Mortality is a beautiful thing, watching children growing older and higher and their faces slowly age.
Those who seek to end their mortality have no rational and once they sample their unnatural life they will hark for the days when they looked in the mirror and saw themselves aging. You lose everyone round you, they fall into the grey and slowly you forget their names, their faces, whom they were to you.
You fall into legend too, as the people whisper your name on tales of an evil person living alone in the wood. They say I am the curse of the village, they say I spread disease and hunger. Who are they to know what I really am?
I have long forsaken, and have turned my back on, my looking glasses. The dust has fallen on them in a fine layer. I am weak with age, but if I took a glance in my dust covered mirror I would see my same seventeen year old face; death pale, dark eyed, red lipped and heart shaped. My long auburn hair would fall down my back in a single plate; the dust will have fallen on that too.
My paper thin lids flicker open, the sun is setting and the time for my kind has begun. I rise from my dusty chamber, hunger tickling at my throat. I smile slightly at the sinking rays, I can taste the freedom. Running my tongue across my teeth, it catches and I can still feel that they are sharp, as sharp as the day I was born-again. If I had blood I would have drawn blood, but I don’t and so I can’t.
Long ago I was in love, in love with a young man. He had blonde hair that caught in the wind and sea blue eyes that glistened when he laughed. His lips were like soft peaches. We were to meet at dusk under the large oak tree on the edge of the wood near our village.
He was late, I waited and that night I changed. I was alone at the most dangerous time of the day; their time, now my time. It was a quick and yet savage blow, not intended to kill, but to transform. By the time he arrived I had crawled, an agonising few meters into the wood. His outline was clear in the now bright moon.
Whilst I convulsed in agony, he moaned to himself.
“And to think I was going to ask her to marry me” he mumbled just loud enough for me to hear. He placed something into his pocket and strolled away.
Just as my heart stopped it broke.
I fly from my dwelling ready for my evening meal. I have, over the centuries, become accustomed to what I am. It takes a while, but I gritted my extra strong teeth and fought my new lusts and wants and needs.
Now I have a new prey, they are sweet and warm, and previously unknown to me. They are magical and carry wands. I will hunt for one, but they understand the daemons of the night, and see us for what we actually are.
I round on my prey, I pause as a long dead emotion hit me. My prey has soft grey eyes which are wide and terrified, sandy blond hair falls round his face and his face had blanched.
Something catches in my chest, I want to be sick, but I can’t.
In that moment of hesitation a voice calls for him.
“Draco!” it is a man’s voice, the boy in front of me slips from my grasp, a flood of tears welling in his eyes.
I turn to watch the boy run into the dusk with the man.
I catch a glimpse of long blond hair and a hint of sea blue eyes.
“Abraxas” I whisper, the words falling off my tongue and hanging in the air.
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