Bloodlust: Regret and Redemption

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I traced my finger along the top of my lover's cold, damp headstone.

She is dead, buried in the earth below.

My bloodlust killed her.

I took her life in a futile attempt to douse my unquenchable thirst.

The tremor gripped my lungs again. I pull the frigid air harshly in through my clenched teeth, pressing it deep into my being, hoping to stifle the sobbing.

An impenetrable, pre-dawn fog crept slowly through the graveyard caressing and embracing the headstones and statuary. Its cold, wet air crawled across my face, cooling the warm tears that dripped from my eyes.

Dew from the grass seeped through the fabric of my pants to my knees. I knelt, but not in prayer, for I know that there is nothing holy in this life. I know no angels or saviors, but I danced with a demon that granted my darkest desire.

The dominion of man is an illusion. In the darkness is real power.

My finger traced her name, reminding me of how I would run my fingers gently across her naked body as we made love. I can still feel the soft caress of her hair on my face while my fingers draw a tender line from her shoulders to her thighs.

The first hint of dawn cracks across the sky.

A day before, I would have fled to shadows, hiding from the oppressive heat that would have scorched my very flesh. But not today.

Am I free, or am I damned for the remainder of my brief human existence?

I must have angered or disappointed the demon, the master of the night, the dark lord that severed my ties to the day and bound me to the night. Only a few hours hence, he cast me off the immortal path to return to the light. To be human again. To suddenly begin experiencing the life that I left behind.

My bloodlust was gone. My senses felt dull and ineffective. The sounds of the city are distant and garbled. The beauty of the night returned to impenetrable shadows and monotone, indistinct shapes. I looked forward to the sunrise, more for clarity of sight than warmth.

The first rays of light hit my pale skin for the first time in years. I winced in agonizing anticipation, yet the searing sensation I braced myself for never materialized.

I freely traded my soul, my human existence, and my mortality for raw power. To live forever may appear the greatest reward, but immortality is nothing more than an added benefit of the seductive power of the black gift.

To bend the will of others with a mere glance, to mold another's consciousness and actions, to create a subservient creature with the power of thought alone was the real power - the gift of becoming a god. Or so, I thought. But, it was not the truth.

I was merely an impatient child with a powerful gift, lacking any comprehension of the real cost.

She was my first victim.

At that moment of her passing, as my fangs tore deep into her neck, her blood and fading life fueled an emotional surge beyond what my reborn, immature mind could comprehend. No drug nor adrenaline rush could compare to that moment.

Unbridled power surged into my mouth, coating my throat as I voraciously sucked her blood. Scorching heat and throbbing energy radiated into my core and an electric pulse ripple through my veins and into my smallest capillaries as her life force feed my lust.

I looked down on her naked body, the body of my lover, the woman who had given herself freely to me. I felt no remorse. At the moment of her climax, she sacrificed herself to me. Without a scream. Without any terror. I drained her of life, and my humanity was washed away in her blood. The emotions that kept my desires in check, those thin threads that separate humans from beasts, unraveled and crumbled away.

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