162 year old immortal from Ireland. Lover to @DelilahAevum and @LydiaDawes, maker to @katerinaoshane, uncle to @jmichaeldawes, and brother and friend to @poeticimmortal and @eternal_maestro.
Otherwise known as the Vampire Robin.
Journal Entry - June 24, 2010
“Flynn has found a way back through the ether. And things have vastly changed.”
I remember sitting across from my brother Victor, hearing those words spoken to me just over a month ago. The apologetic way he looked at me, paired with the way his voice hardened at the delivery of his words, would have been enough to make me wince, but my mind couldn’t process the actual meaning of the words themselves. A dam of denial buckled, but refused to burst.
“Brother, I know we are not above jesting, you and I, but this is one joke I do not appreciate,” I said. I frowned at Victor.
Peter joined the discussion. “Dear brother, I can assure you we would never state as such to you in jest.”
“Nonsense.” My eyes shot to Peter, annoyance brewing in the storm forming within my gaze. “This shouldn’t be possible.” I looked at Victor again. “What do you mean ‘back through the ether’? He shouldn’t even exist any longer.”
Victor nodded. “He should not, from what Peter explained of the merge, yet he does. During an idle conversation looking back on the past year, his name was spoken. And he returned.” He quirked half a smile. “I nearly jumped out of my skin when it happened.”
Memories flashed through my mind of eight months prior to that discussion. I remember Peter and Victor sitting in my study, Peter drawing a deep breath and shutting his eyes as he prepared to kill his alter ego and integrate their personalities. As I watched my brother begin the struggle, I couldn’t help but feel my stomach sink, as though I was finally having a chance to bury old demons. ‘Goodbye, Flynn,’ I thought, glancing away for a moment lest Victor see the look in my eyes. ‘I wonder if I should feel as apathetic about watching you die as you did me.’ My sentiments might have startled me if I hadn’t been used to them by that point. I alone knew the truth and now the time had come to bury it in the ground.
For all intents and purposes, he was gone. Good riddance to bad rubbish. I never bothered to mask my loathe of him, but I hid behind the guise of telling others I despised him for the simple fact that he killed me. If not for The Fates, I would still be dead.
Simple fact, that. Compared to the full truth, it was indeed simple.
“You’re sure it was him?” I asked Victor, half-frowning, half-scowling, but attempting to rein in my crumbling reserve; swiftly reching the point of not caring about my composure. I sighed and looked away. “Of course, I highly doubt Peter would play such a practical joke on you.” My eyes remained focused on the opposite wall, those old feelings beginning to strangle me. I squared my jaw and nodded once. “What called the devil back from the depths of hell where he belongs? A simple idle conversation mentioning his name? I have a hard time believing that.”
“Brother, it is exactly as Victor has said it to you,” Peter said.
“Nonsense. Utter nonsense.”
“He wanted to know why I was speaking of him,” Victor said.
“Oh, did he?” I stood and paced away, folding my arms across my chest. I refused to look at Peter and Victor. “I hardly see what he would stand to gain from being an interloper on an idle discussion.”
There was a pause before Victor responded. “From my understanding, he was not eavesdropping. It was the first conversation that caught his attention in all these months.” He hesitated briefly. “Because I said I somewhat missed bantering with him.”
My attention snapped back to Victor, an eyebrow raised. “How is it possible he heard any discussion? How is it possible he even exists? I fail to wrap my head around this, brother. And even more so how you could miss anything about that loathesome creature.” ‘I thought you hated him, too.’
He tensed slightly, then relaxed. “I know it is difficult to appreciate, brother, but I truly never did begrudge Flynn his existence, and I always respected him. I have no notion of what whim of the cosmos has allowed him to continue to exist, but I promise you that he does. And we are all here tonight because this time, he has been invited to stay.”
His words sent a blow to my stomach. I tried to shake it off, while unable to stop my facial expression from falling. Rage bubbled to the surface, barely suppressed. “By whose decree?”
Victor met my gaze measure for measure, his chin rising in something of a challenge, though he remained seated. “Mine. With Peter’s consent.”
I stared at him for a long time before disappointment filtered through my gaze. “Brother, what in God’s name are you thinking? I thought you much more sober-minded than that.”
The words impacted Victor. I watched them sting him, his expression falling slightly. The look in his eyes turned sober, somewhat apologetic. I wanted to sneer in revulsion. ‘You have no idea why you should even be sorry, Victor.’ “Things have changed, brother, I promise you,” he said. “In ways that I would have told you were impossible a year ago.”
I shook my head. “Flynn does not change, Victor. Flynn might mask himself for a time, but the moment your guard is down, he claims precisely what he came there for.” ‘I know this better than most.’ I sighed. “For all you know, he might have been waiting in the wings for a summon and is now delighted you’ve all fallen for the ruse that he comes in peace. Change and Flynn do not reside in the same reality.” ‘I made the mistake of thinking that once before. I made the mistake of thinking so many things could change.’
Victor quirked a half smile. “Then it is probably a good thing he has not been a part of this reality for some time.” His gaze turned cautious, not entirely pleading. “Meet him, brother. Talk to him and judge for yourself. We came here tonight with Flynn’s knowledge, and his willingness to stand in front of you and assert the truth for himself.”
Blinking, I raised an eyebrow. I murmured, not trusting my voice to speak much louder. “The devil listens to our discussion, brother? Have you come to trust him this much?” I looked away, trying to mask the pain in my eyes. “I have nothing to say to him. He can pull his tricks on you all you want to your downfall, but I know precisely the sort of monster you’re consorting with.”
Victor pushed to a stand. I looked back in time to see his temper flaring. “Do you think I would trade anything in this world just to consort with a devil, brother? That I would condemn Peter to sharing his body with a monster of nefarious intentions toward anyone in this room?”
I finally allowed my eyes to meet his again. “I don’t know what to think about this madness. We all agreed he was better banished or merged or whatever in the name of The Fates happened to him. Now you’ve granted him passage to stay?”
“I have.” Victor nodded. “Brother, when I say things have changed, it is doing the sum total of the situation an injustice. Flynn is looking at this world with new eyes, and a changed heart. He feels, Robin. I swear to you. And he wants another chance simply to experience what this world has to offer, not for decadence and blood, but in things that are worthwhile.”
‘He feels? For you, you mean.’ I frowned. “I don’t believe you.”
“Brother...” Peter spoke with a hint of irritation in his voice which only served to wound me further. “Would I be sitting here, so calm, if I suspected Flynn had nefarious intent? Who knows him better than I do? Not even you, Robin. You do not believe Victor, then fine, speak to Flynn for yourself and see. However, I believe you owe Victor an apology once all is said and done.”
Shaking my head, I glowered at Peter. “I care about the well-being of you all. Victor, you, John... Being under the same roof with that demon...”
“Who has changed, dear brother.” Peter sighed. “One chance. A few minutes, a few questions. Whatever it might take.”
I gritted my teeth. “You want me to talk to him? Then let him out.”
Victor nodded once at me, offering me a parting gaze which was somewhat unreadable. Looking at Peter, I watched him relax and felt a slight tinge of guilt over my behavior toward Victor. He took a deep breath and nodded, issuing a soft half-smile. I watched a silent form of communication be exchanged between them, undoubtedly telepathic, before Victor stepped close and took hold of Peter’s hand. “Flynn,” he said in a firm summon. “It’s time.”
Peter shut his eyes, a placid smile on his face until his eyes fluttered open again. He nodded once at Victor, but the look in his eyes had changed, something I couldn’t distinguish right away, but knew possessed the glint characteristic of Flynn. I squared my shoulders. ‘So, you return, assassin.’ I scowled with intense animosity at him when that gaze locked with mine and felt a flash of anger at how calmly he spoke. “Well... a party,” Flynn said, “And I have been invited. Although, it would seem certain receptions have turned chillier than I remember them.”
Victor shut his eyes, but smirked slightly. My eyes widened, then relaxed. ‘Glad to see you’re enjoying this, brother,’ I thought as he straightened his posture and his expression turned more neutral. He glanced at Lily first, then looked at me, pausing for a moment before saying, “I trust you at least believe this is not Peter playing a joke.”
I stared coldly at Flynn, swallowing hard once before nodding. “No, I know this devil far too well for me to say that. As for chilly receptions, I am hard-pressed to think of any reason why you deserve anything but.”
He shrugged. “Fair enough, Robin. I did not expect you would be entirely pleased to see me and I cannot say I fault you.” He looked toward Lily. I tensed immeditately. “Not to deviate from the matter at hand, but simply because I like to know precisely who I might be facing...” He smirked. “Assassins become irritable when there are too many unknowns in the equation.” His smirk relaxed. “But would this be Delilah by chance?”
‘Leave her alone, you bastard.’ My thoughts practically screamed the words. Victor nodded at Flynn. “It is indeed,” he said. “And Delilah, this is Flynn.” He smiled slightly. “Though he does borrow Peter’s form.”
Lily took a deep breath, then studied Flynn curiously. “And yet, he is definitely not Peter,” she said. I watched her smile and felt my heart sink while desperately trying to mask the reaction from my lover, knowing our blood bond to be potent enough for my feelings to betray me. Her eyes shifted from Flynn to Victor and back again. “You’ll have to forgive me if I’m not appropriately impressed, but I never thought I would meet you.”
He nodded once. “If my mission was to impress by virtue of my reputation, I would have granted you a far different show, I promise.” Flynn hummed. “I find myself in a far different position, however. You being the exception, the others gathered here have seen enough of my darker side. Flaunting it around would not only be counterintuitive, but redundant. I wish to make amends. View me in a far more contrite posture.”
I blinked. “Why?” I asked. “What is your game, Flynn? What do you stand to gain from this charade?”
