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individulsong

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<div style="border:1px #ccc solid; background-image:url('/images/ray.gif'); font-family:arial; width:200px; padding:5px;"><center><div style="font-size:20px;"><a href="/story/individulsong/36234">Vandoule (Pt.12)</a></div><table><tr><td width="50"><div style="color:#2CC362; font-size:15px; padding-top:4px; background-image:url('/images/profratebg.gif'); background-repeat:no-repeat; width:44px; height:26px; text-align:center; font-weight:bold; vertical-align:middle; padding-top:8px; padding-left:1px; " valign="top">14</div></td><td><div style="height:100px;width:100px; padding-top:9px; background-repeat:no-repeat; background-image:url(/images/storyCover.png);"><a href="/story/individulsong/36234"><div style="margin-left:9px; __padding:0px; height:90px; width:70px; background-repeat:no-repeat; background-image:url('http://www.testriffic.com/storyfiles/36234.jpg');"></div></a></div></td></tr></table></center></div>

+ 11	Vandoule (Pt.14)
+ 15	Vandoule (Pt.13)
+ 14	Vandoule (Pt.12)
+ 16	Vandoule Pt. 11
+ 16	Vandoule (Pt. 10)
+ 27	Vandoule (Pt.9)
+ 29	Vandoule (Pt.8)
+ 25	Vandoule (Pt.7)
+ 28	Vandoule (Pt.6)
+ 28	Vandoule (Pt.5)
+ 15	I am the Boy (Pt. 3)
+ 27	Vandoule (Pt.4)
+ 31	Vandoule (Pt.3)
+ 23	I Am the Boy pt.2
+ 37	Vandoule (Pt.2)
+ 39	Vandoule
+ 25	I Am the Boy
+ 12	Reita Simmons pt.2
+ 20	Reita Simmons
+ 17	The Bustling City Of New York Scene One Act One

I suppose it is rude of me to leave myself a mystery for too much longer.  Malicio, fledgling of a Lord of Darkness, masked with uncertain tragedy from Fuare, the father of my beloved dead Elaine. Oh, of course I already know Vandoule has told you of our mishap, but what of that? How can your minds ever understand a love such as I had, in those moments when I crushed her small, tiny frame?

 

I admit, at first it was not the choice I would have contemplated, but in the end, I am quite glad of it. In this world I have learned of two things: the first being inside everyone is a distilled fear, and I live off of that fear, and the second that all love is fictitious. There is no such thing, and I came upon that reasoning when I was made into the devilish fiend that so many have claimed me.

 

It was a blessed night when I was turned. So full of angst as a young mortal man, that I could not see my destiny before me. My mother and father raised me in Brazil, but at the age of fifteen, they were drowned on their way to America to start a new life for us. I was sent to live with my Uncle Havier, a rich and intelligent man, so the locals of my town had told me. In all my years, I had never met him. The only stories ever told were of his large wealth and his mysterious callers during the night. It all fascinated me, really.

 

My Uncle lived in England, a quaint place, if one so chose to accept it, atop a large, monstrous hill, cloaked by the green shrubbery that grew all around his large, stone-wall mansion. As you all might call it, now in this day in age, it was rather spooky, ah but I lived for that sort of thing, this kind of an adventure. True, in my human form, I had some remorse for the death of my parents, but within me thumped something more than just my heart; it was my soul clawing its way out to find something dangerous and exciting to ignite.

 

As I have said before, I am not free of guilt, oh no. No spirit or creature that was once human is ever free of his guilt for what he has done in his life, or past life, as I like to call it. My Uncle had always said that within him, he was often reminded of the things he had done, but never did that stop him from feeling ecstasy. By this time, I was a young man, waiting for my life to begin, not knowing exactly which way to turn. Being raised by my Uncle, I noticed how true the stories had been. He was a pale man, a beautifully pale man, and darkness seemed to be his favorite hours. I never once thought of this as strange, for I took to his routine like a fish to water. Perhaps this is why I am now in the situation that I am in, but whatever the reason, I was my Uncle’s son, more or less, in one fatal moment.

 

The sky was full of dusk by the time I had met my Uncle for dinner. I noticed he never ate, just sat and watched me as he drank from a golden goblet. I never asked what it was that he drank, though, in my younger years, I figured it to be wine, but I was very wrong. I sat down at a long, wooden table, with twelve chairs on each side, in a large dinning room filled with gothic statues. One might not find it a friendly dinning area now, but back then, it was a privilege to eat in such a room. The walls were made completely of stone, which made the room very cold, seeing as there was no fireplace. My Uncle had no need for such a thing, he had told me, being someone who felt no form of temperature. As I sat down, I noticed there was no food at my place, and my Uncle came and stood at my left side.

