to hell, the d a m n e d shall march

[makemewhole]

Paris, France
<div align="right">September 3rd, 1644</div>


When he came into my life, I despised him. Another vampire of Angelique's line. Another incubus, such as myself. But where I was fair - golden hair, eyes the color of the sea - he was dark. Hair so black it could have been the midnight sky, eyes the hue of rich chocolate. So very young. He'd been a vampire less than a year, a mere twenty-seven years old when he was made. I had been twenty-nine when the Dark Blood was bestowed upon me, and that had been nearly ten years ago. (Was his youth a cleverly disguised insult towards me? I bristled at the very thought.) At once, all of the ladies at court, and several of the men, fawned over him, giggling and fluttering at his smooth charms. Once, that had been my position. Fair Henri-Luc, the favorite of Angelique's lovers, the sophisticated gentleman who entertained a different lover each night. I was the song of a great Lord, born to privilege and rank, and he was nothing more than a servant in a castle, who happened to be fair of face. Yet there he was, flaunting his virility and beauty, winning over all who laid eyes upon him.

Oh, yes, I hated him.

There was no doubt in my mind that he sensed it, for whenever our paths crossed, I glowered at him. Swore at him under my breath, which normally I never would have done. It was not proper for a gentleman such as myself, after all. Our Mistress, Angelique, must have picked up upon my jealousy, for she made a great show of her affections for him. More than once I walked in on them making passionate love, though this was not as shocking as it may have seemed. All the men under Angelique's rule were her lovers, and though she had her favorites, it was not unusual for her to call upon the services of several men at once. Still, seeing them together tore through me, filling me with rage until I was certain I wanted to slaughter him.

How things changed between us, I cannot say, though I remember the exact moment that they did.

Unbeknownst to me, my newly-sworn enemy was being used as a catamite. Given to any master who wanted him, helpless prey to their every sexual whim. Had I so much as imagined this cruelty, perhaps my original impression of him would've been softened with pity. Having been born a Lord, with title and wealth, never had I been subjected to a whore's work. That said, as our kind - those who stem directly from Angelique, who was nearly a Millennia old when I first met her - feeds upon sexual energy, there had been many times I was forced to take a lover I had no true desire for. This was mild compared to what he suffered. A man given as a gift to any who would have him; punishment for being born a servant. But I digress.

Angelique had called for me, bid me to venture to her chambers, that I might clean up the mess she had made. What that meant I hadn't a clue, though I found out soon enough.

Lying sprawled across our Mistress's bed, he was a mess of blood and open wounds, lashes left by the unforgiving blow of a whip. A sound escaped me at the sight of him, something soft and startled, and rather unmanly, though it hardly seemed to matter at the time. At first glance I thought him unconscious, for he lay so incredibly still, but upon closer inspection I realized his eyes were open, staring at me with an odd mixture of dread and disdain.

"Has she sent you to finish my punishment?" he asked me, face gone blank as he no doubt tried to hide the fear coursing through him.

I couldn't even offer him a consoling "no." In all truth, she may have very well sent me to harm him, to teach him whatever lesson he was supposed to learn. But I could not, and so I went about cleaning up the mess, as I had been instructed. Fresh linens upon the bed, I all but scooped him up and carried him back to my suite, as he was still unable to walk. All vampires heal quickly, but he was young, and had suffered an attack by those who knew just how to harm him. Though I put him in a warm bath, eager to cleanse his wounds and speed up the healing process, it was quite obvious he did not trust me. I couldn't blame him, really, not after the way I had treated him. Ridiculous that I should think these small deeds would make up for the rudeness I had offered him so many times before. Even more disturbing was how quickly my hatred was washed away like the soap from his skin, replaced by tender pity and a warmth in my stomach I could not name.