He regarded me with a sober expression on his face. “To answer your question would be to grant this is a charade. I will, however, respond to why I wish to make amends.” Flynn glanced at Victor and drew in a deep breath, then turned his attention to Lily and me. “I have been granted a second chance with far more extraordinary consequences than I dared imagine. A chance to know the children; a chance to bridge the gulf between us as brothers. And...” His gaze shifted back to Victor and I frowned, anticipating what he was to say next by the look I saw in his eyes. A look I never once saw directed at me. “... To experience love and revel in it, in depths I never knew I was capable of experiencing.”
Those words impacted like a sharpened edge, like the sword he had used to slaughter me twenty years in the past. I felt like stumbling backward, but stood completely still, hiding my pain behind loathe and my sadness behind utter hatred.
I have written several times in the past the phrase, ‘I wish I could have loved Peter the way he needed.’ There is a modicum of hypocrisy in the statement. In enumerating the list of people I’ve held at least a passing infatuation for, I’ve mentioned Sabrina and Timothy, Katerina and my enchanted night with Éilis. The reason I’ve qualified my relationship with Peter as being brothers and only that has much to do with what he became after I was brought back from the dead. The being I first encountered wasn’t the brother I remembered. In becoming a seer, Peter’s humanity morphed the vampire before me into a completely different creature. One I could only look upon, affectionately, as my immortal sibling.
The Flynn I knew, however... We had a history. When Sabrina first turned him, we hated each other and did nothing to mask that from one another. I called him a deathless mortal when his first few weeks found him conscience-laden. He called me pompous and arrogant, and lost in the past. Our animosity culminated in a sword match and when he managed to best me, I named him Flynn. It was meant to be an insult; I was naming him for our eldest immortal sibling, Patrick Flynn, whom Sabrina regarded as a mistake. ‘Your very existence is a mistake,’ was the silent jab I threw at him.
He, in turn, called me Robin.
I don’t know what it was about taking on the name of a brigand which changed things, but I slowly began taking him under my wing and training him to be a proper immortal. I taught Flynn how to use a sword until his abilities eclipsed mine. And I watched with pride as he started besting the instructors we flew in from the four corners of the world to make him a highly trained assassin. He might as well have been my child after a time, but just as these sentiments rose up within me, he became so loyal to Sabrina, I had to choke them back.
It didn’t make them go away, however. I spent the next four years protecting him, running errands for him if just to make sure I kept a sharp eye on what he was doing. When I was christened an elder by the surrounding covens, I realized how dangerous of a being Flynn was and had one chance to kill him, lest he bring about Armageddon. I couldn’t do it, though. I held a knife behind my back with one hand settled on his shoulder, but I tucked the blade away and joined him for a hunt instead. That was the moment I realized the truth.
I wanted to love him. I wanted to pray one day he’d love me. I prevented Matthew’s coven from calling for his execution even after how many vampires he had slaughtered as an assassin. I did it all because for one brief, shining moment he finally betrayed his loyalties to Sabrina and let me conspire against her, telling me he wanted to be free. Mired in indecision, he didn’t know what to do with his newfound seer abilities and didn’t want to be anybody’s pawn. Daring myself to act upon my feelings for him, I offered him the neutrality he sought.
“I could use a bodyguard, Flynn,” I said as we stood on the streets of Philadelphia. “Not an assassin, but someone to help make the transition from Sabrina’s leadership to mine more seamless.”
He blinked. “You plan on taking the helm?”
I nodded. “I am her second.” I gazed at him across the expanse, my expression soft, entreating. “Would you be my guardian as I have been yours these past few years?”
He stared at me, searching me for what felt like endless minutes. I sensed his hesitation and continued, “No seducing. No manipulation.” ‘I love you, Flynn, and could never do that to you.’ “You wouldn’t be my servant, you would be my friend. I only seek your defense, Flynn, not for you to be a strong arm for my whims.” I paused, a solemn grin rising to the surface. “Unless your human destiny calls first to snatch you away.”
“Bah.” He flicked the notion away with the capricious flip of his hand. I almost chuckled. I knew how he felt about being drafted by the Supernatural Order. “Human destinies are for mortals and I am hardly mortal any longer.” He studied me again, a pensive look on his face. “Only a bodyguard and nothing more?”
“As surely as you named me Robin and I named you Flynn, I will never ask for you to be an assassin again.”
He nodded, discarding a cigarette he had been smoking. Flynn glanced away, then looked back at me. “I shall not stand in your way as the assassination is carried out. And, when you are finished, my sword will be used for your protection.”
I could not suppress the grin. “You agree then, brother?”
He smiled, too, and nodded. “Yes, I agree, Robin.”
A flash of sheer delight raced through me. I embraced him before he could protest, ignoring the awkward way he fell into it and patted his back as I thought of the feel of him in my arms. ‘It might take decades, but maybe someday you might enjoy being in mine.’ I pushed away before being tempted to kiss his neck or slide my hands across his back. They settled on his shoulders instead. “Very good, Flynn,” I said. I chuckled. “This is so much better than the thought of meeting you again someday as your adversary.”
He laughed. “I should say so, for your sake.”
The moment of jesting provoked a bout of laughter from me, in part because I knew exactly what I was thinking in that moment. “I can’t argue that much.” I sighed, relieved. “Oh goodness. This is the best I’ve felt in decades. Finally this can all be put behind us and the covens can be at peace.” I risked the chance of adding in my thoughts, ‘And maybe you might see me as something other than your brother with Sabrina out of the way. But only when you’re ready, Flynn.’
As I laid down to rest that morning, I thought of the veritable Pax Romana which laid before us. With Sabrina’s reign of terror ended, I would take over and would lead my immortal siblings as their mentor and friend. I figured Louis might be my second, or Matthew himself could send one of his children over to help me lead. And Flynn would stand guard as my closest confidante.
I had a week to muse on this thought; just one week to lose myself in possibility, daydreaming about the years to follow. I saw the day I could finally look Flynn in the eyes and tell him how I felt, his startled reaction, but him sinking closer, our lips meeting as I dared him to consider what loving me might be like. The first feverish coupling, his body finally mine to explore, and then lying in bed with him, hearing him joke about being the coven master’s consort. I pushed these thoughts out of the way the closer we came to Sabrina’s judgment hearing.
Seeing Flynn enter the room that night, though, completely shattered them.
I knew, with him armed the way he was, that something had changed in the week between our last talk and his entrance into the meeting hall. I remained too shocked, though, to do anything about it. He drew his sword and ran it through Matthew first before the other five coven masters, their seconds, and their bodyguards were decimated by Flynn. By the time I knocked myself out of my stupor to fetch a sword, I was the only one remaining. I begged of him to reconsider.
He responded by running me through the chest with a sword.
I felt the blackness leeching through me, second death encroaching fast, with me turning to ash from the inside out. My final words to him were all the explanation I had a chance to offer. “I loved you as a brother, Flynn.” My final words; as close as I could come to telling him how I felt. I died that night with no hope of returning, until The Fates had other plans for me.
The person I returned to help was Peter. Now a fully-realized seer, I didn’t detect a trace of the assassin I had known. To prevent myself from becoming bitter, I treated him as a wholly separate person and dismissed all thought of Flynn. Even when the assassin became a split personality in Peter’s mind. I never spoke to Flynn directly. I avoided him at all costs. And I heartily encouraged the personality merger Peter and Victor placed in front of me as their way to make Peter whole again. After twenty years of shadows, I thought everything would be finished now.
Seeing him back only ripped the wounds open again.
I’ve watched in the periphery as he moves about among us, as though he deserves to be there. His arms wrapped around Victor... I don’t begrudge Victor at all what he shares with Flynn because I’m genuinely glad to see Flynn finally experience emotion. Victor looks exactly as I imagined myself in all those daydreams and my care for Victor as a brother makes me happy for his sake. I simply can’t let go of the shadows of the past for some reason.
It clouded my judgment to the point that I did something completely thoughtless last week. Flynn has been inhabiting his former lover Gabrielle’s body and Victor and Peter brought him over to ask Lily if she could furnish some temporary clothing for him. A redheaded woman, of all things. I could have cut the irony with a knife if I would have asked Flynn to furnish a blade. Somehow, our discussion looped around to the carnal as we sized up the assassin in the form of a female. I followed the compulsion to join Victor as he lured Flynn into the bedroom.
Yes, I finally had that coupling. Only it wasn’t as feverish and wasn’t as rich of an experience as I had the scene painted in my head. But I stole it because I felt it was my right, as though he owed me something after all the hell I’d endured because of him. Before the door even had a chance to shut, I knew I’d made a mistake, however, and this was only reaffirmed when Lydia had a poor reaction to hearing about what I’d done. She called me thoughtless and I attempted to tell her I thought of her all the time.
She nodded curtly in response to the last thing I’d said. “Right. Well.” She paused, then the words rushed out as a torrent. “But in regard to me being a thought... thanks for taking that an overarching accusation. To clarify, I was trying to say that when you fucked Flynn, you were thinking with your...” She stopped and closed her eyes. “Whatever. I get it.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Lydia, I wasn’t thinking with that particular portion of my anatomy.” Realizing what had her so upset made me frown. I spoke before I could stop myself. “Do you want to know what I was thinking? I said childish form of retribution earlier for a reason. I was taking revenge on him. It doesn’t make what I did any more right, but it wasn’t about the opportunity to bed him.
“I am...” I swallowed hard and lowered my hand from her shoulder to intertwine my fingers on my lap. My eyes drifted downward. “Do you want me to tell you something I haven’t even told Lily? I am struggling a great deal with him being in our lives again. Lily knows that, just not the extent. How much bitterness I’ve been harboring over him.” I shrugged, drawing a shaky breath inward. “I came close to loving him once. I’ve never told a single, solitary soul that. I wanted to love your father, but I couldn’t the way he needed. Flynn, however...” I sighed. “I can sympathize with Victor’s position because while Flynn was still an assassin, I tried to be his mentor. I was grateful for those moments when he and I could forget about Sabrina and her demands on us. We were finally brothers in those moments.”
