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

Thursday, August 13, 2020

July 1, 1932 - Paris

   She came here to fall in love. They all do. I can see the rich hunger in her, that longing in her eyes, the way her body shifts when a man walks by, gauging her possible suitor. Her stance gives her away, open and searching but still so timid. I watch the hope dance across her face as she wonders if this man is the one she is here to meet. If this is the man that will save her from a life of solitude. But he does not even brush her shoulder as he walks past her on his way to another lady. And the disappointment is heavy in her eyes.
   Already in her late thirties, she feels the pressure of time and she has come here determined to find the one who can fill the void that aches so deeply inside her. Now she stands on this tower, looking out at the tiny people below, hoping to see the love she is so desperate for. I catch her eyes as her gaze scans across the faces here. Her smile is soft and inviting but she does not understand the need in my eyes is not for her love. The void that aches inside me is not for a partner but only for one who can satiate my hunger. As I walk toward her, my stare makes her blush and I realize just how easy this will be.

Saturday, August 8, 2020

June 19, 2000 - Maldives

    I suppose it is fitting that the birthday of a monster must always end in bloodshed. Usually the blood is a gift to myself. Another year celebrated in crimson. But this year is different. This year, the blood that stains my hands does not belong to any human.
   I saw him three nights ago and he saw her. As a vampire, I take no real pleasure in killing another vampire. No more pleasure than removing any other obstacle from my path. But still, it had to be done. He saw her as just another werewolf, a wolf oblivious to him, and a wolf he wanted dead. But neither of them saw my need to protect her. And neither of them realized that I would slip away tonight and leave her warm embrace simply to hunt him.
   As the warm waters bathe me in salt and the gentle waves cleanse his blood from my skin, I look toward the small bungalow hovering over the water. Inside, she sleeps peacefully, unaware of the monster whose blood now quietly becomes lost in the vastness of the ocean around me. Three nights ago, she asked what I wanted for my birthday, unaware of the murder I would be committing in lieu of a party. Three nights ago, I told her the truth: that she is my favorite gift. She is the only thing I could ever really want. Which is good, because she is truly the only thing I have left.