I have lived for a long time on this Earth, and in a way that makes me want to kill myself all over again.
the sins I have committed, the horrible awful choices I have made, have been made for an eternity, and I am condemned to living that eternity just so I can see what I have created, the horrible monster of a life I have lead, and the torment of seeing death in its true form everyday, but still not be able to have it's warm, silent, grasp take me like it should have hundreds of years ago.
This is my life, and I, Clarissa Araminta Salvatore, am condemned to it for the rest of humanity. So naturally, I will tell its story, and it's up to you to judge if I am truly nothing more than the world's worst miscreation…
March 11th, 1846
"Damon, you mustn't run so fast! I cannot keep up with you." I shout into the garden, my eyes barely following Damon's small legs as they darted around the garden, my own slowed down by the slew of petticoats I was covered in.
"Rissy, sometimes you can be such a bore." Damon sulked, his big blue eyes looking at me accusingly. He is barely yet seven years old, and I can already see he will be a handsome man one day. He has boyish good looks, with a tussle of dark hair on his head, and still rather slim, even though he eats as if he is our father. Now poking at my dress, he looks up at me, "Skirts are stupid, I think you should take them off. Then perhaps you will be able to run faster. But not as fast as me, of course." He proclaims. I laugh, and bring him into a hug, not minding the dirt on my dress. " I don't think we will be able to run much more, Damon. Your little brother needs minding, and Mother is going to visit Mrs. Lockwood's garden." Damon is protesting at first but succumbs to my promises of sweets after dinner. I had planned on saving them to eat, but Father would find out, I just know it. The mere prospect of him even suspecting makes me want to vomit, but I keep myself composed for my sibling's sake. He doesn't need to see me in such a state.
Finally, we reach the house, and I suck in my breath as I see Father on the porch, little Stefan on his lap. Stefan is only a few months old, but he is still one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. Mother loves him, I know, but I can see the little looks of disgust she makes whenever he makes a mess or refuses to eat. I never look at him like that, and I never will.
"Right on time, Clarissa," Father says, his cruel eyes watching as I walk up the steps with Damon following behind me. I hide my hands in my skirts, hoping Father won't see that they are shaking. Smiling at Damon, he gives Stefan a little bounce on his knee, which results in a happy gurgle. "You were almost late, and Stefan is growing impatient. Such a young age, and already needs women with him." he chuckles at his joke, but there isn't any humor in the laugh. I can tell he is disappointed since I'm not late. That would give him a reason to beat me, and I can see the happiness in his eyes when he does it. He enjoys it, and it sickens me. But I cannot say that. I cannot say, do, or breath without him telling me too, or else I will get another cold night, locked in the cellar with no food, and not a whisper of light, crying and crying for someone until I remind myself that Stefan is sleeping, and I wouldn't want to upset him, so I cover my mouth until I sleep.