Diary of Blood: A Vampiress' Passion

This is the first entry of a diary that I'm slowly translating. The pages are out of order, scattered. I believe this to be the first entry in the journal but I am not yet positive of that fact. I am doing my best to discover the truth of this poor woman. Eventually, I will move it into a book for easy access...

Rising, falling, drifting on a sea of blackness,
Dreaming dreams empty and dark,
I call out his name but he doesn’t come to me,
Spiraling downward, the pitch catches me.
Wrapped in the arms of Death, like a child,
Wondering if life is worth trying to survive,
So warm, dark and devoid of feelings, death is,
Rest, at long last, welcomes me home again.
I linger in the folds of death and peace, content,
Surely, someone will miss me, someone will care. I ponder this,
But, in truth, all that matters to me now is rest, peace,
Previously unobtainable, now reachable in death.
I murmur and my voice reaches my ears, softly,
Gently, I had spoken his name once more, a plea of understanding.
Death releases me, comforting arms gone, pain engulfs once more.
“Why would you forsake me?” I shout to the specter as Death fades,
“Why would you show me all I could have, so coldly,
Then remove it from my grasp once more?”
BECAUSE, CHILD, YOU ARE NOT MINE TO CLAIM, TO COMFORT.
“Please,” but Death has left me, mayhaps forever.
Death will come only when he who ‘loves’ me deems it so,
He who wouldn’t even answer my call, ‘lover’ of mine,
He wouldn’t listen to my plea, he never would, never will.
I open my eyes and he is there, my ‘love’ smiling down at me,
Just as he always has, just as he always will. . .

ELENA DULOC, “Diary of Blood: A Vampiress’ Passion
Circa 1823


Entry 2: Date Unknown

It is cold today. Colder, I fear, than I have ever felt it to be. This, to me, is an omen. Ill fated as I am, omens still frighten me when they make their appearance into my life. He denies it.

He is cold, almost as cold as the evening, his flesh like ice, his heart as stone. He claims that I am the same as he. I refuse to believe him. I still feel...

Even now, with the sun having set behind the large mountains, I wonder if life is worth the pain we suffer through. Now, it truly doesn't matter to me, pain, any longer. I am dead. He killed me.

Sometimes, I think of my family and wonder if they have ever [unknown] but I can't imagine so. I turn now and stare out the large window, daring myself to wake from the nightmare I now face.

Death refused me. But that doesn't truly bother me as much as his lack of remorse for me. Death should hate me. Should hate him. But, instead, Death doesn't seem to care.

Should I bother you with details?

In the silence of my chamber I sit, alone and waiting for him to return to me with yet another live person for me to feed off of. He forces me to drink, to kill, though I would much rather refuse and die, longingly die.

Each night he makes me remember the price I paid to be his, the price I'll pay forever. I was seduced by his vampire seduction, by the power he held so easily in his palms. Of course, I didn't realize he was a vampire until after...

Shouldn't there be a redemption for the unwilling, the unaware? Such was I. I deserve redemption.

I try to sigh and nothing happens. How I miss my mortal normalities. How I miss life.

But, I hear the banging of the great gate and the whimpering cries of mortal life.

I smell their blood and flesh, sweat and sins, upon the rancid air that cannot be taken in, I smell them. Closer...closer...

He has returned and so I shall close here. But, I will explain one thing more to you this night.

In truth, he no longer must force me to drink the blood of innocents. The taste has won me over, the fear a fire in my soul, the control over life and death a burning need in my heart.

So, I am a vampire...but I shall not give him the satisfaction of knowing how much of a vampire I am.

How much I [unknown] him...

ELENA DULOC, “Diary of Blood: A Vampiress’ Passion
Circa 1823

**THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION**