I wish I was yours

Secrets, shared with another girl. Talking all night in a room. 

- Are you alright? - Rhiannon asked.
- Not really.
- Would this help? - she replied with a shy little kiss.

We talked until dawn about things I do not remember. We cuddled and looked at each other for hours on end.

A scene in black and white. The pale see-through curtains floated eerily in the giant black cube that was our room. Earlier on, I had moved the bed to the darkest corner, a quick survival tactic to avoid the killing sun rays that broke in, transforming our open window into a misshapen white hole that seemed to be the gate to another world, a hostile one. Meanwhile, our nude bodies were entangled, lost in the silver sheets.

Music played. Secrets, by The Cure. Again.

I wish I was yours. I wish I was yours...

Rhiannon's warm body was on top of mine. Was she not the loveliest shield against the burning Apollo? Her green eyes were the only hint of lively colour I could perceive. She was stone-white but I could still hear her blood rushing wildly through her veins and her heart, her sweet beating heart.

I buried my index finger in her hive, she moaned softly. My nervous left hand explored her beautiful breasts, her back, her perfectly shaped bottom.

- Stop - she begged, not really meaning what she said. A tear rolled down her cheek.
- I wish I was yours - I whispered - I wish I was yours.

A dream?

I do not know whether this is a dream or the remnants of a memory. When I close my eyes I often see a naked girl in a cage. She is a prisoner of Elizabeth's, pretty much as I used to be. I see her kneeling down, praying to angels. I try to pray too but I cannot keep up with all those names. I remember she mentions sweet Michael, beautiful Gabriel and luminous Raphael though. She asks them to release her and so they grant her her wish without delay, taking her to Heaven before Elizabeth can even touch her. She closes her eyes peacefully as the less fortunate are taken away to be embraced by the Iron Maiden.

Oblivion

I am now coming back to Rhiannon, the object of my desire; the 21st century girl who jumped off a cliff and ended up meeting me soon after her death. She felt she had lost everything and I "confirmed" her the terrible truth, thinking that making her feel helpless would be an easy way to subdue her. I had underestimated her. Do you know what happened immediately after that? She laughed, derisively.

- You have to come up with something a bit scarier. I am already aware of the soulless ghoul I am - she said.
- You are not a ghoul. Not yet - I replied, shamelessly staring at her breasts.
- So, it's official. I am to become a ghoul.
- Not necessarily, but if you did choose that path you would at least be something - I emphasised, lighting a cigarette and pretending to smoke.
- What do you mean? - she asked, an angry look in her face.
- Nothing - I said calmly, faking the action of dramatically exhaling smoke. It is a little trick of mine.
- What am I now?
- Nothing.
- You say that I am nothing because I am dead, surely.
- You cannot be dead when you have not been born.
- I was born. I died! - yelled Rhiannon, shaking her head in confusion.
- No, you were never born. You do not exist - I insisted, putting my cigarette out.

Rhiannon stepped back and laughed again, this time bitterly. She sat down on the floor and bent her knees, hugging them like a scared little girl.

- Are you not a tiny bit curious as to your current status, Rhiannon? - I enquired.
- It is clear you are not helping at all, there is no point in talking to you. Is there?
- Then who would you like to talk to? I may be the only one around - I said with a sneer - Eternity is not going to be much fun for you by the looks of it.

I expected some sort of reply but the girl remained defiant. We spent a long time looking at each other in silence. My heart beat fast despite my serene countenance. I wanted her, I had to have her.