Nodding, I continued. “When he... agreed to be my bodyguard, I had the flicker of a hope that maybe someday... something more could exist between us. I knew it would take a long while, but I was willing to be patient. Instead, he betrayed me and ran a blade through my chest. My final words to him were, ‘I loved you as a brother,’ but had I more time, I might have said something else.” Lifting a hand, I swiped a rogue tear from my cheek, an overflow from the tense emotions still present after my fight with Lydia. I composed myself and finished speaking. “So, the other night, I was taking out my anger on him by stealing from him one of the things I never had the chance to experience. Take that however you want, but now you are the only soul on this mortal coil who knows the truth.”
Lydia sat still for a few moments, lost in thought. Slowly, she unfolded her hands and reached over, placing one hand on top of mine. She didn’t speak at first, but I saw the tears rolling down her cheeks as her eyes lifted and looked just as glassy as mine felt. Through the haze of bitterness settling on me, I saw understanding in the way she looked at me. I waited patiently for her to speak.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “For that, that you had to steal something you wanted.” Lydia pressed her lips together in a gesture which looked designed to try and hold back her tears. It only worked marginally. Her hand tightened over mine. “And... As horrible as it might be... That actually makes me feel better. I really didn’t get why you would sleep with Flynn, and it really hurt... that you got so swept up in it that you didn’t think about me. But... if you loved him...” Her other hand joined the first in resting atop mine. She continued looking at me. “I’m sorry, for what that must feel like, having to hold it in. If... if you ever want to talk about it, it's okay.” A shaky smile surfaced on her lips.
I clasped my hands around hers, shuddering with the way it felt to tell someone what I’d been holding in for so long. My face contorted as I felt more tears begin to form. I tried hard to stop them from falling. “I feel that blade perpetually in my chest when he’s around, a stóirín. And it only makes me more bitter that he doesn't realize he did more than turn me to dust that day.”
She nodded slowly, her smile turning wan. “He broke your heart. And then the Fates threw you and Dad together, and you’ve been walking around with the reminder of what you lost a chance to. What got stolen.” Lydia quieted for a moment. “And now he's back. Actually back.” Her eyes locked with mine again. She added softly, “And in love with someone else.”
The words cut, themselves a reminder of how hurt seeing the first loving glance Flynn ever exchanged with Victor made me feel. My Adam’s apple bobbed with the force of how hard I swallowed and I laughed sardonically. “This is why I fought the way I did with Victor over his return. Flynn? Love? The man was incapable of it. He loved himself and precious little more than that.” The reminder of my bitterness forced me to lower my eyes again. “I am not... I do not... resent Victor for having what he does with Flynn. He is... absolutely right that Flynn has changed and for the better.” A sad smile found its way onto my face as I looked at Lydia again. “It would never be me, though. And it never could now, because I couldn’t trust him to open myself up to him as much as I was starting to before.”
She squeezed my hands, a tear falling even as she smiled softly. “Never say never. It might be a one in a million, but if one day he figures this all out, it’s a maybe. And you could move forward from there.” She sighed, then huffed a soft laugh. “But it might take a while.”
Sighing, I smiled softly. “I think that time passed over twenty years ago, a stóirín, but I admire you for being so optimistic.” I leaned forward and kissed her, lingering close to her and drawing in a deep breath before pulling back. “I am perfectly content with you and Lily. I don’t need another lover. It’s just... difficult... having old wounds reopened like this. With your father... I had to set it in my mind he was a completely different being than the brother I alm...” I sighed. “I... fell in love with. And for all intents and purposes, he is different. The man in that woman's body, though...” Shaking my head, I trailed off.
Lydia recommended I not sleep with him again, as much to prevent any hurt against her as to stop me from wounding myself. I agreed, and took one step further, deciding against bedding Peter or Victor casually, too. Considering my proclivities, it was a lot for me to surrender, but I need to get my bearings back again. I am spiraling and need a place to land.
So, here I sit now, staring at this book with my pen jotting down things I can’t tell anyone else. If I told Lily, it would put her in the position of needing to keep something from her maker, because I don’t want Victor to know under any circumstances. He loves Flynn just as deeply as he loves my brother. I took enough of Victor’s blood when I was injured to feel the occasional sharp prick of emotion from him whenever we’re in the same room. I want Flynn to know what that feels like. I wouldn’t even care if Victor decided he wanted to join in marriage with Flynn as he had with Peter because that will mean Flynn has changed permanently.
What I wrestle with is how I’m supposed to react to all of this.
I’ve been thinking of asking Lily and Lydia if they wouldn’t mind a holiday, but haven’t thought of the right way to bring this up. Lydia, I could tell, but Lily... I don’t know how I’d explain why I needed it. Every time I’m mired in turmoil, my native country calls my name and beckons me back to its emerald shores. I hear Ireland’s siren song resonating through my soul again.
Sláinte,
Michael
My Eternal Lily and Dearest Lydia,
How I wish this Valentine's Day brought us all together again, instead of separated by miles and mired in doubt over what the future might hold for all of us. As of right now, I am still in Tokyo and while being with you, mo shíorghrá Lily, has me far happier than an Irishman could have imagined, I miss you terribly, a stóirín Lydia. I can only hope tonight finds you away from danger and that the days are hastening toward your return.
My loves, I am not always the best person when it comes to expressing how I feel about you both, but you have given me joy and purpose, have made me feel more alive than I've felt in decades. I hope you both realize what you mean to me.
Mo shíorghrá, I bought you this:
It is the Celtic trinity symbol, without a beginning or an end. While I might remember very clearly how our love for one another began, I promise you it will know no end.
A stóirín, I purchased this for you:
I miss you, Lydia, and look forward to giving it to you when The Fates permit for us to be together again.
You both have my heart and it follows you wherever you go, both near and far. I love you both very much.
Sláinte,
Michael (Robin)
Journal Entry: February 8, 2010
It is a story I don't share with anybody, and for very good reason. Yet, as I sit at this desk, hidden away in Tokyo, Japan, it is one I can't help but relive, especially knowing somebody I love is currently in danger. Just like the person in my memories, she walked into the arms of danger willingly and like her counterpart, she did for a good cause. I can only hope Lydia's fate differs when the end comes around.
Love is a strange animal for me. I've loved several times through my one hundred sixty-two years on this planet, but never so intensely as I've fallen for Lily and Lydia. Sabrina, my maker... our torrid affair stretched decades, but she could neither reciprocate what I felt for her, nor inspire me to feel anything deeper than the carnal infatuation I harbored. I cared for Timothy before he proved his affections for me to being superficial and Katerina, I yet care for as a maker should for his child. Even Peter, I admire as my brother, possessing that form of love which exists between birds of a feather, and Victor, I look upon in much the same manner. Éilis was different, but I only knew her for one, special night.
After the winds of change swept through Europe over twenty years ago, I found myself a wanderer without a coven, mine destroyed, I thought, when Sabrina met her end. It wasn't safe for me to stay in Romania with Emil and, quite frankly I didn't want to. The more I walked around Bucharest, the more I realized my heart longed for home.
Home. Ireland. I'd visited only twice since leaving Dublin as a newly-turned vampire, and the last time I laid eyes on Kilkenny, it was as a mortal linguistics professor. I don't know what provoked me to seek refuge in my hometown. Perhaps I needed the comfort of my roots. Perhaps I realized I'd been so many places and not back to where it all started. I only know I found myself waking one night in Bucharest with a panging for the Irish countryside, knowing I would never lay eyes on the verdant green of its rolling hills again, but wanting them surrounding me just the same. I packed my belongings and started the journey which led me to the place I once called home.
So much had changed. Not everything, but nearly that much. The old buildings and narrow, winding roads remained the same, but shops had changed. People had changed. The entire atmosphere seemed a century out of place in a world I was expecting to still resemble the late 1800's. I watched cars maneuver roads horses had once traversed and saw modern man leaving their footprint on the historic landmarks I once revered. I found the gravestone of my sister, traced her children until I gave up somewhere around the third generation. Even Kilkenny College, my former place of work, looked the same, but so irrevocably different.
The world had changed. I was the one left behind.
It inspired a bout of melancholy I couldn't seem to shake. Oh, I hunted its populace and spoke Irish again for the first time in decades, but it wasn't the same. I found my immortal brother Patrick leading a coven nestled in the heart of the city and we would meet for brandy and random trysts when it seemed the mood suited us. His company brought me no comfort and I found myself settling in without direction, surrounding myself with books the same way I had when I was a mortal. I could still hear my sister Katherine somewhere in the deepest recesses of my memories.
"You surround yourself with paper so much, you're losing touch with the world around you." The thirty-two year old bachelor failed to heed her warning then, and the one hundred and forty-two year old vampire hadn't learned his lesson. Instead, I sought to learn the world's languages without experiencing its flavor. It was against the very thing which had led me to becoming immortal. Except now, I was an immortal without any direction.
Only five months in, and after using my extensive savings to buy a house on the outskirts of town, I had a dream one morning about a town I'd visited only a handful of times when I was a mortal. On the other side of the country, nestled on the coast, just outside the country's largest Gaeltacht area laid Galway and the memories which enticed me all bore a siren call. I remembered the autumn I walked the halls of University College Galway, tempted to accept an open position as a professor there, a step up from the demotion I took in Kilkenny. Tempted toward a change of pace away from the rut in which I'd fallen when I moved from Dublin. For some reason, I passed up the offer and a scant few months later, I would be turned immortal by Sabrina.