It was weeks before he finally realized I no longer meant him harm. Those days were torture for me as I paced about my rooms, trying to think of ways to win him over, make him see I simply wanted his friendship. By the time he felt comfortable in my presence, it seemed there was no work to be done. We bonded in the easiest way imaginable, simply rising from our coffins one evening, and silently agreeing that we were to be companions. Eventually I introduced him to Vanessa, my human servant, and the only woman I had ever truly loved. Even Angelique could not hold my heart the way she did. He was astounded by her immediately, of course, as all men were. She was such a rare jewel - beautiful and kind, soft-spoken and yet so fiery. She spared her opinions for no one, and yet voiced them in a manner that was nothing less than sweet, almost fragile. From the very beginning I saw his love for her, how he watched her glide across the room with a darkness in his eyes that only another man would understand. He craved her as I craved her, not just her touch but her heart. She saw it too, and after a short while, begin to return his feelings. Perhaps jealousy should have consumed me, but it did not. In fact, I rather encouraged them both to explore this new emotion between them, found myself smiling contentedly the day I walked in the door and found them entangled in each others limbs. Though I did tease them about not having enough sense to make love in their own beds - how dare they rumple my cleans sheets in such a manner!

These days, it strikes me as funny that I noticed his feelings for her, and yet could never see the ones he held for me. Or I him. I think I was the first man he ever loved, as up to that point he had been entirely devoted to the soft curves of women. Oh, but I still remember him walking timidly into my room, a faint blush tinting his pale cheeks, as he quietly told me of his yearnings. I was shocked, but nothing could've shocked me more than when I found myself striding purposely towards him, wrapping my arms about him, lips caught in a kiss that would shake the fires of Hell. It had been done without thought, without reason, and it was only then that I realized how much I truly loved him.

That was nearly seven years ago. He is no longer the young, timid vampire I made love to that night. He is as smooth as the glass of my mirror, polished and suave, intelligent and utterly beautiful. Though he is still a catamite, and I am still forced to take lovers I do not want, and we both serve our Mistress, I dare say I am happy.

We are family, the three of us. And there is not a force in Heaven or Hell that could ever divide us.

<font color="#FFFFFF" size="1">[ June 14, 2006 11:55 PM: Message edited by: s e r p e n t i n e ]</font>

[makemewhole]

Los Angeles, California

<div align="right">June 19th, 2006</div>


The City of Angels. I'd been curious about it since its creation. A place were the young and beautiful mix with the rich and powerful. Gutter tramps beg for change at the feet of Hollywood stars. Age has become the enemy. Life has become still life. Nothing is worth anything unless it is encased in a three dollar magazine.

And perhaps most disturbing of all, He is here. The Master of the City. Dark and powerful, ruling over these lands like an embittered God. I never thought to see him that way. In truth, I never thought to see him again. Ever.

If I had known, I would not have come.
If I was a wise man, we would not have traded barbs.
If I possessed a soul, perhaps these scars would not effect me so.

If, if, if. It never ends.

Perhaps, this time, we'll get lucky.
Perhaps, this time, we'll simply die.

<center></center>


<font size="1">He fills my bed with gasoline
You think I would've noticed
His mind's made up, the love is gone
I think someone's trying to show us a sign
That even if we thought it would last
The moment would pass
My bones will break and my heart will give
Oh, it hurts to live

And I remember the day when you left for Santa Monica
You left me to remain with all your excuses for everything
And I remember the time when you left for Santa Monica
And I remember the day you told me it's over

It hurts to breathe
Well every time that you're not next to me
His mind's made up, the man is gone
And now I'm forced to see
I think I'm on my way
Oh, it hurts to live today
Oh, and he says, "Don't you wish you were dead like me?"

And I remember the day when you left for Santa Monica
You left me to remain with all your excuses for everything
And I remember the time when you left for Santa Monica
And I remember the day you told me it's over

I wanted more than this
I needed more than this
I deserve more than this
But it just won't stop
It just won't go away

I needed more than this
I wanted more than this
I asked for more than this
But it just won't stop
It just won't go away

And I remember the day when you left for Santa Monica
You left me to remain with all your excuses for everything
And I remember the time when you left for Santa Monica
And I remember the day you told me it's over</font>

<center>( Theory of a Deadman - Santa Monica )</center>