- Take off your clothes, Rhiannon - I ordered her coldly. I was being blunt but still tried to cover up my obvious intentions by pretending to remain unemotional. Rhiannion did not move.
- Why? Are you some kind of lesbian demon? - she answered.
- Wow, you are a very perceptive young lady.
- Thank you - she said mockingly without paying me much heed.
- Take off your clothes, Rhiannon.
- No.
- Don't provoke me, girl. You will do as I say, or else...
- Or else what? What are you going to do? Burn me in your Hell? You already said you wouldn't. It seems I am completely fucked up anyway so things cannot get any worse.
- Exactly.
- Good, if it is as bad as it can be I do not have to obey you.
- You see, that would be a pity - I whispered, pulling a sad face - things could get better for you if you had me.
- How so? No offence but... I am not into women.
- That is fine. I am not a woman.
- You might not be human, or are you?

I shook my head.

- But you are still female - she continued - I am sorry, girls don't rock my boat.
- Oh, please. You are a liar.
- How can you be so sure?
- Because I can feel you. In a way, I know more about you than you do. You have never kissed a woman before but you have fantasised about it then felt guilty. Guilty... to the point that you have tried to force yourself into relationships that left you sexually and emotionally unfulfilled. You have wasted your time with dysfunctional losers and wondering not only why things did not work out for you but also why you did not manage to find the love you wanted and needed whilst other people could. I will tell you why, because you do not really like most men. You used to choose the worst among them to protect yourself from spending the rest of your life with a man who actually cared. Still, you never had the courage to pursue your heart's true desire. You were not fully aware of this but deep down you could not fool yourself.

She stayed motionless, hardly even blinking. Had I been human, it would have been a difficult task to decipher her expression. I would not have known whether she was bored by my mini monologue or she just thought I was stupid. Luckily, my humanity had expired four centuries ago and special gifts had been bestowed upon me in exchange of my mortal soul. Rhiannon was almost an open book to someone like me. There was this "How dare you?" look in her eyes but I could also see a sparkle of approbation. Yes, she acquiesced with her silence. She unbuttoned her coat. I caressed her face as she took it off and, in a sudden fit of impatience, bit her sweet lips until she bled. She put her arms around me, weeping like a child.

The Downward Spiral

In hindsight, my premature human death could have been easily avoided. Rumours of Elizabeth's cruelty were already in circulation but they were just rumours, right? She was feared but could still lure girls into her castles, Čachtice being the most impressive of them all. 

Nobody really tried to stop Bathory, except for a couple of people that were not taken seriously. The year before my departure we heard of a priest who had accused her of heinous crimes but since other churchmen kept silent, Elizabeth literally got away with murder. One could have quickly assumed that she had been demonised because of her faith, after all, she was a protestant in a land of catholics, but I can confirm that she was indeed wicked regardless of her religious affiliations.

Of course, years before her servants had summoned me, Elizabeth had often scouted for girls in the nearby villages. We never got to hear from them again but we assumed they were fine, maybe living in the castle as part of her entourage. There were tales of piercing female cries, of bloody footprints in the snow and naked maiden corpses being buried in the castle grounds but there was no actual proof against the countess.  

In 1609, after the death of her favourite servant (and lover), Anna Darvula, Elizabeth had practically stopped sending emissaries. Apparently, she had become more demanding, preferring the company of aristocratic young women. Her servants' visits were a rare occurrence by the time they came to see us but the rumours were still about. We had no real reason to doubt her good intentions though, her invitation sounded like the opportunity of a lifetime. My parents were glad that at least one of their children would be able to escape poverty.

On November 7th, 1610 I was thus taken away from my world by two horrific monsters who were masked as kind, loyal servants of the mysterious countess. I only remember hugging my parents for the last time before stepping into the carriage that was about to lead me to what would prove to be an existence of murder and never-ending darkness. Elizabeth's gruesome headcount would eventually pale before the number of lives I would take. I, however, have not been as "flashy" and unnecessarily gory as her. I am a much more refined killer. I make love to my victims and take them to Heaven before their hearts cease to beat. Whatever pain I may inflict has the sole purpose of enhancing our mutual pleasure.

You and I are in touch by accident, my friend. I should not be typing these words in English, under a pen name that would have sounded strange and even unpronounceable to the naïve girl I once was. I should not have lived long enough to know what a computer is in the first place. Praise the Lord, or whatever divine entity you might trust, that I am not right by your side.