Now, however, the temptation to visit became so overpowering, I couldn't ignore it no matter how hard I tried. I spoke with Patrick about the strange enticement and recall him shrugging and telling me a short holiday might help my disposition. With that in mind, the next night, I packed a bag and within a few hours' time, found myself in the coastal town, sitting in a hotel room. The first night, I settled in without much investigation, content to whittle away the remaining hours until dawn reading a book. By the next evening, though, hunger nipped heavy at my heels and I could ignore it no longer.
Fetching my suit jacket, I threaded my arms through the sleeves and set out without any intentions, walking into the mist of a light rain. I dug my hands inside my pockets, hearing the faint sound of Irish music playing in the distance and passing pubs and shops where people sat laughing and enjoying themselves. The environment became so infectious, not even the presence of an Atlantic storm could prevent me from allowing myself to relax. I slipped inside one tavern, ordering a brandy and surveying the patrons for who might make a proper meal for the night.
My eyes shifted about the room. I saw a raven-haired beauty breaking into impromptu song and chuckled at the whimsy present in her actions. Two male suitors both vied for her attention, which made her a more difficult conquest. I had bedded two mortals at once before, but even I knew better than to leave myself outnumbered three to one. Raising the glass to my lips, I shifted my focus to a single man seated at another table and mused upon that possibility for a few seconds. So lost in thought was I that I didn't notice the woman who sat at the counter beside me.
Not until she leaned close, whispering in my ear, "That one's a tough nut to crack." I turned around immediately and looked at her, blinking at the way she smiled at me, with her lips pressed tightly together and her blue eyes sparkling with a latent mischief inherent in them. I stole a moment to admire the dark brown locks which fell along both sides of her face in a gentle wave and when she spoke, the thick, Irish accent permeating her voice was not as surprising as the slight glimpse of two fangs lying in slumber. She inched closer to me and eyed my prospective victim. "With him, you need a woman's touch. Somebody to purr in his ear and whisper sweet nothings."
I laughed, still looking at her. "You don't think he would follow a man out of here?" I asked, sipping my brandy.
She grinned. Her sapphire gems found me once more. "Well, if any man could do it, I suppose it could be you." Shaking her head, she glanced at him again. As she spoke, I felt her hand slide up my arm, settling on my shoulder. "But he's craving a woman. Soft skin to touch and taste. I can smell it on him."
The way she touched me sent a tingle up my spine. So much so, I wondered if she was talking about the man or me. "Ah," I said, lining him in my sights again. I polished off the contents of my glass and set it down onto the bar. "Well, I can hardly blame him. If an Irish maiden so fair sat beside me, I would find the offer too good to pass up, Miss..."
She chuckled. "I don't know if my name is safe with such a flatterer." As our eyes met, she winked. "But I'll take a chance on you. My name is Éilis."
"Éilis." Even saying her name brought a smile to my face. The Irish form of Elizabeth. "A gift from God."
Éilis grinned in something of a devilish manner. "A vampire pure of heart." She chuckled and my smile broadened for a few lingering moments before I felt her hand sliding closer to the collar of my shirt. Fingertips touched my neck and it was all I could do not to shiver from the reaction. Éilis tilted her head. "And you, regal stranger?"
Regal. I hadn't been called that since Peter and I parted ways. I swallowed hard and glanced away quickly before looking back at her. "Mícheál," I said, allowing more of my native accent to surface.
"Oh... Mícheál." Her eyes closed, the tips of her fingers finding my ear and running along the lobe as though acting beyond her will. "I thought I heard the Irish in you despite the way you hide it. And if I had to guess..." She hummed, her lids remaining shut until she lifted them slowly. "Kilkenny."
I laughed. "How in the heavens did you know I was from Kilkenny?"
Éilis smiled. "Oh, I've been around Ireland at least a dozen times or better. From Dublin to Cork, Limerick to Waterford and Galway to Kilkenny. From the Northern tip to the Southernmost coast." She paused. "No matter where I journey, I always find myself back home."
I nodded. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I became aware of her digits brushing my suit jacket, down to my tie, but I couldn't seem to take my eyes off her. I inched closer, settling my elbow on the bar behind us. "I hadn't been back in decades."
"I can tell." Her eyes rose to meet mine while her fingers ceased their sensual exploration of my clothing. "It took until you said your name for me to realize where you were from." I watched a form of sadness surface in her gaze, which never overtook her sapphire gems enough for their sparkle to diminish. "I heard British, American, and a hint of Irish. Why do you disguise it so much?"
I shrugged, sighing. "Because I've lived everywhere but here for so long. In fact..." My eyes drifted down the skin of her porcelain neck before I could stop them. I forced them back to her face the moment I became aware. "... I've lived in America for the better part of the last fifty years."
Éilis smiled. "The Irish in you becomes you, Mícheál. Pretend you hadn't left for an evening. How did the educated man speak before he first pricked the flesh of a mortal with his teeth?"
Laughing, I looked away. I felt apprehensive, willing the butterflies in my stomach to fly away first before looking back at her and clearing my throat. When I spoke again, my voice was bereft of its British and American influences. "Now, how did you know I was an educated man as a mortal, a mhuirnín?"
She squealed with delight. "Yes! Yes, I knew it. Kilkenny, clear as day." Her excitement settled as it seemed something occurred to her, perhaps the word I'd used transforming the merriment to a soft bashfulness. "A Stór, there are some things a woman can tell about a man simply by looking at them."
"Such as what?"
She leaned closer, our faces mere inches apart. "Such as when he's lonely. When it's been a while since he's allowed himself the chance to feel alive."
I grinned. "We are hardly amongst the living any longer."
"Oh, I think we are more alive than the beings amongst us with pulses." The wide grin resurfaced, the tips of her fangs more evident with this smile. "We experience things none of them ever could. Even the way we see the moon and stars is so different from the way they see it."
Nodding slowly, I felt the draw toward her all the more potently. My gaze turned more intense, mirroring the desire which had started to course through my veins. I drew in a deep breath, smelling something I could only describe as meadows after a springtime rain, soft and inviting. Warm as the sun, sprinkled on her skin and tangled in her wavy locks of umber. "And how would a woman help a man to feel alive again?"
Éilis grinned mischievously and stood, breaking the gravitational pull drawing us together. With a deliberate look in her eyes, she glanced first at me, then at the man we had been surveying when we first began our conversation. Lithe, graceful footsteps punctuated her stroll to his table and as she caught his attention, she let her gaze fall on me again, and in that look, I saw fire and intensity. She then leaned closer to her conquest and whispered at him, her delicate fingertips sliding up his neck while her breath caressed his ear. I watched him look at her with something of a drunk expression and chuckled, knowing she already held him in her thrall by the way he rose and offered her his arm. She winked at me and blew a kiss and I groaned, knowing full well what she was hinting at without her needing to speak the words.
I rose from my stool and straightened my jacket before walking in the direction where they disappeared. Following at a safe enough distance, I could still hear his pulse as they opened the back door to the establishment and their footsteps sounded on the cobbled street winding behind the pub. I felt the light mist hit my skin, a trifle colder than I remembered, or my flesh a trifle warmer than it had been when I entered. With brisk steps, I pursued Éilis, until I found her disappearing inside what looked like the back door of a narrow, abandoned business. The door yet remained open, the lock broken undoubtedly by the Irish beauty. I followed her inside and paused by the doorway when I saw her standing there.
The rain gave her pale skin an ethereal sheen as the iridescent glow of a nearby streetlight reflected on her through one of the dusty windows. I stepped closer and caught sight of the mortal man standing against a wall, shivering not from fear, but from a sensation I was becoming all too familiar with myself. The room bore not a speck of furniture, seemingly left to whatever fate its owners had decided upon for the old building. I heard the faint strains of music playing somewhere in the distance.
Her eyes found mine while she pressed against the man, her fangs fully descended, making her look something like a devilish waif. She kissed his neck, our gaze locked throughout the entirety of the action. I walked closer and felt my sharp teeth slip from their hiding place, both at the scent of the man and the intoxicating sight of the vampiress who held him under her spell. His heart beat out a steady rhythm, inviting me closer, and yet I could not stop looking at her.
She grinned at me and nuzzled against his skin. "Isn't a strange dichotomy," she asked, "How death can make us feel the most alive?"
I grinned and took the mortal by the hand, raising his wrist to my nose and imbibing a deep whiff of the blood flowing beneath the surface. "As they die, we live," I said.
"Mmm... but there is more to it than that." She dragged her tongue up his neck, provoking a moan from the man as though strumming a chord on a well-tuned instrument. The reaction provoked a chuckle. "Do you hear that, a mharfóir? He doesn't realize he won't live to see the sunrise, and listen to him enjoying his last moments on this earth. We have neverending evenings, and yet we waste them away."
I licked his skin the same way Éilis had, eliciting the same response. It forced my eyes shut as I savored the mixture of lust and blood wafting in the air around me. "I would call him the fortunate one, then."
"No, we are the fortunate ones." I opened my eyes in time to see her scratch at him with her fangs. Beads of crimson red ran down, staining the collar of his shirt. "He only has moments. We have the rest of the night."
She drove her teeth into his neck the same time I plunged mine into his wrist and at once, a tidal wave of warm, viscous liquid ran down my throat. I groaned, my lids fluttering closed again as I drank, swallowing mouthful after mouthful of blood with the faint sound of Éilis depleting him winding its way around my consciousness. I drew a little deeper, becoming a bit more incensed the longer I fed, until the warmth of precious life permeated my entire being. I withdrew. He fell as Éilis did the same. No sooner did his body crumple to the ground than Éilis's pressed against mine with dire urgency.
