments, said with implied casualness that somehow failed to be casual, “I… I’m leaving tomorrow.”
There was a split second of silence. Maria frowned slightly. “Why?” she prompted, stepping forwards.
“I’ve stayed here long enough.”
“But you can’t just leave-”
“I have to. You know I have things to do.”
“But I don’t want you to,” she responded defiantly, standing directly in front of him. He sighed, “Maria, your father-“
“I don’t care for the other suitors,” she interrupted, glaring up at him. Even upset, her features carried a certain ravishing beauty. He returned her gaze. She stared at him stubbornly for a few seconds, but then shook her head and looked away. “Why?” she whispered.
He touched her forearms tentatively, and when she didn’t pull away, looped his arms around her and pulled her into a hug, resting his head on hers. The scent of her hair rushed into his senses and an unexpected, unfathomable jolt shot up his spine. Maria's sobs quietened, and he loosened his grip as she looked up, her blue eyes glimmering. Once again - eye contact does wonders - he met her gaze and almost flinched at the emotion in her eyes. Smiling inwardly, he leaned in.
Checkmate.
The slow drip of water flowing out of the sink was mind-numbingly uniform. Otherwise, only his ragged breathing penetrated the silence. His head throbbed and jolts of pain shot through his very being. His green eyes gleamed, reflecting none of the turmoil within. His knuckles were white from grasping handfuls of his clothes with profound strength. His forehead glistened with sweat. The water from the sink pooled onto the floor, but he saw none of that.
His lips pressed against hers, his hands on her waist as she responded with the same amount of passion, her fingers running through his hair and grasping a handful firmly, but not painfully.
The voice screamed out from his core and he spasmed, gritting his teeth as he pushed back against the force threatening to overwhelm his body and soul.
He pushed her down onto the bed. His shirt was already off, and he savored the feel of her hands on his skin and her lips on him.
The pain in his head expanded, stretching branches out to every inch of his body and withdrawing energy. His breaths were painful, his vision blurring, and still, he persisted.
He was on top of her, his hands wandering. Her arms were curled around his neck. His lips left hers and trailed down to her neck.
Can’t…breathe… He writhed on the floor, his lips parted in a silent scream of agony.
He pressed his lips against the smooth skin of her neck. She threw her head back with a soft moan. Baring his teeth as the fangs descended, he barely noted her gasp of pain and pleasure as he bit gently.
The pain subsided slightly, and his breathing slowed marginally. He was regaining control.
He knew when she was filled with blissful ecstasy. He knew what to do and when. He knew how she felt and whatever emotions she experienced while with him. He knew of her desire and lust. He knew when she started feeling confused. He knew when the pleasure turned to pain.
The voice and pain disappeared, having lost the battle for control. He was still for a while, but soon regained his composure and stood up. He twisted the tap, halting the flow of water and using the accumulated water in the sink to wash his face.
She had been a lively one. Her reluctance to bow down to him even once he had acquired her nectar proved that. Rarely was the resistance against the energy transfer this strong.
He glanced at his reflections and almost snorted. Humans. Their legends were all wrong.
He had none of the characteristics that were famously linked to vampires. His skin was tanned, not pale; his eyes green, not blood-red. He could walk in daylight and he certainly did not drain his victims of every drop of blood. Instead, he left them with the minimum amount needed for them to continue living. He possessed no superior strength whatsoever, or speed, but indefinitely possessed extraordinary charm and good looks.
Contrary to popular beliefs, blood was not his main target. He absorbed the energy - the soul - of his victim through her blood, adding more years to his lifespan. His victims were left dull, ill, and soulless, but with their lives, nevertheless.
He took a deep breath, grabbed his rucksack and saddlebag, and walked out of the room and down the stairs. Nodding to the innkeeper, he headed for the door. If he had had the chance to, sixty years ago, would he have chosen otherwise? A life as a normal human?
Would he have allowed his love to die, knowing that if he didn’t, he would bring suffering into others’ lives? But she died, anyway, he thought bitterly. Her death had only been delayed. She paid for what she had done, and he paid the price of attempting to save her.
If he had had the chance, would he have chosen differently?
“Kaϊen…” she smiled at him, blue eyes twinkling. Her beautiful black hair curled enticingly around her shoulders. She looked better already. “Thank you,” she told him, reaching for his hand. He kissed her hand, smiling at her. “You will live,” he told her, his voice soft, “And we can be together.”
He opened the door and stepped out into the sunlight, the question lingering in his mind. Would he?
He stared down at her lifeless body, tears flowing freely. She looked divine, even when dead. He knelt down, brushed his lips against hers, and straightened up, his jaw set. After gently placing a rose on her body, he closed his eyes and turned away, “Goodbye, Simà.”
No.