It wasn't always this way... I used to be a cold, calculating, void of all emotion, son of a bitch... to put it bluntly - soulless. How can someone exist without having a soul I hear you ask? Well, that's the crux of the matter - I didn't really exist... sure, I thought I was all that, and my 'anti-life' was everything I ever needed... the wild nights, the hunt... the blood, it was all that mattered to me. The thrill of the kill kept me going.
There were times when we would perch above the streets of London, talking amongst ourselves about the sad state of affairs, and the scent of easy pray would reach our noses - I can't even remember if it was a real smell, or if it caused a real emotion, but it creates a desire to feed... and it still does. The poor drunken fools had no idea what was coming to them.. I have to give it to the human psyche - if you pretend it doesn't exist, if you ignore the situation, then of course, it's not real. How wrong they were. Unbeknownst to them, the drunk imbeciles would quench our insatiable thirst, and their loss would not cause a blip on the radar.. we were unstoppable... I was unstoppable... they were no match for me, the feeling of absolute power... Rats, the humans reminded me of rats - scurrying in the dark trying to hide in any nook or cranny that they could find - trying to escape their imminent doom - sometimes we would just torment them for hours, we could feel the fear, I craved their fear - it was much akin to ripping the wings of a bird and watching it struggle, witnessing the realisation in their eyes that it was pointless to fight back, hearing them scream for their loved ones... squeal like a rodent. I would kill them with a sardonic smile on my face...
Then there were the pretty young things, the ones that were so ridiculously easy to lull with a debonair smile and a hint of a promise... it was their necks, the Victorian error was amazing, the tight fitting corsairs that would define beautiful waists, buxom cleavage and hair tied up to expose the necks... it was practically inviting a bite. Garden parties after dark amongst the crème-de-la-crème of English society, walks in the park with the cultured aristocratic daughters, only for them to never return - of course, as time went on and everything changed, the pretty young things would go to the clubs, wearing short skirts and plunging necklines, as is the fashion of the day, dictated by our friends in the fashion industry - Haute Couture is like a Vampires bible... taking the lives of these insolent pests was like an afterthought.. all that mattered was getting what I wanted.. whether these girls wanted a quick fuck in the club, or something else was never the issue... we played along until we feasted.
Then it all changed.
I don't remember what being human was like. I held them in contempt. Weak. I don't know what is happening to me now, but I have been cursed, cursed with care, cursed with sorrow, cursed with sympathy - I have travelled the four corners of the blighted isle to find out what is happening to me, and travel the four corners of the earth if I have to stop the voices in my head, harbingers of doom and dread bother me and cause restless days, causing restless nights... the only thing that stops the voices is her... I crave the simpler days when blood was all I needed. The helplessness of my victims placated my every desire, the feeling of my teeth penetrating the neck, feeling the crimson contents of a throbbing open vein nourish my very existence, my being craves something else now... but that is another story completely.