Our lips crashed together. My back hit the wall and I groaned as our exposed fangs cut into each others' lips, mixing the taste of the man with a hint of each other. I felt her leg wrap around me and clutched at her back, sliding down to cup her and push her all the harder against the want already evident beneath my clothing. "Mícheál!" she called out, her fingers making quick work of the buttons of my vest, my tie sliding from my collar and my shirt becoming a fast casualty to her manic actions. I lifted the material of her skirt until my fingers touched bare skin and turned quickly, slamming her into the wall.
Éilis groaned and laughed as her back touched the concrete this time. I opened her blouse and kissed down her neck while her body arched and her hands slid down my bare chest. I felt her working on the belt around my pants while I lifted her skirt and her undergarments hit the ground around the same moment my trousers did.
Her strong legs wrapped around me. The hardness of my length pressed against her before becoming engulfed in the slick folds waiting for me. She cried out the moment I entered and from there, we both thrust against each other, becoming desperate for completion while savoring every blissful stroke along its path. Her fingers tangled in my hair, knocking strands loose from my ponytail and I kissed her with primal ferocity throughout the throes of our wild coupling. As her lips parted from mine, a series of loud moans built to a crescendo with words emanating from both our throats I couldn't begin to remember without tasting the experience again for myself. I knew the moment her fingernails dug into my back and her channel tightened around me that she had reached climax. I called out for the first time, not giving one whit for the volume of my voice as I came inside her.
We remained in this position for what seemed like an eternity, my lips touching her cool skin several times over and her hands sliding down my back before lifting to nest in my hair. Our mouths met and commenced a long series of rolling kisses and she bit my lip as she pulled away. "How do you feel now, Mícheál?" she asked, her voice a soft whisper.
I grinned, touching noses with her. "Alive, a mhuirnín."
Her smile brightened, her eyes opening the same time mine did. We stared at each other for interminable seconds before I pulled away, allowing her feet to touch the ground and giving her the chance to bring order to herself as I found my clothes and slipped my pants around my waist again. She walked up behind me before I could put on my shirt, her arms wrapping around my torso and her eyes lifting to the dusty window where the light continued filtering from outside. "Would you like to take a walk?" she asked, nuzzling against my shoulder.
I shut my eyes, feeling the warmth pour through me again, this time not brought by blood or the indulgence of a glass of brandy. I touched one of her hands with mine and nodded. "Have you ever danced in the rain?" I asked, the volume of my voice lowering to match her tone.
Éilis chuckled, kissing my neck before relinquishing her hold on me. "So many times, but never with a partner." As I turned around to face her, her eyes glinted mischievously again and I had to laugh at the way she lifted a finger and beckoned me to come with her. I fetched the rest of my clothing, slipping it on quickly as I followed her out onto the cobbled streets once more.
She spun around when the rain hit her, arms raising from her sides and skirt lifting while she twirled around in circles. I shook my head and dashed to her, taking one hand in mine and wrapping an arm around her waist as the strains of distant music reached my ears again. She laughed and I could not help but to chuckle myself as we danced away from the empty building, both of us carrying on uproariously. "We are going to attract attention," I said, not minding the volume of my voice.
She grinned at me. "So?" she asked. Éilis hummed along with the music and increased the tempo of our dance. "We might be like that mortal man, mo mharfóir. Tasting our last night and savoring it together. Why should we worry about a tomorrow neither of us are guaranteed?"
I had to shake my head. Still, I did nothing to deter the way she twirled and spun us around the corner onto an intersecting road. The music became louder. I hummed with her and began to sing the moment I recognized the words. She joined me and together, we belted out the melody of an Irish tune, dancing until we reached its source. The music stopped and a crowd began to applaud the musicians. Éilis and I broke from the dance and I bowed as she curtsied in front of me.
As I turned to stroll toward the main thoroughfare, she took hold of my arm and together, we walked and spoke, carrying on for what seemed like hours as we drifted through the city like two lost vagabonds. When I asked her how old she was, she only answered, "What does it matter?" and I had to shrug and grant her a small piece of mystery. Still, I spoke of returning to Kilkenny, of my brother Patrick and then, my brother Peter, relaying the tale of our adventures through Europe for her. She listened and did not question one word of the inexplicable tale, answering instead with, "Do you miss him?"
"Peter?" I shrugged. "He is with his lover and happy, wherever he is."
She smiled softly. "Still, there is so much you're not saying that speaks so many words." Éilis wrapped an arm around my waist. "You had a purpose, then you lost it. Now you're wondering what you should be doing with yourself."
I nodded, a frown emerging despite myself. "I've been a mentor and a second, a lover, a brother, and a traveler." I sighed. "Now, I'm simply me and haven't stopped in over a hundred years to ask exactly who that is."
Éilis hummed and leaned close to me as we stopped close to the harbor. Looking up at me, she smiled and said, "Who does it feel like you are right now, Mícheál?"
As our eyes met, I felt a surge of apprehension, as though gazing at the doors to another world I wanted so desperately to walk through. I opened my mouth to speak, but suddenly, another voice pierced the night air, the exclamation as much an accusation as it was a statement of fact.
"Vaimpír!"
I glanced up in time to spot two shadows looming in the darkness, one of them armed with a sword poised by their side. They drew the sword and my eyes widened as I clutched Éilis against me. "Oh no," I whispered.
"What?" she glanced in their direction and sighed the moment she saw them. "More of those, are they?"
I frowned. "You know what they are?"
"Oh yes, not the first time I've seen the green-eyed devils." She grinned. "The seers are all over Europe."
"They are?" I asked, but Éilis slipped from my side and took hold of my hand, tugging me along with her. She immediately launched into a sprint I struggled to keep up with, and yet, I sensed no fear from her. Only a very determined gumption which led us back to the cobbled streets and winding roads in town. She paused at one intersection and looked around, leading us down another narrow passage until we wound our way close to an alley. She ceased her steps and turned to face me, kissing me deep, then pulling away. "Do you trust me?" she asked.
I blinked. "Yes, of course I do."
"Good." Éilis sighed. "Then I apologize for doing this, Mícheál. Promise me you'll live."
"I don't understa-" I began, but she interrupted me by hurling me against the wall, using her grip on me to whip me so fast for the granite, I had no chance to brace myself for impact. I hit my head and felt consciousness seep from me, the world turning to black almost in an instant.
I have no notion of how long I was asleep, except to say I woke in building where Éilis and I had killed the mortal man we lured away. His body still laid in the shadows and when I scrambled to my feet, a profound wave of dizziness punctuated the motion enough to cause me to stumble backward. I closed my eyes. I indulged in a deep breath, then rushed as fast as I could muster for the now-closed door, slamming my shoulder into it to break it open again.
The streets were quiet. I glanced around, then jogged in the direction of the main thoroughfare. The moment I rounded the corner, I spied three shadows headed in the opposite direction and whipped around, pressing my back against the wall and closing my eyes as I struggled to listen.
A male voice. "I'm not stupid, vaimpír," he said. "I saw you with another."
"And the other isn't any of your concern," a female voice I recognized as belonging to Éilis said. She chuckled. "He isn't an elder, but I am. Isn't that what you're after now, you minions of the Order?"
I heard a sharp thud and a moan of pain. I winced and peeked around the corner, watching the one seer tug Éilis away from the wall and take hold of her wrists again. "No," I whispered, but yet, I remained frozen in place, too stupefied to run after them. Not yet sure what she expected me to do. My heart sank and I recalled her final words. 'Promise me you'll live.' "Not like this," I murmured. "Not with you putting yourself in harm's way."
They rounded a corner and disappeared from sight. I dashed for the end of the road, but felt another wave of dizziness which sent me crashing to my knees. Crawling toward the side of one of the adjacent buildings, I brought myself to my feet again and struggled for the intersecting street, but by the time I reached it, it was too late. I saw no sign of Éilis or her captors anywhere in the distance.
My back hit the wall again. I shut my eyes and could not help the tears welling in them as I realized even if I was to find her, there was no way I could free her without the Fates sending me a miracle. Still, I stumbled for the next road and the road after that, fighting against the knowledge the hours were hastening toward dawn, hopeful I might find her before then. When my searching yielded no results, I returned to the hotel and threw the door shut behind me. Collapsing onto the bed, I wept bitterly and drifted to sleep curled in this repose.
I searched for her the next evening, but knew better than to try the following night after my fruitless wandering failed to help me find the Irish beauty. The following day, I returned to Kilkenny and there I remained, still lost. Still without a place in this world and now, all the more morose because of it. Some time later, when Peter found me there and begged for my assistance, I shut the door on his face, my anger flaring with my brother the scapegoat for everything that had happened in Europe during those intervening years. As he stood outside my house entreating me, I heard Éilis in my thoughts for the first time in a while, asking me if I missed him.
I heard my response. I listened as she asked who I felt like right now and had to answer the question. "I am his brother," I whispered, not with the words I wished to speak to her that night, but with words which summarized the truth of things at that moment in time. "And he needs my help." With that, I opened the door and allowed Peter to sweep me up into his world of utter chaos once more. I had to be honest with myself, however. I had a purpose again and since then, something has always granted me an identity.
Now, however, I sit in Tokyo and think of Lydia. I think of how much she and Lily have made me feel alive, even more than my one evening Éilis provided, with more intense a love than the fledgling embers which began to burn during my short hours with the Irish beauty. I think of how Lydia ran into harm's way while, once again, I sit here and wait. Wait for somebody else to determine her future and pray The Fates will return my young lover back to me. I miss her terribly, and even though I told her I love her before she departed with her brother John, I know the sense of loss would eclipse the melancholy of any loss I have ever experienced before.
If I ever look into her eyes again, I will pray for time to stand still so I can revel in the miracle of her presence once again. Until then, I remain lost in my thoughts, seeing Tokyo as another Galway and me as another drifter without a hand lent in this battle.
Tá grá agam duit, a stóirín óg mo chroí.
