A Daffodil Memoir (Part one)

The winter brought numbing death to all life that had once lived. Snow fell. Water froze. Hearts died.
A willow cracked in the wind, it’s ice crystal arms desperately trying to set free. I could heed it’s call, above the electric lights of the new world, in what some would call a cave, other’s, an attic. The only place I trusted to stay, but a weak coven, at that. With darkness as it’s only guardian and an antique cast iron lock holding only the ignorant out. I thought my days were moribund. Though, as the willow taunted me, I felt, again, related to this dying earth.
Shivering, Blankets encircled around me, hot chocolate in-between my hands, I peered out my tiny secluded window. A slight smile unfroze my face, as but one flourished plant still stood towards the heavens. Climbing for safety. God help it. But, as denied from the sky…the flower stood lifeless, frigid, as though it could never mend. For eternity in attempt to find a way out. A way to claim it’s own life. A way to God.
My neck released all tension. Leaning just above the floating steam of hot chocolate. And I cried. Mother earth could not save me now. All that was once loved, is lost. I took in a deep breath, holding for a moment, releasing. My face expressionless, though my drink taking in splashes of heavy, forlorn tears.
I lifted the warm mug to my mouth, to ease my chilled mind. Bitterness was left on my tongue. Just as the past.
Though I go on. Two hundred seventy eight years of stillness under my eyes and so many lives taken at my expense. I regret my insensate killings every time. A young lad, or a wandering prostitute. Many tell me these are the lives of the innocent people I should take; though, I feel lugubrious still. I feel I have reached a cessation. I have nothing, I love nothing, yet deliberately I go on. Taking lives as they come to me. You would think after all these years, I’d have grown used to it, lost all respect…for mortals. I was once human, though, and I envy them. Their devotion, fondness, passion. Something, I fear after all this time, I will never again obtain.
You must understand though, ponder for a moment, sink your thoughts through the door of angels, and do, please, understand…I did have all of this. A love, a life, a soul. Before I became, this, thing. This creature, some like to call vampyre. An abyss of loss. A pointless being.
Pain came at me in quick bolts. Remembrance was fierce as I clenched my throat, fighting the feeling. The light had no effect…the light had no effect. I want to go home. I‘ve been desiring this home, for almost three hundred years. Unattainable, he was, I did what I could. I dropped my gaze and lost myself in the swirls of steam, as a cauldron, and I remembered just weeks before, trouble brewed and stole what I had.

It was the year 1727, and I had just began to live. I was twenty three at the time. A flighty soul. A romantic at heart. I lived with my love Leo, and our daughter Anna. We lived together far from the world, in a small town called St. Luttensburg. And we were alone. Closing out all other life so we could be at peace. I realized then, the feeling of complete freedom fulfilled me in ways life could not.
Our cabin was quite small, and just the way I wanted it. Long gone, by now, but still a desirable memory. Although it was merely yesterday, it all came to me. The delicate ivory crept up the corners of the cabin, a vision of time past. Windows, with red ripe shudders, looked elegantly with the wild daffodils growing endlessly across the hills, and all the way up to the very edge of the cobblestone path, leading to the oak door. It always put a smile on Anna’s face, to run up and down the cobblestone path, hands outstretched, feeling the vibrant yellow daffodils brushing lightly on her tiny fingertips. I would sit on the deck on my mother’s old rocking chair watching her. Leo sometimes joined in, and made us all laugh, lifting Anna straight up in the air, and twirling her about. In the beginning, he must have caught the worry in my eyes, for he would slowly bring Anna down, to coddle her against his chest. But, later, the worry in me resided.
Though, of all things about the land around us, the two mountain peaks over the hills, and far away, brought me serenity. Mt. Plath, and Mt. Shemue. Mt. Plath was by far the tallest. Towering over the land as a God soaking in the earth. To some, an abomination, to myself, pure and distinct resplendence.
Leo would paint the mountains with every detail, every longing of the goddess’ call. Yearning for his mind, I waited for his eyes. He could read my infatuation, and responded with mystery. Only in his art could I find fervor. Among the flying trees, Leo was an author and a poet at heart. Night after night was spent sitting by the blazing fire listening to his lovely words, as they seemed to flow out of his soul, like clear water down an ancient stream. His words touched me deeply. Stories upon life that arose memories in my subconscious, that I could not recall. Lost time, I liked to call it.
Leo taught me about everything. Life. Love. Beauty. Even politics, though beauty seemed to intrigue me the most. He saw things in a different light. Different then the rest of us. Beauty, to Leo, was not a painted face, but an old stone, tossed aside by the raging river. Naturally polished. Waiting for a warm hand. He pointed out dying trees, broken clouds, and fallen leaves. All of which, life finds a way to pass by. But Leo…made time inanimate. He made life stop in moments of meaningless consent to others. This part of him, took every breath in my body away. For only God could ever outlive Leo, but even then, I doubt that thought to this very day.