May 11, 1698 – Venice

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.

February 12, 1415 – Budapest

   I remember my humans looking up at the stars. The ship cutting through the waters as the cool wind lapped mist onto my face. The sky and the horizon each stretching on with no end and no beginning. Sailing across the, beautiful and cruel, inky abyss, seeking the peace that I did not have.

   I remember scribbling them in my journal, plotting the night sky as though it might reveal something of my course, my future. But nothing among them pointed to this. No hidden message telling me of the horror that would find me.

   Now, I look upon them, not with questions but with serenity. An ever-constant reflection of the life I once held. I am comforted by the light they bring into my dark world and the stillness they offer amongst the screams. 

May 22, 1997 - Kula

   Hidden in the lush atmosphere and surrounded by the thunderous churning of the sea below, most people find this quiet series of pools mesmerizing. Tonight, this place is especially enchanting, but not for the obvious reasons. Instead, it's the softness in her smile that captivates me as she watches the waterfalls cascading, churning up bubbles that burst against our skin like tiny, delicate kisses. It is her ability to be so completely immersed by her fascination that entangles me in an inescapable desire to watch her relish in her surroundings.
   It is the way the moon shimmers across the water, dancing its way from one tiered pool into the next as the illuminated water delicately spills into itself like the tattoos along her spine. Paw prints, simple and calm, tumbling down her back and tempting me to trace my fingers over her skin and feel the chills rise on her flesh in their wake. To hear her gentle gasp at my touch. Alone in our isolation, with no souls to hear us, I watch her because I simply cannot force myself to look at anything else.

May 12, 1893 - Chicago

   The World's Fair brings them here, like moths to a flame.  They come in droves, expecting to see new and interesting inventions. They hope to see things that will forever dazzle and expand their minds and long to witness the mesmerizing lights that illuminate the dead of night in hopes that it will brighten their bleak, little life. They want to feel more significant than the small towns they have traveled from. Far from their families and the safety net of familiarity, they seek out the exhilaration this city has to offer.

   But the excitement they will find is not the thrill they have sought after. It will be swarming with trepidation and fright. They have stepped off of the trains, full of wonder; however, they are not prepared for the predators that linger in these crowds. Not just me, but humans as well, are waiting, patient and calculating, in the shadows here. So many sheltered folks, ignorant to the ways of a boogeyman, pouring into the streets and directly into our paths. There is no reason to fight off the other monsters here. There are plenty enough victims to share. After all, there are so many naïve people here, and like the moths to a flame, they too will be consumed.

October 20, 1419 – Beijing

   The chill of the floor is comforting as I let the rigid stone soothe my aching muscles. I close my eyes and listen to him pace along the wall, allowing my brief reprieve. The physical assault my body as endured over the past six hours is more than a human could bare but it is imperative to training oneself to outlast and outsmart another vampire during combat.
   Marcella watches me sternly. Her displeasure with, in her eyes, my flagrant display of weakness and ineptitude radiates from her severely. Her anger with my inadequacy brushes against me in a most abrasive way, urging me to my feet. Pulling my protesting body from the cool floor, I stand; not because I believe I could do better but because I know that I must continue to improve. It is not possible for me to win today, only a fool would hold on to that false hope. No, I will fall again today, and I will fail tomorrow; however tomorrow I will be better than I am today. Tomorrow, I will not fall so easily.