Sláinte,
Michael
An entry dated back a few years. Best to assume all of my entries have the potential toward having adult content unless proven otherwise. *Grin*
***
Journal Entry - March 27, 2005
Tonight, I thought about my earliest years as an immortal.
I don’t know what in particular evoked the train of thought, aside from a short conversation several of us engaged in over cigars and glasses of scotch and brandy. An elder from one of our area covens had been away since Peter returned to Philadelphia and it was the first time he realized my brother and second-in-command was the infamous vampire assassin Flynn. My brother’s alter ego follows him around like a ghost. I don’t pity him, this much is for sure. Especially when others turn white as a sheet the way Joseph did.
I think all of the vampire convention can boast of some rather unsavory years in their past. We are what we are, after all. Hunters. Predators. The next level in the food chain beyond the mortals whose world we inhabit; whose world we fail to conquer because the Natural Order dictates we each have our own place and parts to play. It isn’t that they are faster... smarter. We know better than that. We also know if given the proverbial keys to the universe, we would not hesitate to undermine everything we enjoy about this mortal coil in the first place.
Perhaps I should say, more selfishly, everything I enjoy about this mortal coil.
I digress. The point of all this being... afterward, the concept of unsavory years hung close to me like a coat while I walked the estate grounds and glanced from trees to sky and all about. It should be stated I make no apologies for what I am and the things I have done since becoming a vampire. If called upon by an inquisition, I would gladly relay tales of good and bad with equal amounts of deference and without any excuse given as to why I did the things I’ve done. Anybody who knows me knows the manner I conduct my life is never up for debate. They also know I am not the same vampire many of my brothers and sisters are.
What goes a long way in explaining my mentality can be traced back to those very first sacred years I enjoyed as a fledgling vampire. I say ‘sacred’ as something of an oxymoron. To us, they are sacred. What we worship, what we relish, and what we enjoy, in part, about existing for an eternity finds itself bottled in concentrate within those first few years where immortality is a field in which we run wild and free. I never was a conflicted vampire. I woke knowing what I became and with ample warning of what I would need to do to survive.
The only thing Sabrina never prepared me for was how much I would enjoy it. I never harbored the desire to hurt another living creature as a mortal, and yet my detachment from humanity made it easy for me to part ways with my former self and follow my own path. The first time I drank blood from the veins of the living, I consumed my victim to death and didn’t care very much for his fate, except to say I lived another day and thanked him for it. We were in Dublin at the time, about to pass into Liverpool on our way to Manchester and eventually, London. I could still taste his blood well into the British Isles.
The chain of people who followed marked a capricious lot of those I let live and those I let die. On occasion, the mortal in question humored me enough, I spared them a glamour and let them on their way. Others drove me to the point of ending our night early and being done with the pleasantries. I chose my meals according to my whims until we entered France and Sabrina sensed the time was right to begin a few festivities. This is when the art of seduction was imparted on me.
Sabrina eased me into it without giving it a name. Words like decadence never graced her lips and neither did the word seduction itself. It simply was explained as ‘having a little fun’ with somebody she thought worthy of our attention. We would tease them. I would play the role of gentleman while she slipped into the shoes of a whore and at first, we chose our victims for blood and whatever the contents of their pockets might contain.
She was the first to spread her legs for one. “Fetch his wallet while I distract him.” I still hear her speaking such instructions and would follow her request while questioning why I had to wait for distractions when we intended to finish him off by the night’s end anyway. I can’t recall when I figured out she enjoyed the pleasure of bedding them in its own right. I only recall the first time she held one in a state of thrall after their tryst and said, “Taste his blood, Michael. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”
And I wasn’t. The taste had changed, be it due to the endorphines still racing through his blood or something in my head manifesting a psychosomatic reaction. Perhaps it was adrenaline. Heaven -- or hell, more accurately -- only knows. I only know I broke from the feed desiring Sabrina as I’d never desired her before. His body soon fell to the ground and this time, I took his place between her thighs, seeking pleasure while drawing it out from her. Intoxicated is one way of describing my reaction. I only know the next time I fed, I plucked a whore from the streets and waited for her moans of completion before I drank from her neck.
From here, the slippery slope led me to places my imagination fashioned only in its darkest corners. I bedded the women, then bedded the men and discovered I enjoyed the conquest of both genders in equal fashion. I became quite adept at sizing out the men who would follow me into the bed chamber and a cunning devil at wooing ladies into private. A shiver yet runs through me with the mere thought of voices both deep and high crying out in ecstasy. I taste the unique mixture of blood and lust simply sitting at my desk and turning those thoughts over in my mind.
It would be very easy to gift me a mortal’s conscience in what followed, but I can’t attribute a crisis of self as the cause of why this practice tapered off for me. Rather, it was a moment of clarity a decade later which served to demonstrate just how consumed I had become with our new game.
Our wandering through France brought us to Amsterdam around the turn of the century. Days of travel left me hungry and in dire need of feeding and another indulgence in my favorite pastime. It took a matter of minutes spent in a brothel for me to find a man glancing at other men and women in that hungry manner I’d become all too gifted in recognizing. All it required was a touch of his shoulder and a word whispered in his ear for me to lure the handsome gentleman into the room Sabrina rented.
Sabrina had ventured out to walk the city streets and I held a rapt audience with the gent as I glamoured him and stripped him of his clothing. He moaned at all the right times and quivered and quaked, expectant with pulse rising and simply waiting for the moment I would disrobe and claim him as I had so many others who came before. It was at the moment that my nakedness collided with his that my maker wandered back, discovering the state we were in and all too willing to be made a part.
For some reason, I hesitated. Not because I wanted him purely to myself, but as she had him remove her dress, I saw a mirror image of myself in my mistress. The look in her eyes, incensed with need, and the fangs out waiting for the right moment to pierce his flesh... I furrowed my brow and looked over his shoulder while she laid on the bed before him and suddenly, our game had a face gifted to it.
Not to say I did not follow through. Three bodies intertwined and while I drew from his shoulder, Sabrina claimed a wrist and we drained him simultaneously. The taste had lost its luster, though, banality poisoning the very lifeblood pulsing through his veins. I neither claimed Sabrina, nor laid beside her once our conquest laid dead upon the bedroom floor. I dressed, instead, and sought the streets of Amsterdam, wondering what I saw in this any longer.
I asked Sabrina for the immortal gift to travel the world; to see its people within the confines of foreign lands and learn their languages. I wanted an eternity with which to do so and instead, I sought the pleasures of the flesh instead of the nourishment of mind and soul I turned into a vampire to experience. By dawn, I returned to our room, and the next few nights I sought conversation rather than pure indulgence.
This isn’t to say I never indulged again. Or even that I regretted the decade which preceded. Rather that I learned exactly who and what I was and stared myself in the eyes without blinking. We are what we are and we do that which pleases us, but eternity is about more than the blood and decadence we feast upon like royal subjects in a gracious king’s court.
We are the ones who define ourselves. Both because of and in spite of our natures. Each time I relish the carnal, I do so because I choose to and each time I abstain, it is because I refuse to allow any inclination to rule over me as if I were a slave. I think we all learn this lesson at some point as well. Or die before seeing all immortality has to offer.
