March 24, 1615 – Madrid

     The warm wood hugs my chin as the rich tones pull my eyes closed. Lost in the pleasantly spacious sweet highs, I find the man I once was. No more thirst for blood, no burning deep inside my throat. No greed, no hunger. I slide the bow over the strings feeling only peace with the reverberation at low frequencies. The tones caress my ears, whispering sweet nothings in the night. 
     But a divine scent brings me back to my reality. I open my eyes once more to see the bodies scattered across the room. A mother protecting her child with her blood soaked carcass lies, curled into a ball in the corner. A father leans over the table, his face smothered in a pool of crimson. The haunting pallor of their bodies should bring me guilt but the fluttering pace of a tiny heart wrapped in cold arms gives me a glimpse of the humanity I still possess.