Prologue
Prologue:
Dear Diary,
Some time had fallen since I had written anything on the pages of my life. Have you ever felt a pull that draws you in so closely that you no longer have the strength to fight? Or, have you seen the darkness breathe as it spoke to you in soft tones, making you feel naked and alone—only to be confused if it were a dream?
It’s hard to know for sure when the darkness invaded, or should I say caressed, the innermost parts of my body, leaving me begging for more. Leaving me drenched with sweat, feeling ashamed of deeds that I was unsure I had done.
Gone are the days which I complained about my boring, lonely existence that I know I can never get back—for the changes had taken root as I fought for control over my existence and the health of my mental wellbeing. But there’s this new self that longs to shed the mortal part of myself and allow the changes to grip and take control of what was my mundane life until it happened.
This is where I began the journey on which I have found myself. I want to share with you of the changes within myself, before the very self of me is gone forever—turning my back on what I had known for so long—then embracing the new life that awaits in the shadows.
Two things that one must account for: First, memories are fragile. Second, life is more fragile than memories—both can take without notice.
It all began with a series of dreams that I could not remember. The only thing I did remember was the breathing of the abyss as it spoke to me, as it touched me. There were times I swore it made love to me; but I can’t be too sure—the dreams felt sexy in ways that I couldn’t put into words; for I longed to be within the darkness’s embrace—I longed for it—I needed it.
Even as I wrote this entry into the pages of my existence, I can still feel the warm gentle pricks on the nape of my neck, causing the hairs to stand on end. My heart raced inside me.
I know—it’s too fantastic to believe. But what if it wasn’t a dream? What if it was real?
Days went by as they normally do—while the darkness haunted the very depths of my soul, causing changes to occur—causing me to believe the realities of what I must face to be true.
I slept for hours at a time while sweat poured down on me as if I got caught in a rainstorm. The fever was harsh, causing my body to shake as if I were cold. I called work telling them of the flu that had befallen me—telling them of the pain I faced.
My skin soon became cold to the touch and pale to anyone that looked at me. My eyes became sunken in with a distant look to them. The first thing the doctors thought was diabetes because of the uncontrollable need to drink. Whatever it was, I drank to relieve the thirst—but nothing seemed to feed the fix to drink—nearly driving me to the point of madness!
That was until, by happenstance, I opened the refrigerator and a package of meat fell onto the kitchen floor, creating a pool of blood. I fell to my knees, smelling the heavenly aroma—dripping with blood. I picked up the meat, then began suckling as if I were a baby being nursed from a bottle.
Drool fell from my lips as I lapped up the pool of blood, feeling the thirst leaving. On that night, fear replaced my thirst—sweat ceased, making me feel whole once more. Fear gripped me as I realized what I had become—for I no longer felt human—I no longer wanted to feel the sunlight on my face. My attentions turned towards the night, needing to feel the bath of the moon’s glow.
But all paled compared to what happened next. It had been a week since I’d tasted blood. I no longer craved solid foods—I craved blood—but stronger than before. The sun set as I placed my sunglasses and a scarf over my eyes and head, wearing gloves and a long coat that nearly touched my feet. Unsure of how to obtain blood, I set off to the market, looking for the bloodiest roasts, steaks, or ribs that I could find. But something else happened entirely—something I can’t explain.
As I made my way to the market, I heard a low moan or cry, which I couldn’t make a clear distinction of. My heart leaped with incredible joy, pounding with great excitement. I followed the low, muffled sound until it became more distinct and clearer. It had a rhythm—a beat. A beat in which I could dance to. Ah! It grew so much louder. From that moment on, I felt like a predator, a hunter, stalking my prey. The rhythm, the beat of the sound, gave birth to a moan. The sounds intertwined and became as one. I turned a corner, finding myself in a secluded spot at the market. The sound became too loud. I looked and saw a red line of blood. I found a young man on the trail. The rhythm of the muffled sound was his heart! The beats rang through my head like the bells of Christmas morning.
When I came to him, I saw he had slit his own wrist. His eyes looked wildly at me, full of fear. His voice was shaky. “I couldn’t help myself. I saw myself cutting open my vein. I tried to... but I couldn’t stop.”
The smell gave off such a wonderful aroma, better than the blood I had lapped from my kitchen floor days before. “Shhh, I came over to help. Now, let me see. Come now. Don’t be shy. I used to be a nurse,” I soothed.
The young man, who couldn’t be much over eighteen, removed his hand from the open wound. He’d dug deep into his flesh with his blade, but I deduced that he’d live. The wound was deep but not life-threatening. I felt in the weight of his stare that there was more. Something he was withholding from me, but what? Why wouldn’t he tell me?
“Close your eyes. Don’t open them until I tell you to. Do you understand?”
He shook his head yes, then closed his eyes, leaving me alone with his bloodied wrist. My lips formed a tight seal as I sucked gently, feeling the warmth of the saltiness of his blood. I licked, cleaning off what had dripped. It was my saliva that stopped his bleeding, but it was his blood that told the story. The young man reopened his eyes, shocked to see the injury to his wrist was nearly gone. He stared, feeling it. “Did you?”
I dabbed my mouth with tissue paper. “I did,” I replied, making sure there was no sign of blood on my lips. “There was a man, but I couldn’t see his face. As I drank from your wrist, I noticed you seemed to be entranced by what he said to you. The man’s voice seemed garbled.”
The young man spoke once more. From the light of his eyes, it seemed a spark had formed inside his memory. “The man said to me that a woman needed to feed, and that I needed to cut myself with the box cutter. Lady, it’s like what I told you. I couldn’t stop myself. When he told me to cut deep, I cut deeper without hesitation. When I bled, the man told me that the blood on the surface only tells the basic story. He told me that the woman would need to drink deeper to get the proper story.”
It was like a light went off in my dark mind. The door that had no knob or key suddenly opened. But as I looked in, a glare of light blotted out what I needed to know. I smiled at the boy. “I’m afraid that I must drink deep from you.” He offered his wrist to me. “No child, I need to feed from your neck.”
The young man fell helplessly into my arms as I sank my new fangs into his youthful flesh. Gentle moans came from his lips, reminding me of a mouse or a rabbit. The soft moans faded, but I kept drinking, my mind seeing what I longed to see. It was the darkened man! I had never seen blue eyes like the ones he possessed. He held the boy’s head in the palm of his hands and looked into the most innermost parts of his soul.
“Amy Lee, the time has come for you to find me. I came to you. It was I that made love to you in the confines of your house. It was I that haunted your erotic dreams. Before the sun rises, meet me at Pattern’s Cemetery. It’s there we both shall sleep. Drain the life from the boy, then find me.”
I pulled myself away from feeding, still hearing the man of my dreams echoing in the corners of my thoughts. He’s real? Had he done to me as he had done to this boy from whom I drained? The body fell to the floor lifelessly. There was nothing left but a husk. I told the poor boy that I was sorry for what had befallen him, then made my way home.
Now that I have told the tale of the changes to my life, it’s time for me to write it down for all to see—for all to know what I have become. I have shed my old life from me like that of a snake. Amy Lee is no longer me. I am now Aurora—a vampire!
As I write the final chapter of my life, I’m thankful to the dark man that set my soul free to the waiting arms of the eternal night. I politely ask you not to look for me at the nearby cemeteries, for I’ve already marked you. To the one who reads this, welcome to eternal darkness, for we have been waiting for you.
