These are the journal entries of a centuries old vampire, Nicolas Rider. Welcome to his world...

Monday, January 2, 2023

May 11, 1698 – Venice

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Flour hangs in the air like a fog, rolling over her every curve. Her laughter, as light and airy as the dough in her hands, drifts across the table toward me. I forget myself here. In her kitchen. Among the dried flowers and hanging herbs, the rice and the barley, she smiles at me as though honing my inept culinary skills has given her some small hint of purpose.
    She does not ask why I only meet her at night, why I do not try the recipes she teaches me, or why I do not sleep when I lay next to her. Her silence serves me well since the answers would corrupt our time together. And I do not wish to expose my true self to her. I do not intend to end the life of such a beautiful creature. Particularly not after she has given me such an immense gift. It is not love but benevolence. Somewhere amidst these dried cranberries, she has given me that fraction of myself I believed was gone long ago. The part that is capable of seeing humans as more than sustenance.

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