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Vampire.
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Disclaimer: All of J.K Rowling's characters DO NOT belong to me. Do not sue or you will get my pocket link and maybe a penny.
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I was slinking quietly through the shadows of the old streets, gently cleaning the blood of my face with a silk handkerchief. The moon was up, two day to full, and as always my mind was filled with old, half forgotten images and new thought; always new, yet forever running in a circle.
My body was running on automatic and thoughts of my latest victim filled my ancient mind, and then mixed with the faces and bodies of my previous victims. Her milky skin, that so slightly shone under the caressing light of the moon acquiring the black-lined, emerald green eyes of the lonely Egyptian prince I had once coaxed in my arms and to his death. Pale silver hair added to the imagined face, the silkiness of which one belonged to a lovely elf childling that had once crossed my path and too fell to his death. So many victims, so many lives taken and yet I live and feed and kill and I think nothing about it but survival. It is all together a sad existence, even after I learned not to kill, yet only drink, I find my soul seeking death at least once a year.
I am thousands years old, and the stories I can tell are never ending, yet always filled with life's fruitless lessons, those that none but fanatics and humans care for. I am still as beautiful, if not more, than I always was, but I know in my dark soul and mind that I am just a wraith now, not the young man I know I used to be, yet I cant quite remember anymore. And I think that I am just going through the motions now. All thoughts and memories and unconscious grace I am now. Yet I do not realize. And I do not care; I think I am finally falling.
I look around me and see the towering structures that so seek to meet the sky and capture it and take over and infest as the civilization does, and the cloak that is the wind and the night are woven tight around my body. And in my mind I see the dark forests and meadows that are now almost gone from the world. But always they are dark, not a forbidding darkness from the childhood anymore, but a mother and a friend and a lover now. But my thoughts have once again turned away and are searching for a new subject and so I forget again…
There are still hunters out there, out for our blood, the blood of the old ones, for the sins they think we committed. They are young, always young, and always foolish, full of shining ideas, their pure views of black and white. And they do not yet realize that even if they are killing "scum" like us, they are still killing, murdering in cold blood, they are still sinners in their own right. Of course some of them are older, they are a rare breed, those that in their own way have scratched the surface of knowledge. They see that there are shades of grey to everything, not just black and white. They know they are dark, so like us, even if they are alive, all of us killers, predators… prey. They only kill the young ones; they know in their mind they can never touch the old ones, we have lived through their traps, and we survived, and they have no more power over us. But our young ones, those who do not live, they are foolish, as bad as the humans; it is after all, all about survival, and only the cunning live and learn, and only the smart, powerful ones claim the last life and stand on the mounds of his fallen victims.
I have realized amidst all my jumbled thoughts that I have reached my house and my room. My pale hand falls on the doorknob, while I watch, detached as the door creaks open silently. I enter my room. No windows- I am not surprised of course, it was my design, yet I realize that is always the first thing I think about as I get in my "lair".
I think it is because I miss the sun, the bane of our existence and as I sit on my overly large bed I think of all the stories that I heard from the old ones. They are all crazy, batty really, scuttling about in their dungeons, mumbling about traditions and the "old times" and this and that. You get tired of them and their stories as you get older, and wiser, your awe transforming into scorn with the new times that they cannot reach.
All the thoughts drown me in their darkness, as I go into my daily sleep, all the random feeling and thought consuming me, swirling into a colorful mess. And I think I am going as insane as the old ones…