Dashingly dressed in blood

Prelude and the bending of fate.
‡

         A mob, angry and scarlet with bloodlust, one would almost mistake them as the blood drinkers, driven by a lasting appetite for crimson elixir. Not the fool they were hunting. Ah to be a vampire, such is a precarious thing, to sustain oneself in a cannibalistic way. But you get cocky the more centuries you have lived, and who should know this better then my self. One thing you must remember as you reading this, I am not real, and vampires do not exist. And when you feel someone watching you at night, stalking you, do not fall and cause an open abrasion upon your lovely skin for you never know just what might happen. But again vampires do not exist.

         It is in the best interest that two races so close and yet so different would not live side by side, for there are always conflicts. And I guess you could say this is where all my trouble begins, on the dark and dreary night of lynching. I wouldn’t say I did not in fact deserve my fate of eternal imprisonment, but I was against it very deeply, as I’m sure you all would be if you were perhaps in my shoes.

         As I said you get cocky, and I did, overfeeding and carelessly too, it was all a spiral to down falling crimson drops which rested lusciously against my paling lips, that’s how it began, before long I could not help myself from draining more and more, it was my drug, my drink, my love.

         I went too far and I deserved my bent fate.

                                                                            Sincerely yours my precious,
                                                                                                     
                                                                              Alasdair Rowan.

Chapter one,
Imprisoned.

I

         Eradicated pulsing desire, all wrapped in crimson hues of life dripping past taunt lips and bursting into excitement upon a warm tongue. Canines piercing subtle flesh with a squelch of desire, the victim’s moans of numb pain teasing the senses of the attacker. Like a drug of vicious mind, the red drops meddled into an intense fiery heat of desire to have more, and then some more. A vampires’ will.

         Eyes squeezed shut in wonder and excitement as the elixir kept coming, as each drop dripped down his throat and into his veins, heightening his senses but dulling his wit. His hands which were wrapped harshly around the young maiden from which he fed wrapped themselves tighter still, fresh bruises of purple forming around the fingers, and little drops of blood dripping from his foggy finger nails as though snow dropping from the clouds. Their descent was ignored as the night sank in, the young girls whimpers died abruptly in the solid mass of darkness in the odious alley way he had chosen to hunt.

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