Vampyr Journal Entry

The seasons revolve on their everlasting, eternal cycle. The years, each one a glorious and blazing phoenix, rising from the ashes of the old into the new, pass on by. And here, in the year of 2009, comes the time where this old-school, Victorian era Vampyr needs to recount the tale of how he came to be, and the events that have followed in his immortal existence.

Of course, such a memoir would be greatly looked down upon by members of the Vampyr community, if it can be known as such a think. In fact, one of the great commandments of the so-called “Children of Darkness” expressly forbids such a tale from being committed into writing, lest the author of such a piece should be hunted down and destroyed for posing such a risk of discovery to our kind. And for this very reason, this journal must remain a secretly constantly kept in my possession and added to until the end of my immortal existence. Or the end of Earth. Whichever may come first.

As I hinted at earlier, the days of my mortal life were under the rule of Queen Victoria, the era of top hats, canes and pocket watches; a time when disappearances and deaths were not logged into a computer database; a time where the presence of serial killers was constantly felt and feared, following the horrific rampage of Jack the Ripper. In short, an easier time for “our kind”, where a Vampyr could feed or recruit at ease.

It was a late Saturday evening in the month of May when it happened. I was stumbling home in a drunken stupor down an unlit alleyway, following a night of drinking in the local taverns in celebration. We had just signed a contract to perform in the Palais Royal in the great city of Paris; myself playing the violin as part of the orchestra, and my good friend, Thomas Winchester, who had been cast for the leading male role.

However, it appeared that fate had conspired against my dear friend and I that night, for it was no longer than five minutes after exchanging fond farewells and promises of future success that is happened.

Completely out of the blue, I was thrown to the ground, a mere ragdoll to the immense strength of my attacker. But, as I caught a glimpse of my silent assassin, so captivated was I by the resonating light that it exuded that I ceased to struggle altogether. Never had I seen a more beautiful creature; Gender was rendered irrelevant in the face of such beauty; He was a terrible and beautiful porcelain doll, a vision created by the gods, glowing vibrant against the darkness that surrounded.

Swiftly, he crouched down to my level, surely but gently moving my head back to expose the bare flesh of my skin, his touch sending shivers down my spine. Two hot shafts plunged deep into my flesh, hypodermic needles administering a bittersweet infusion of pure pain and pleasure. And for an immeasurable period of time which lasted for both an eternity and the blink of an eye, this flawless personification of beauty gorged itself on my blood as a man who had not drank for days would sate his thirst at a fresh mountain spring. And though I was most definitely fixed to the spot by his preternatural strength, had th

e opportunity of escape arisen, I cannot honestly say that I would have taken it.
With an obvious reluctance, he retracted his fangs from my now quivering neck. And as swiftly and gracefully as he had crouched down to me, he slashed into the flawless skin of his wrist and held it out to me in offering. For a dazed moment, I simply stared mutely as blood, my blood, gushed from the would like a waterfall crashing down onto the rocks below. A range of emotions passed through me, confusion, disgust, yet an overwhelming desire. And it was at this point where I may have finally found the strength to run, regardless of how futile an attempt at escape would have been.

Yet that was irrelevant, as the same preternatural strength which had held me to the spot as he drank now forced my hungering lips to the torrent of blood flowing from his wrist. And once the thick liquid found it’s way down to my throat, I found myself clinging to his wrist as a baby would cling to it’s mother’s breast as it fed. And nothing else mattered, nothing else existed except me, my porcelain doll, and the sweet blood that flowed between us. I could feel him weakening in my grasp, yet still I continued to drink, now my turn as the thirsty man and he the fresh water spring.

Gently but surely, he pushed me away from his wrist, and though I felt a profound sorrow for the end of this intense pleasure, what I felt most of all was an overwhelming love for the being who had allowed my to experience such pleasure, who had shared so much with me, and who now held me lovingly in his arms.

“My name is Marius” he whispered to me, the words creating spasms of pleasure within me, “and I will care for you now. Always.”