PASSIONS VELVET

Tears run across her cheeks as her blood courses through his veins. She falls in a faint onto the lacquered floor. In the tinted flashes of light, nobody could witness his crime. The masses within The Tempo continued to move to the beats of the music. He walks out of the club without concern, much less guilt of a lost life. She was really just one girl. One of many he has consumed through the ages. Only a body containing the sweet nectar of life for his kind. As he glides through the streets, especially in the snow, not one passerby would notice his nearly porcelain face. Another night passes. Thirst quenched, he decides to return to his haven in the towers that watch over the city.
Around the corner, he sees mere youths dressed in their 'gothic' black attire, claiming the night with their own brand of music, praising their ties with the devil himself. One of them hadsomehow grafted his teeth into fangs, frequently growling to show it off to his companions. He smiles in amusement at their lame attempt of becoming one of his kind. These mortals don't even understand his kind.
Vampires they call them. Creatures of the night that hunt and kill mere men as meals to sustain them. They can only be destroyed by stakes of oak through the heart, cloves of garlic or the sunlight. Rubbish. Plain old stories made up to scare children from playing at night. Thankfully most do not even believe in the 'superstitions'. Makes it easier to lead their lives.

to be continued.......

He lives in two lives, none of which is a lie. He is intertwined in fate's pleasure in seeing mere mortals' hopes perish with indignity. In one he is the wonder, the pride of his kind, suffering the turmoils of the real world, fighting against the future preset for him, written in the blood of his lineage. In the other he battles inner demons within the inner circle, infected through sins of man which threaten the lives of the ones he love the most. Truth and lies both mute and stab his already broken heart. He runs through both these lives with constant aNiMosiTy, praying for a miracle that can break its cycle. No escape. No safe haven. No justice. Just periods in limbo, away from his reponsibilities, in the curious rarity that they come along, can provide him peace. Cutting his veins, he pleads for a saviour only to be answered by a claustrophobic silence. He wonders, maybe what he searches for lies only in the darkness beyond. Maybe.