Sláinte,
Michael
Journal Entry - September 14, 2009
I watched the countryside roll past while I traveled by train from Baltimore to Boston. An evening travel with somber undertones, it marked what I deem to be the beginning of the end. Sabrina had not been herself in years. While I held out hope for a long time that she would come around again, each year passed with little more than a steady cancer growing between us. The decade rolled from ninteen forty to nineteen fifty. One year into the new decade, I heard the sound of the inevitable approaching. A choice laid in wait for me on the horizon, whether or not I cared to admit it. Would I remain beside Sabrina? We had been together for decades by ourselves until she turned a young, blonde-haired woman named Rose and made her a companion as well. I welcomed the newest addition with no small amount of resentment. Suddenly, my company was not good enough for the vampiress who gifted me death’s immortal kiss. Still, I lingered. In part due to loyalty, but a wistful romanticism remained a part of it, too. While Sabrina sank deeper and deeper into abject apathy for anything other than her ambitions, I looked at her and thought of happier times. Waltzing through the streets of Paris after a fresh kill, their blood still warm in our veins while we laughed and carried on like lovers. Alighting from the boat to Japan, having just traversed China and taken in its culture and now ready for the next phase of the Orient. Arriving in the port of San Francisco... I stopped myself. San Francisco. That would remain a blight on my existence as long as I lived, going to San Francisco. Sabrina told me she wanted to see the trolley cars, and dining from the servicemen headed for war in the Pacific proved to be a feast. San Francisco was where I lost her, though, and she never came back to me. Each year passed with the poison spreading further and deeper between us, even though we never stopped traveling. The Northwest. The Midwest. Texas, St. Louis, Chicago and Baltimore. She traveled ahead of me to Boston and sent for me once she and Rose found a flat to occupy there. I tied up personal matters and followed when summoned. Except now, this was becoming more than my immortal heart could bear. What started with a chance meeting in my hometown of Kilkenny, Ireland seemed to be ending and I could not figure out were to alight from this metaphoric train of travels with my maker. My lover. No, former lover. I breathed a heavy sigh of emptiness as I realized seventy years with Sabrina was drawing to a close. All the while, as the countryside flew past and the clack of the train on the tracks provided the background music for my reminiscing, I found myself wondering what might distract me from my sadness. As a vampire, the typical outlets sprang to mind. Blood. Sex. That in gratuitous amounts and without any remorse for taking either or both at the same time. The train pulled into the station just outside of Cambridge and after a short walk, I found myself in one of the pubs adjacent to Harvard University. After two brandies, I summoned enough confidence to begin surveying the prospects. The young minds of rich America surrounded me, all only affording me a passing glance before continuing on their way. I sipped from my third glass and glanced across each face, sizing them up for who would be my supper that late night. As the bartender issued the last call, I spied a young man sitting across the room and sobered at once. Memories came flooding in my mind. There sat my reflection, in a pub near Harvard Yard. My mind drifted seventy years in the past, to when I was a young man sitting in the back of an Irish pub with my nose buried in a book. The young gentleman I spied in the present glanced up when the bartender rang the bell, starting a feeding frenzy amongst the lot for one final drink. As his blue eyes intersected with mine, I swore I heard his thoughts echo across the space between us. They sounded like my own had been. Lonely and in search of adventure. Tired of the status quo, knowing there was something else waiting out there. I approached him before I could stop myself. He wore glasses much like I had and his gaze appeared older than his features suggested. Black hair short atop his head, he had a wiry frame much like mine. A dark air lingered around him, but I didn’t mind. I sat across from him and asked what he was reading before I could stop myself. If time had corridors I could peer down, I might be able to relate what novel held his fixation that night. I only remember he placed it aside so we could chat. We exchanged all the normal pleasantries and he studied my appearance, telling me he thought me young for an Irish professor. I merely smiled past the partial lie of my mortal profession and engaged him in discussion over what occupied his time in academia. He told me he was a teacher’s aide, an English major with a passion for nineteenth century literature. We found ourselves discussing the Brontë sisters by the time we were kicked out of the establishment. The night air possessed a chill I saw affect him immediately and the hour prompted me to suggest a more private place to continue our conversation. All the while, my eyes studied the veins in his neck and the vampire within warred against the lonely man enjoying the distraction of another intelligent mind. Each time I glanced into his eyes, I saw him questioning me with them. The intrigue could not be masked with any amount of effort on his part. Finally, I asked, “What is your name?” “Timothy,” he said, far too quickly. It seemed to jump from his mouth as though waiting to spring from there. “And you?” “Michael.” I punctuated the introduction with a nod, my smile subdued enough to hide my fangs, but not enough to hide my interest. Hardly ever did I afford a mortal enough time to learn their names and certainly not to ask about their professions. Or to discover they held a dark fascination with Edgar Allan Poe. Feeling daring, I raised my hand and placed it on his shoulder as we neared his flat and he did nothing to shrug it off. Instead, he opened the door and invited me in, ensuring he engaged the lock once he shut us inside. I watched him scramble around the modest room for a bottle of scotch and two small glasses. He filled one and handed it to me as he sat beside me and I smiled in an amiable manner while shifting my focus from his eyes to his neck and back again. As he lowered his glass, our gazes converged and the quickening within resonated with something more than seduction. I liked him, enjoyed his conversation and fancied what it might be like to continue speaking with him over the course of several nights instead of ending him right then and there. We gravitated toward one another. Kissing another man might have been unusual for a mortal, but I myself had never been a respecter of persons as an immortal and made up for his nervousness by closing the gap between us. Timothy jumped back before our lips met, though, and peered at me, eyes wide. “What are those teeth?” he asked. I raised an eyebrow. Of all the questions I expected, none of them involved my teeth. “What do you mean?” “You have daggers.” He leaned despite himself. “Sharpest razors I have ever seen.” His eyes lifted to engage mine. The presence of intrigue still in his gaze provoked a strange reaction in me. Lust overwhelmed me and not merely lust for his blood, although that was growing by leaps and bounds. “You mean my fangs?” I asked, my eyes closing partially, heavy-lidded with desire. “Have you never seen a vampire before?” “A vampire?” Timothy pulled back a few inches, but stopped himself, allowing me to close in on his lips again. His eyes remained set on me the entire time. “Are you going to... bite me? Will it hurt?” I grinned. “Now, it needn’t hurt and I certainly don’t intend to kill you.” “What will happen?” His eyes began to shut. “Would you like to see?” Timothy nodded. “Yes, I would.” I nodded and touched his cheek with my lips while allowing my fangs to slide out. Timothy tensed when I took firm hold of the back of his head, and relaxed when I gently nudged him to crane his neck toward my lips. Before my fangs even had the chance to pierce flesh, I filled his thoughts full of desire and ensured when I bit down, he felt not an inch of pain. A soft moan filled the room as I drank from him. His hands closed around my arms. His body pushed closer to me while he whispered, “Michael...” in an aroused groan. Grinning, I licked the wound closed and kissed him on the lips the moment my fangs slipped back into place. I never expected the sort of intensity with which he reacted, but in the space of mere moments, I had no thought of Sabrina and San Francisco. Instead, the mortal man I stripped and dominated kept me enthralled. My spirit felt much lighter by the time we were finished. He kept me protected in his room that day. I rose in the evening to find him standing in his doorway studying me while I slept. Barely awake, and yet I accepted the kisses he met me with and while we tussled in his sheets, he asked me to stay with him however long I thought I would be in Boston. For the first time in twenty-four hours, I remembered I was to meet with Sabrina, but recollections of my melancholy train ride prompted my response. I nodded at him. Rose could tend to Sabrina from this point forth. What developed between Timothy and me, in the interim, became a peculiar co-existence between vampire and mortal. We spent long nights talking, and when he would drift to sleep, I would entertain myself reading through his books and taking strolls along the Charles River. Timothy willed himself to stay up later with each passing week and one night, he accompanied me for a hunt, playing the role of patsy without being asked to do such a thing. Later that night, when I asked why he did so, he laid his head on my chest and said, “Practice.” “Timothy...” I sighed, playing idly with his hair. “I’m not going to turn you.” “So, you’ll let me grow old. Or do you plan on leaving me before that becomes an issue?” “I haven’t thought any further than each night I rise with you.” I frowned when he failed to answer. “I don’t have any plans of going anywhere, though.” He paused. “Then why won’t you turn me?” “Because it never solves anything,” I said. “Believe me, I know.” It was the first time in a while my thoughts returned to Sabrina. I opened my mouth to explain to him what happened between her and me, but stopped the words before they surfaced. Instead, I kissed his head and whispered for him to enjoy his mortality for the time being. We would discuss eternity when both of us were ready. The following night, I forced him to stay home while I hunted and returned to discover his front door ajar. The immediate sense of dread I felt flashed images of my maker through my mind. A memory surfaced through the haze which made my stomach turn. When I was only a few years into my immortality, Sabrina announced once she’d be traveling ahead to our next destination, leaving me behind. “I will send for you, Michael,” she had said. It was the first time she and I ever failed to travel together. “What if I get lost on my way?” I asked. The attachment I felt toward her had more to do with my nervousness than my directional skills. I had helped make travel arrangements with her long enough to know what I was doing. I simply couldn’t bear to be without her. “What will I do?” She had turned toward me, moonlight playing off her face, giving her brown eyes a softer touch. “I will always find you, my handsome Irish gentleman. Don’t entertain those fears for one second longer.” While at the time, her words had settled me, in the present they unnerved me to the point of panic. I rushed into the flat and discovered my worst fears come to life. Sabrina held Timothy tightly in her arms and Rose looked on, fangs elongated. My maker - the woman I once loved with all my soul - gazed at me across Timothy’s shoulder and smiled. “Michael, did you get lost, dear? I was expecting you weeks ago.” “Sabrina!” My fangs extended, my eyes shooting flames of wrath. “You will not harm a hair on his...” “It’s alright,” Timothy interrupted. He smiled. “Michael, she wants to turn me. She says she’ll do it for you so you don’t have to. We can be together forever now.” “If you wanted a pet, darling,” Sabrina said, glancing at Timothy, then back to me, “You should have just told me.” I hissed at Rose when she began to laugh. Sabrina chuckled, too, so I focused my attention on the one person I thought still capable of reason. I looked at Timothy. “Timothy, I promise you this will do nothing for you. It does not solve anything. Let’s wait and make sure it is what’s best.” “But it is,” Timothy said, relaxing against Sabrina. The look in his eyes caused me to frown. He was already lost to me. “I’ll be like you and we can all be together.” I knew at once any amount of arguing I attempted from this point forth would be futile. No, Sabrina had already convinced him to ask for immortality and agreed to turn him. The symbiotic communion of mortal and vampire commenced before I walked through the door. Now, I would only be forced to watch. I settled into a seat with shaky knees before they could collapse under my weight and placed my head in my hands to ignore the gasp escaping Timothy’s mouth when Sabrina bit into him. The moan which followed nearly caused me to break into tears as I reminded me of every time I’d bitten into him up until this point. I was forced to clench my eyes shut when I heard Sabrina