I was meant to remain a 16th - 17th century creature and nothing more but what would I have been if Elizabeth had not snatched me from my home the way she did? I will never know. I sometimes think I would have been an unhappy housewife, a poor spinster, a beggar even. When I feel more optimistic I see my imaginary human life as simple and humdrum but cheerful and somewhat fulfilled according to the standards of the common folk of my time: a house, at least five children, a horse, a strong husband, and many years later, dozens of beautiful grandchildren. My descendants could be wandering the earth instead of me and yet I am more inclined to believe that happiness was never in the cards for me. Back then life was more beautiful in many respects but it was also much harder and uncomfortable. One was cursed by ignorance, lack of choice and even more religious and social constraints than nowadays.

I had this inclination I did not understand, this love for my own sex. What made me different would certainly have forced me into the miserable housewife path, the path of self-denial. For better or worse Elizabeth opened my eyes to possibilities I had not considered. Still, I would not have followed her if I had been aware of the horrors that awaited me. Do not be deceived: that does not necessarily mean I would have fully embraced my human self. Being desperately hungry for life in my own terms but lacking the courage to face social rejection I might have simply commited suicide. It would have been so much better for the world or perhaps not. Once one is sentenced to life there is no painless way out.

We arrived in Čachtice at dusk. With its white walls turning slightly blue as the sun perished, it was the most magnificent and terrifying building I had ever seen. So far, I had not witnessed luxury. By "luxury", I mean what was regarded as such in that day and age. You can imagine it was not really much compared to the readily available comforts that modern life takes for granted. Looking back, the castle was dark, damp and, dare I say, a bit smelly. 

I have the hazy memory of a spacious, dimly lit room where seven or eight girls waited patiently. We were instructed to kneel down as Elizabeth entered accompanied by several guards and a woman she called Erszi. It did not take long for the countess to reveal her true colours. Her expression was a mixture of disdain and badly repressed lechery. We were little more than cattle to her.

Well, here you are. Ready to surrender before me. I am your Mistress from now on, she said in a coarse voice. She tried to add something afterwards but a sudden coughing fit stopped her. Erszi tried to grab her by the arm but she refused to be touched. I then realised that she was very frail and ill. Even in that poorly lit enclosure I could notice the deep wrinkes in her forehead and around her eyes. 

Once she had calmed down she looked at us in the same disdainful manner and unexpectedly grabbed one of the girls by the hair. 

- Tell me, dear child. Would you say I am beautiful? - she said. 
- Yes, yyes - the girl stuttered.

Elizabeth smiled, pulling the girl's hair harder until a few golden threads fell on the floor. 

- Would you say, my pretty, that I am more beautiful than you?
- Yes, my lady. 

I stared in disbelief, we all did. Not only at the painful realisation that we had been tricked by Elizabeth's people but also because of the evident contrast between the countess and her first victim of the night. The former was clearly in decline whilst the latter was at the peak of her beauty. I found the scene utterly grotesque, a gorgeous maiden being forced to praise the countess' non-existent charm and belittle her own loveliness minutes before being slaughered, youth and beauty being her only sins. 

- Say it aloud - hissed Elizabeth. 
- Your Majesty, you are infinitely more beautiful than me - replied the poor girl. 
- What do you like the most about your Mistress?
- I like your eyes, they are like burning stars.  
- Is that all?
- No, your Majesty. I am mesmerised by your skin. It is flawless.
- Is it white? How white would you say it is?
- It is as white as snow, my lady.

Elizabeth touched her own face with a trembling hand then opened her mouth slightly, in a creepy grimace that turned out to be a smile, her scarce yellow teeth gleaming acridly. 

- Would you like to preserve your Mistress' burning gaze and flawless snow white skin? - she asked mockingly. 
- I would, my lady - said the girl.
- Then you will! - roared Elizabeth as she hurled herself at her victim's jugular like a rabid dog.