            “What is wrong, Uncle? Are you cross with me?” It was unlike my Uncle to be silent for long, and I was only denied a meal if I did anything to promote attention to his abode.

            “No, my son. Tonight, I bestow a powerful gift to you, that I trust you will handle with great care.”

            “Of course, Uncle.” With that, he attacked me, and the only memory I have after that moment is waking up with a powerful thirst, and drinking out of that golden goblet, the finest and thickest blood I have ever tasted. Never have I tasted blood like that again from any mortal victim I came to possess.

 

The taste of blood is a long distant memories, as are those moments growing up with my Uncle, a Lord of Darkness. I have been catapulted out of my true form for years, wandering the air like a lone spirit, though I have a set mission. It was not my intention to harm the beautiful Elaine, but what’s done is done, and now, I will come to make my amends.

 

Fuare, Elaine’s father, was a very rich man in his time, and, of course, as it went with most young men, he did not approve of me. If I were him, I would not have approved either, but in the moment that I crushed her petite body, there was once face that stood out to me, and it was that of Fuare, the dread, the horror, and sheer and utter madness that created a jump in my empty chest. Oh yes, my first real vampiric experience was not the ecstasy of blood, but the look that Fuare gave me.

 

In my body, I searched for Fuare after that moment, tracking him, wanting to know him, having fallen in love with the feeling that he had given me. Every vampire has a want for human contact, and every vampire has his own way of finding some sort of beauty in the lie that we live. Now, this is the part I am sure Vandoule has left out. How could he tell you, his precious young children of the revolution, how on the night I finally found Fuare, the man that I had been longing to see, to learn from, and to change to become my partner, Vandoule sat there with him, holding him in his arms, draining in him every last drop of precious blood that flushed the unique face that I had spent so many nights dreaming of.

 

You see now? Do you see now, why, in this moment, I have chosen to appear? It makes sense in its morbidity. I am a soul, a spirit, but I am the living soul of a vampire, and I can only exist in a vampiric form, and I am not lucky, that there is a fresh young body, waiting for me to take it? Yes, children, I am Malicio, but am I, for it is so easy to be Rashel.

 

Dawn is close. I have been on Vandoule’s trail, giving him his space, but in truth, unable to track his movements clearly. I am frightened and unwilling to admit this to him, only because I know he will misguide me with words that I know mean nothing. I love him, and I do not want to lose him! So what if this is a human emotion? Am I not entitled to some kind of heartbreak if something should happen? I know danger is near, but who will listen to me? No one! Vandoule has gone mental inside of his own mind, and I am unsure of how to communicate with him if he will not let me in. He has shut me out, and though I try my hardest to warn him, he will not comprehend the threat at hand. I am clueless as to what this all means, but I know, if anyone, Vandoule knows exactly what will come. Is it fair that I should be kept in the dark? I thrust into this life without a say, and now that I am here and I accept it, and now that I love a creature that I once loathed; I have new eyes and deserve the truth on all levels, but deep down inside, I do not believe that this will happen.

 

Peace, I have finally come to realize, will never be mine, unless I am a mangled thought. What have I done but mangled bodies and minds of millions, and claimed to me what has never been mine to claim? I am a crazy monster, and I never understood it until now, why Olivia thought so little of me when she was my young fledgling. There is no gift I can give to console her, no words of wisdom or comfort, but why should I stay as an undead member of a putrid society if I cannot find the will to see the beauty as I once had?

 

I have gone mad inside of my own head! I no longer know what it is I find comforting in this world, and in that, I find a sign. Poor Olivia, loving a creature with death so close at hand in more ways than one. I find myself wishing I had never touched her, never found her, never wooed her. She would be safe with her family, at her mother’s side, keeping everyone safe and happy, dreaming her safe dreams that she once had in that four-poster bedroom.

 

I have not yet contemplated how the undead die again, leaving behind the world of mortals, but I am determined to do it, this suicide that you all must know of. I am bound to it like a captain to his sinking ship. I will go, and nothing will keep here, not even my dear sweet Olivia.

            “Are you sure, Vandoule?”

            “Who is that? Who is there?”

            “Vandoule, it’s me.”

            “Rashel?”

 

Something is not right.

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