PT: ...I came up with this while reading fanfiction. I mean, who doesn't love Paris Skyle? -Huggles- Drabble.
Disclaimer: I SHALL NEVER OWN ANY OF DARREN SHAN'S WORKS. EVER.
Summary: Paris knows he is going to die. He can already feel it, hear the whispers of Death, calling him to Paradise... He has walked the Earth for longer than any of his kind. The time has come for his shadow to leave forever...
The eldest Vampire Prince knows that his time has come.
He knows it, and has wondered when cold fingers would finally grip him and drag him into Paradise after -- what? -- so many years...more than six hundred years old. Perhaps? It is so high a number, to count would never work. Even the great vampire Paris Skyle cannot do that. He has lost count of his years. No vampire that breeched past a hundred years could remember exactly how many years they have lived. They could only measure their years by approximate.
The eldest being in the world -- the oldest besides Des Tiny -- could feel the soft crooning of Death, coaxing him to slip away to Paradise.
And the ancient vampire would resist, pleading with his own life force to let him live...that it was not his time -- he is still needed in this world, this life in which he holds his fellow creatures of the night closest to his swiftly slowing heart. His time was not there; just a while longer, please, his Vampire clan needs him. Just a while more--
It is time -- now; Death is getting impatient.
Paris Skyle knows he is going to die. He can already feel it, hear the whispers of Death, calling him to Paradise... He has walked the Earth for longer than any of his kind. The time has come for his shadow to leave forever.... He knows his time has finally come, after pushing Death away for so long. He is weary with breathing life, tired, worn and nearly faded. His legacy can be carried by the other Princes; he knows that his clan will strive long after he disappears.
He walks through the snowy woods of the high mountains, seeking a challenge that he knows he has no hope of defeating.
A bear he sees; with a challenging gesture he springs upon the behemoth, ready to fight to the death. He is ready.
The bear attacks; he slashes back with strength and ancient experience.
Another slash, more, more, and more. Soon the air is crackling with the stench of death, of blood, of cold; snow sprays; blood splatters and speckles the snow that was pure only moments ago.
Breathing slows, time slows, life slows, hearts slow, decreasing, heading to a stop.
Silence lays in the air, air that stifles quickly; two lay dying in the freezing cold, in a death embrace of battle.
And Paris smiles. He is tired, time to sleep. He is ready; time to go. Time to leave, and he leaves the world at last. Blood flows out, breaths quicken, hearts halt...
And he is gone!