The girl yelled in pain as the countess avidly ripped her skin. Elizabeth then dropped her on the floor like a broken doll, her face covered in blood. 

- Take her upstairs - she told Erszi as she tried to clean the area around her mouth with her tongue - drain her. 

Erszi dragged her crying prey by the hair, leaving a scarlet trail behind her. There were a few men waiting by the door and holding some sort of cage which would soon be occupied by the unfortunate girl. Meanwhile, Elizabeth's guards seized us and wrapped us in chains. Our ordeal had just begun.

Playing with humans

You may forgive me for being disorganised but I have got so much to tell you. So much, that it is difficult for me to put my ideas in order. The good thing about writing a blog is that I do not need to carefully structure my posts in the same way I would if I were writing the chapters of a novel. My mind is full of bits of information I would like to share with others.

I do not really know why I would want strangers to hear about me. It might be because I am vain or perhaps because I am simply lonely. I do not wish to be like those vampires that go insane due to the fact that they have no one but themselves to talk to. They live in their own memories, mentally revisiting those moments when they were stronger, younger.

Vampires do become old. It may not seem like it but we do. I am no longer in my prime, even if my body looks as young as it did when I died. My thirst for blood, my lust for life are in decline. My treasure of memories is slowly fading and it is so painful to realise that my past is rapidly turning into an unrecognisable pile of broken fragments. Maybe in a couple of years I will read these posts again and use them to help myself remember the old days a little better. I know for sure that I will be able to recall a lot less than I do now.

I have not posted for about a month but it has been for a good reason. I was trying to live in the present. Normally I am comfortably installed in my flat, isolated from humans, thinking about things I have done and nights that will never come back. I only socialise with your kind when I feed myself but I do not need to do this as frequently as I did a hundred years ago. I can have dozens of quiet nights in watching telly, reading, listening to music, brooding over the past, being a boring caricature of what I used to be.

I usually avoid interaction on the Internet, at least I had refused to use a computer until recently then I decided to open up a little bit. I set up my Twitter and Facebook accounts, I started blogging as you can see, then I had pictures of myself taken. I went for pink hair because it feels trendy enough, I might get a couple of fake tattoos to feel entirely in fashion. Why will I not get the real thing? Because ink does not work on the Undead but even if it did, I would not want to have anything "permanent". Immortality is already bad enough.

It may seem like I have more time than you or anyone you know but I might as well snuff it one day. I may be immortal provided I am not exposed to fire, sunlight, overwhelming ennui et caetera, yet this planet is definitely mortal. Being human is just as pointless as being a vampire. Life, in all of its forms, is essentially pointless and silly. You have a certain amount of years to somehow carry on with existence and you must put up with the same stagnant, repetitive, purposeless cycles of loss and heartbreak. You might as well have some fun in the meantime and perhaps try to experience a few little joys before your time is up, which is precisely what I did.

My little joy arrived in the post a few days ago. It was an autographed copy of the book "The Mannequin House" I have just won in a competition. What? Do you not think vampires find these things pleasurable? Well, you are wrong. I was thrilled. My human exploit is even recorded on video. You see my name in the credits here:

And here:

As you can see, yours truly has been a bit naughty on the Internet and being mentioned by a writer, if only for a second, is always a bonus. The reason why I was not very active on my blog was that I tried to mingle wirh humans a bit further because I needed to reafirm my existence, to feel alive. I talked, danced, pretended to drink. Not so long ago I was in a seaside town called Rhos-on-Sea, at a pub called The Ship. I had been there before, with Rhiannon... but I shall tell you about that later.

A late intro

Let's leave Rhiannon for a moment for I have been rude. It does not matter if my name and "profession" are no longer a mystery to you. There must be some sort of formal introduction so, as a good friend of mine would have said, please allow me to introduce myself.

