Bloody Memories Prologue

I am a vampire. But, so is most of the society. A hundred years ago humans reigned and ruled while my kind hid. Angry and hunted, we fed, ruthlessly killing, not only for substance but for revenge. I was part of the original war, the one that will kill your kind. The vampires will rule; humans will be harvested, and no one will ever remember the way things were before. Except me. I will always remember, for I am the first vampire.

The purpose of this letter will always remain the same. I never wish anyone to forget completely of the events a century ago. All will forget, mind me, but I will not. My memories shall not die with me.

To tell you about me feels like a waste of my time. However, there are those, in their ignorance, who would not believe this letter without proof. Things that only I and those closest to me might know must consist in this letter, for without them I would be judged even after death. I hate to be judged. You would do best to remember that.

I was born over three thousand years ago. My exact age I lost track of long ago. I am old, that is all you must know. I remember the Romans, and their silly crosses. I attended the Sermon on the Mount. Caesar asked me to be his queen. (I politely refused. The man had bad breath.) Cleopatra tried to poison me. Many called me a witch and tried countless times to be rid of me during the Salem Witch Trials. I laughed at the attempts, often it just made them angrier. I wondered why? To bring you to more modern times, I visited America on the Titanic. The sinking part disappointed me a tad. Although for a mind such as mine, the flaws were obvious; however, I still had hopes for the ship. Soon, I tired of the new world, and made my way back to England.

I am called Alvina, meaning magical being. I suppose someone always knew I was beyond humanity. Many times my looks have changed. The only constants are my height and eye color. Although, with the modern sciences even those are debatable. I am short for a woman of my time, five feet seven inches. For three thousand years my eyes have been bluer than the sea and rolling with the force of the waves.

In one look, with my full powers, I can see everything about a person: their age, true weight, and other physical traits, along with the root of someone’s emotional balance. I can tell all their hopes and dreams. I can smell their fears and desires wafting from them in a unique fragrance all the person’s own.

My powers have gained strength throughout the ages, and do not end there. I defy all myths and legends of the vampires. Stoker did not base Dracula on Prince Vlad the Impaler. No no. And the story did not come from the man’s creative muse. I can fly and shape shift, although not into a bat. I call upon the snake, and that is the animal I become. Around 1450 I earned the strength to call help from the grave and perform dark magic. I am no longer bound by the sun; I am immune to silver.

How do you kill me? Even I do not know. The vampires I sired right after I was brought into existence do not have the powers such as I. Nor will they ever acquire them. My powers are unique; they are my own. Do you believe me now? Am I truly Alvina empress of the night? Queen of your world; mistress of all?

Save things precious before all is lost. The war is not over. It never had truly begun.

In parting,

Empress of the night

Bloody Memories

The new basis for a story I am working on:

I am a vampire. But, so is most of the society. A hundred years ago humans reigned and ruled while my kind hid. Angry and hunted, we fed, ruthlessly killing not only for substance but for revenge. I was part of the original war, the one that will kill your kind. The vampires will rule; humans will be harvested, and no one will ever remember the way things were before. Except me. I will always remember, for I am the first vampire.

New Story

The light was hiding, and mold splattered the walls. The dank smell reminded me of all the times I had spent hiding in our grandmother’s storm shelter in the malicious tornado. The lack of light was due to the fact that the tiny room I was in was window free; no artificial light to even give off an allusion. Cold stone walls surrounded me, and I shivered. Somewhere something fell, sending a bat frantically looking for an escape route. All I wanted was to leave. Yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t going anywhere for a long time.

I had no idea what time or day it was. Although, guessing by my dehydration and lack of food, it had been at least 24 hours since someone first planted me here, and gave me the supplies and food I needed for my “stay”. No one had been to what I was becoming to know as my dungeon. It reminded me of where the evil witch puts the princess’s less than pretty sister.

Screams began to echo everywhere off of every wall. Nothing I did would shake the torturing please for mercy. Not knowing what to do, I did the first thing that came to mind. Investigate. Crossing the short path from the chair I had passed out in to the door; I turned the knob. And joined the screams.

I woke up in a cold sweat. A feeling of dread hung heavy in the air around my bed. A piece of me would not believe that is was just a dream.

Not wanting to dwell on the subject any longer, I rolled over and surveyed the time. Soothing green numbers stared back at me, four o’ clock. It was too early to do much of anything, but I had to clear my head. A run would have to do.

I tried not to let the shabby house creak beneath my feet, as I tiptoed through the now empty hallway. Mere hours ago this hallway was life. My brothers fighting over who won the last cookie, from the kitchen, while my father paced in his office. Now the house was silent. Deadly.

Stop being ridiculous. It was a dream. You can handle a little nightmare. The boogie man left the underbelly of your bed years ago. I told myself. So with no further ado, I opened the door and welcomed the fresh morning air that came to greet me.

Even though it was early, the woods before me spit out sounds filled with the creatures among us. With my heighted senses, I could smell the deer that had just taken its last breath, and hear the coyote that had ventured onto our land for a snack. Most predators stay away from our hundred acre woods. They may not be able to see us, but predators have that special sixth sense. The one that says, “Hey, something higher than me in the food chain roams these woods, and I’d rather not become the next victim.”

The deer was not the only one seeing its last light this day.

Birds sang their joyful song, blessedly oblivious to the violence below them. I could hear the river that ran from the peak of our property to the edge of Kentucky. All the beautiful things of nature most people never see, or if they do, they do not appreciate, I have had the privilege experiencing every day and night.

Taking it all in one last time, I turned away, and began to remove what I had slept in the night before. Peeling off every layer allowed a new strip of my bare body to become victim of the chill. Shivering, I dropped down onto all fours and welcomed the agony.

Shifting is never a pleasant thing. Every bone in your body must break for things to grow and regroup in a different form. The process itself is a miracle, if not very pretty. Welcoming the pain tends to make things easier. Especially when you know what the end result will be.