whisper, “Drink, dear Timothy.” As could be predicted, when the fledging vampire rose some days later, the young intellect I’d shared a bed with didn’t care as much for me as he did his newfound immortality. Still, I trained him and slept with him, pretending I didn’t see Sabrina mocking me with her gaze every time our eyes met. Some night, months later, Timothy smiled at me from the doorway while slipping his arms in the sleeves of his coat. “Michael, let’s go feed,” he said. “Down near the pub once more, for old time’s sake.” My eyes lifted to engage his and his smile dissolved into a frown. I failed to answer and the way I looked at him must have said it all. “What’s the matter, lover?” he asked. I shook off my melancholy long enough to summon as agreeable of a smile as possible. “Never mind me, Timothy,” I said. “I think I need a night alone.” He raised an eyebrow, then grinned once more. “If you insist. See you before dawn.” “Before dawn,” I repeated, maintaining the smile long enough for him to open the door to our room and depart. The moment it shut, however, my shoulders slumped and my grin faltered altogether. I sat in this position for several minutes until I realized the silence surrounding me contained the message that it was time. I stood and found my suitcase. Packing it full of whatever I could fit inside, I closed it shut and found a pen and paper to leave Timothy a letter. Sabrina eyed me with intrigue when I left my room and didn’t have the chance to speak one word before I informed her I would not be returning. “This time, don’t bother trying to find me,” I said. “Your Irish gentleman doesn’t need you to hold his hand any longer.” Whether or not the verbal slap contained as harsh of a sting as I intended, it must have been enough to indicate my mind wouldn’t be changed. Sabrina stiffened her posture, informing me if this is what I wanted, she would let me go. I did not see fit to acknowledge her words with a proper response. I only told her to enjoy her new nest and found myself sitting in the train station within an hour’s time. I held my composure long enough to board the train bound for New York City. Then as the countryside began to pass me by again and the moon shone down upon the trees and meadows, I finally shed the tears I had been holding in for weeks and months and years. Closing the chapter to one life came at a price, but by the time I reached another city, changing trains to Pittsburgh also changed my disposition. The pain became a dull ache, but I couldn’t help but think of what I lost the next time I ventured into a pub and looked for a young man reading a book, sitting at a table in the back. Sláinte,
Michael
~ One of my older journal entries. Dated April 11, 2008. ~
Tonight, I celebrated my one hundred and twenty-eighth birthday as an immortal.Hard to believe that number, in both its enormity and its smallness, but it found its way to me nonetheless. Each year strikes me a bit differently. Sometimes, it causes me to become melancholy. Other times, I am able to raise a glass and toast others to another year, or decade, or century with a smile and a laugh. There are years I attempt not to recognize the date and other years when I wax nostalgic. This has been one of the latter years. Sabrina has been on my mind a lot lately.I met her on a Saturday. I remember this because I spent the day at my small flat, with no classes for the day and nothing else to do than walk about Kilkenny and read. For several years, studies led me elsewhere in Ireland - to Maynooth, outside of Dublin, for university and then, as a professor of linguistics - until my parents passed and my sister called for me to return home to Kilkenny. By then, I missed it. My occasional visits home reminded me of happier times as a schoolboy and time spent with Katherine called to mind the scrapes my sister and I got into together.Within a short time, the listlessness set in, though. Katherine married. I remained a bachelor past my thirtieth birthday, not eager to settle down and give up my dream to travel the world some day. I made a pittance at Kilkenny College compared to the salary I earned at university and was left with little hope of traveling into Britain for a holiday, let alone venturing into Europe. Books sat in stacks on my desk at home of other languages and cultures. Things I wished to do with my life while my thirty-first and thirty-second birthdays passed. I was inching toward thirty-three on the Saturday evening I walked down to the pub.I never expected to find what I found there.She was not the first redheaded woman I’d ever met, but she was certainly the most exotic. The wild colour of her hair was a compliment to the wild look in her brown eyes when we first gazed at each other. She walked up to me. This is how I knew I was in for an adventure. Never once, in all my years spent both in poverty and academia, did I have somebody sit across from me and stare at me until I finally set down my book and looked at her.I asked what brought her to my table. I recall adjusting my spectacles - good heavens, I wore glasses in those days and my hair was a short, messy mass of brown. Sabrina often told me she looked at me and saw potential, but as I remember what I looked like, I have to wonder how she found a gentleman hidden inside the unkempt Irishman. For all the flowery words of seduction that came out of those red lips of hers, what won me over most was the promise of being somewhere else. Of being something else.I recall her telling me I would have lifetimes to study the languages of the world. To see each country and reside in whatever place I decided to reside. Utter immersion and complete dominion over my future with only my imagination as a tether to my pursuit of knowledge and discovery. I loved that she was different. Her ideas and her plans were not the common Irish woman’s ambitions and she presented them in such a gilded chalice that I wanted to drink deeply from it. If I have any regret, it is that I did not find my sister Katherine to say goodbye to her before I left. But Katherine would have never understood.April 11, 1880 was the day I finally looked Sabrina in the eyes, fully understanding everything she was about to do to me, and requested that it be done. Of all her fledglings, I suppose I was the most blessed, because Sabrina did not spare any detail from me. Before we left Kilkenny, she strolled around town with me pointing out I was just as removed from the world of mortals as she was. Sabrina’s words involved terms such as ‘inferior,’ but there was some truth in it all. A single man at the age of thirty-two with wanderlust and a hunger to taste life in all its exotic flavors. I was not typical, compared to the others in my hometown.She told me about the entire process as the train took us to Dublin. Drinking blood, dying, rising again. Being consigned to the night, but owning the night. “I’ll make a proper gentleman out of you, Michael,” she said as her cold lips touched my neck and I didn’t stop her. On April 11, 1880, my heart stopped beating and I breathed my last. Professor O’Shane became the vampire Michael when I opened my eyes again. One hundred and twenty-eight years of endless nights and the only thing that has disappointed me is that the woman I once traveled the world with transformed from being my immortal love to the vilest form of evil I ever had the displeasure of witnessing.Every night, I walk through my coven and see all of her children, who have now become my wards. Charles, turned at the age of eighteen with the promise of superiority amongst his peers. Louis, turned at the age of twenty-five when he bartered for immortality with the money he inherited from his deceased parents. Peter, turned at the age of twenty-eight with the allure of permanence and stability. We all signed the dark contract for all of our own reasons, but thinking on that first night, I had stars in my eyes and the future was an open book without one pen stroke on the page.So many chapters written now. I have a position of prominence due to the gentleman she made me into. There are still days, however, when I wish it was just she and I in the Orient, her laughing through the haze of sake and Asian blood and me practicing my Japanese on her. Or walking the streets of Paris, watching the city bear forth art and intellect through Bohemians and absinthe. How many of those so-called intellectuals did I consume after engaging them in discourse over drinks? How many mortals have died by my hand by now?Heaven only knows when I will see fit to bestow the dark gift of immortality on my own line. I only hope when I do so, they can look back on one hundred years passed with less of the bitter and more of the sweet. For now, I close the book and wait to see what my one hundred and twenty-ninth year will bring with it, because each year is unique in its own way and yet, each year resembles the ones past with only a different cast of actors in slightly different scenes.Sláinte,The comforts of home.
A few evenings ago, my deartháir and deirfiúr, Peter and Celeste, showed me around Shreveport and helped me to pick out a house. This is the first private residence I have owned since moving from Kilkenny this last time around - over a dozen or so years ago, perhaps fifteen by now if I had to speculate. Much larger than my cottage in Kilkenny, too, as you will see.
Peter told me to add none of us took these pictures. I thought it was self-explanatory given that the sun is out in them, but... *Shrugging*...
Yes, much larger than the cottage in Kilkenny. *Laughing, then sighing.* Enough about Kilkenny. I am trying not to think about home right now until I get my books and personal effects from Philadelphia. When that happens, however, I have a room waiting for them:
Only not with that furniture and much less in the way of natural light.
I have not been sleeping well, so pardon me for making this entry short and sweet. I promise to make up for it later.
Sláinte,
Michael ("Robin")
It has been too long since I have journalled. I have considered calling Charles and having him see to the business of packing my books and personal effects whilst I plan my relocation, but I miss my journals especially. This is my first time not handwriting one. Undoubtedly, I will need to have Peter read through it to ensure I did not screw it up.
I still hate technology to some degree. Time moved too swiftly in the past century and left me behind some place in the Victorian Era, drinking from the necks of poets and philosophers from London and Paris. I look at items such as the computer and I think instead of smoke-filled pubs with academics exchanging ideas face-to-face over brandy or sherry or absynthe. I suppose the internet is the new think-tank, but until recently, I managed to avoid it just fine and immerse myself within the duties of my coven.
Until I woke one evening and realized my entire life has become about duty. Meetings, discussions on immortal affairs, dinners, phone calls, mortal familiars, stocks, investments, real estate holdings. The list goes on, but none of it describes why I became immortal in the first place. I drank the blood of a former Irish prostitute, turned seductive vampiress, because I wanted to discover everything that I could be without the fetter of time. To see the world. To learn its languages and its cultures. To discover who Michael Patrick O'Shane was beyond being a linguistics professor from Kilkenny. It took the drastic for me to be knocked from my stupour, but I find myself here today.
I am in the guest bedroom of Peter and Celeste's house, listening to sounds of creatures stirring. My brother never has been much for sleeping and mo shíorghrá... *Smiling fondly*... I don't think she indulges that immortal necessity of daytime slumber herself as much as she should. My nephew John just started his late morning ritual of trudging to the kitchen for a quick and dirty breakfast and I expect to hear the shower start at any moment. These four beings who have taught me love in some manner or another. Peter, the dedication and devotion of a brother. Celeste, the passionate fervour and intensity of a vampire woman. She has especially woken a soul within me I did not realize existed before.
The children, as well. Their mortal hearts and now my niece's newborn immortal perspective. *Laughs* I recall again what it was like to wake with the hunger first burning through me and if not for that fact that I wouldn't have these four creatures, I might be tempted to wax nostalgic for those days. That first taste of mortal blood. The first time I felt one tense underneath me, my teeth puncturing flesh and that first burst of blood into my mouth. My fangs ache at the mere recollection. I revisit it in Lydia now and look forward to watching the vampiress who grows.
Such is why I am relocating to Shreveport. I miss Ireland and thought about sojourning in my home land for a spell, but if I have to be honest with myself, this is home now. Where the creatures who mean the most to me reside.
Is leor don dreoilín a nead. "A wren only has need for its nest."
Michael ("Robin")
162 year old immortal from Ireland. Lover to @DelilahAevum and @LydiaDawes, maker to @katerinaoshane, uncle to @jmichaeldawes, and brother and friend to @poeticimmortal and @eternal_maestro.
162 year old immortal from Ireland. Lover to @DelilahAevum and @LydiaDawes, maker to @katerinaoshane, uncle to @jmichaeldawes, and brother and friend to @poeticimmortal and @eternal_maestro.
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