As you have already seen somewhere in your screen, my name is Tristen Blackwell. Well, that is the name I have chosen to disclose to you. I have been many people. I have lived dozens of lives with their corresponding deaths. I have had many different names and nationalities without even reincarnating.

To date, I speak 40 languages fluently and understand bits and bobs of many more. I suspect that, were I less prone to procrastination I would be able to speak at least a hundred. It is not that I am a natural-born polyglot, I just think that almost anyone who lived to be 400 or more would inevitably become multilingual. In my human life I was an ignorant peasant who could barely have a proper conversation in her mother tongue, let alone a foreign language. Still, I was eager to know what life was like far beyond the little villages of my childhood. The foreigners that came our way inspired in me an unquenchable curiosity. Their strange accents and clothing; their knowledge of languages I could not understand.

By imitation, from a very early age I made up my own words. I had my own glossolalia, an imperfect language that was built on the go. Some would have thought it was gibberish or gobbledygook but in my head I was speaking a secret tongue from times of old. I muttered to myself sounds that could only be deciphered by me, I had my own way of calling the elements, the animals in the small farms; the sun, moon and stars. My life, often scarred by poverty and boredom, became so much brighter when I looked into my own thoughts and magical words, which I believed allowed me to establish communication with good, protective spirits. Silly me, a female Tantalus...

Have you ever heard of Tantalus? If you have you may know that he was an ancient king who boiled his own son and served him to the gods at a banquet. Zeus and company were less than pleased at the grim offering. They repaired Tantalus' evil deed by bringing the boy back to life but the king was sent to Tartarus or, in less fancy terms, Hell as punishment. There he would spend Eternity among the loveliest fruit trees and a beautiful stream of crystal clear water. There was a catch, of course. Tantalus would never be able to reach the succulent red apples nor drink the fresh water. They would be there to be seen but not tasted. He had been sentenced to insatisfaction amid abundance and beautiful things that eluded him even though they seemed to be within his grasp.

As you may imagine, I did not get to hear about Tantalus in my lifetime. It was not until a few years after I became a vampire that I learned about him and then it all made sense: my life, my nature. I will explain why.

I suffered from chronic frustration, secretly hoping to leave home and embark on endless adventures abroad. I sometimes fancied myself pretty, believing other people's compliments, which may have been false. I also believed I had brains and imagination so I felt trapped in the uneventful, repressive village atmosphere I had been placed in by the hand of some cruel god who had bestowed upon me gifts I could not fully use in such a setting. Those delusions of mine were my downfall.

Unfulfilled ambition made me vulnerable, an easy prey to "celebrities". Yes, I might as well tell you now. I am closely linked to one of the biggest vampire celebrities of all time: Elizabeth Bathory, better known as The Blood Countess. I apologise if I interrupt my tale for a while just to ask you: Have you ever been let down by your idol once you had met him or her in person? I have. It is not that Elizabeth was precisely my idol, as I knew little of her but, having been born and bred a few miles from Čachtice, the village where her castle is still located, I was more than aware of her high rank and had heard that she was indescribably beautiful. That myth prevails to this day, even if the paintings have easily debunked it. People want to believe she was a gorgeous fallen angel and no visual proof will dissuade them of the contrary. 

Given my circumstances and my lack of real options to leave the parental home, it was easy for Ficszko and Dorka, Elizabeth's servants, to captivate gullible girls like me. It was the year 1610, I was 19 then, already old to get married. My poor parents were on the verge of despair and I was too stubborn to accept any potential suitors. At the time I did not understand what made it so difficult for me to be drawn to their charms as some of these men were certainly handsome. No one could work out my behaviour either. I used to think I was conceited and vain but the situation was more complex. I did not suspect that the fact that my own reflection appeared to be more alluring to me than the face of any man had little to do with vanity. The laughter, the tender touch of girls my age was always perfectly friendly but, as I grew older, it became pleasant in a way I could not quite describe. A gentle kiss on the cheek, a pretty smile, a warm hug, these were things I enjoyed but then again, I thought any other girl would. My fantasies were pure, not out of real innocence but ignorance. I simply did not have the notion of any type of physical intimacy that went past a few hugs and kisses.

