I don't know my real name. It's strange how the first word we learn as little babies, can ever be forgotten. Then again, most of my human life is a blur. I guess that's what being immortal does to you.
Biancaneve was the first word that I heard at the beginning of my new life. Not from the lips of my mother; we immortals are not born the same way that humans are. Perhaps had it come from my birth mother's lips, the name would not have sounded so laced with poison. Lethal.
It is a name chosen by my maker. Perhaps the closest thing I have had to a parental figure; however, it had not been love shining in my maker's eyes as he beheld me in my knew immortal form. It had been lust.
And until this day, I still know no other name I can call mine except for Biancaneve.
On the other hand, my maker might be the only one to ever say my name; the only one who does not fear me and what I can do to them if ever they cross me. He does not fear me, for it is he who made me, and I will be forever grateful to him. When I was still young in this immortal body, he told me the story of how he had saved me from Death's iron grasp. How I had been bleeding out in the snow when he'd found me, the last sliver of life running out through my veins.
Blood is now no longer the sign of death in my eyes; but the sign of life. Although my own blood does not run through my veins anymore, many others' do. And every time I take a human life, I say the prayer of thanks that my maker has told me. A prayer that will send the poor humans to paradise in their deaths, as a thanks for them giving their blood to me.
Still, every time I look upon one of those weak humans, I find myself fascinated. How does it feel to breathe? When the blood flows to their cheeks as they blush, does their skin tingle? All of these questions that I have never dared to ask.
When you are an immortal vampire, and a member of the Volturi, you do not wonder about humans.