My adorable parents, it is sad and almost unbelievable, but I cannot remember their names or their faces for some reason yet whenever I think of Elizabeth I can see her face as clearly as on the very first day I met her. My human life is more of a blur as time goes by but the events that led to my death are still lingering in my memory. Mum and Dad were easily seduced by the Countess' people. I could tell they were immensely proud of me. After all, I had been chosen with a few of the prettiest girls in the region.

Ficzko lavished us with promises Elizabeth did not mean to keep. He told us I would get an education and would become the Countess' lady. Well, that last promise was certainly fulfilled but not in the way Mum and Dad had envisioned...

The Fallen

Rhiannon was being dragged at high speed, nothing but a rag doll with exanimate limbs swaying at the command of its owner. Down in the void there were sensations.

The dull blackness was fast-forwarded violently. Until then, Rhiannon had no idea of what nothingness in fast motion looked like. A few subtle lines and patterns gradually manifested themselves like ghosts that had been practicing their camouflage skills. Black and dark grey tones in bas relief, then chameleon-like monsters emerging from achromatic square stones, flashing their broken teeth and posing menancingly with gnarled fingers and long outstretched nails. A group of horned two-headed Cherubs piled up in a corner snarling silently, their pointy fangs piercing the shadows; their mouths opening in a wrinkly moue, halfway between diabolical and lachrymose as though they had not yet decided whether they craved for fresh milk or warm human blood.

Slowly, a few torches appeared here and there. They blended in with the walls in such a way that their lights looked like floating flames. Rhiannon was walking down a long hallway that led to a larger room. She was then able to discern the body-shape of the person with the pale, cold hand. She could finally see my profile, my dark wavy hair and, as I turned around and looked her in the eye, the pair of circles of jet where she could gaze at her own reflection.

I let go and sat in a large, red chair that was right in the middle of the room. Rhiannon stared and then stuttered.

- Am I dead? - she asked.
- You've just jumped off a cliff. What do you think?
- I remember jumping but can't recall the actual fall. I must have died instantly, right?
- I'll let you be the judge of that.
- Where am I?

I smiled cruelly and fixed my gaze upon her. She still exuded life, she was rife with it. The glow in her skin betrayed the Sun's adoration. I knew that the following morning he would weep for he would not be able to kiss Rhiannon ever again. I stood up and advanced towards her. Desire raped my spirit. Rhiannon belonged to me, she would be soon under my command.

I got closer, much too close. She was still warm. The echo of her fading heartbeat banged furiously, unspoilt by resignation. Our eyes met, a forest against an empty night sky. My fingers slid down her left cheek. I drew nearer until our lips nearly touched.

- What if I told you that you're in Hell? - I whispered in her ear.

Rhiannon stepped back, a mixture of terror and surprise attempted to distort her lovely features.

- So? - I prompted.
- Who are you? Are you... are you Satan?

I laughed. Deep down, I felt flattered.

- I like your way of thinking. You admit the possibility of Satan being female. I'm touched.
- Well, it wouldn't come as a surprise to many, given the fact that women are often demonised.
- Forget about your stupid society, Rhiannon. It doesn't matter what they think now that you're somewhere else.

Rhiannon grinned bitterly.

- I guess I'm about to burn for all Eternity from now on, aren't I?

I laughed again, enjoying her state of uncertainty and fear. She blinked nervously but remained relatively calm, given the circumstances.

- No - I answered.
- I beg your pardon?
- I said no, you won't burn in Hell for all Eternity but you'll pay a price for your actions. You've lost it all, Rhiannon. Your soul for starters. You are now one of the Fallen.