I shook my head in shock, how could I have let myself slip into that daydream? It seemed forever since I saw him, hell, it probably has been that long. We met once but then I never saw him again, maybe that is just the affect that I have on people. I haven't seen my mother since that day either, she left around the time that father died but she hid away for many months leading up to this horrible fate.

The coach unsteadily bounced across the heavily rocky path, I expected nothing else from the country roads here. It's texture would give one the impression that it isn't the correct path but it is, in fact, the only path. My glass of strawberry wine began to jump in time to this. With a slightly angered sigh, I diverted my eyes from the black leather interior to the forest outside. I smiled sombrely as I recollected the words that my father would recite on occasions such as this one.

He had always told me to look out of my window, as it is good for the mind. I gazed with that same childish gleam, as always, in my eyes. The same as the one I had when we first embarked in the journey to this town. I must look like an idiot to anyone around me. Here I am, sitting here, slack-jawed and wide eyed at a scene I have seen countless times before. My father had moved from Pirose, an archaic fishing village in the Octavian realm, with me to Oakland in Neon. We had lived in many different places (to escape grandfather) but Oakland has been our home for years. We had both fallen in love with the area but father especially.

He was originally the heir to the land in Octavia, to the throne of Spades, but he ran away. As a teenager, he was in the army, as forced by his father. The kingdom had no ruler and the war was upon them so grandfather managed to become lord protector until a true heir was found. This was to no prevail so they handed over ownership to Augustus Braginski, the most ruthless man to ever walk this damned earth. Or so I, and father, thought. This battle was between my ancestors and the shape-shifter army, it had been brewing for many years before but finally broke through in 1887. My grandfather wanted father to fight but he refused.

He was the only one with actual conscience and an ability to give emotion-lead decisions. Father knew that the battle couldn't be won, it would just be a pointless massacre. He ran from the castle and settled down in Pirose, it was where he met my mother and I was born. Mother died giving birth and this was when father realised that he wanted to leave this town. We arrived here a few years later, after a perilous voyage across the world. Father became leader with a short lived struggle as their king had turned corrupt. They knew of his family background so, instead of appointing the king's brother, they chose my father. The vampires of Neon still owed a debt to my family and, because of this, became Neon's first true army. Everything was picturesque until my sixteenth birthday. Father took this very carriage ride to Serpia, a woodland village in the east, to retrieve my gift. He was assassinated by a member of grandfathers old army, the only one to survive, as he was traveling home. Letting a tear slip down my cheek and taking a sip of my wine, I turned to face Bertwald (the King's guard).

"Prince, I have some alarming news regarding Cardinal Mugretzi. I was supposed to keep it to myself, hell I wasn't even supposed to know. Anyway, I thought that you would want to know as you speak of him so fondly." Bertwald whispered. I could see the caution in his face, maybe he thought that someone was tracking him. This caught my attention as there is nothing I do not know about the cardinal, or so I thought. He is my trusted friend and companion, or (again) so I thought. We would share many secrets and troubles, I would even help him collect money for the church. He had been the father figure I needed, when I was younger and in need of a role model. He taught me how to fight with a sword, how to read and write in Emelaean and how to play the violin. The man was a genius but, as we know, all good men have their flaws.

"He... well, how do I put this, he.. is a Llystkivr" Berwald sighed and shifted uneasily in the cold leather seat. This is impossible though, the Llystkivr colony was eradicated in the war 34 years ago. Without thinking, I voiced that opinion. He shook his head and looked to the glass floor before speaking.

"No, one Llystkivr escaped the war by hiding in that forest," he started, pointing at the window. I looked to where he was pointing and an uneasy shudder rolled across my skin. "a demonic and tyrannical Llystkivr. The Cardinal. You wouldn't think that a 'man of god' would be a Llystkivr, would you?" he explained, taking a sip of his drink. Smoke, from the driver's cabin, filled the carriage. It pained my chest but I carried on without a word against it.

He cut me off from my thoughts by tapping away at my curiosity. It got the better of me so I sat in front of him, wide eyed and intrigued. I couldn't go on without this information, I definitely need to know but my hesitant side kicked in. What if ruins my life? I took a long breath and, ignoring my mind's indecisiveness, asked him the question. My need for this knowledge troubled me. I knew that, one day, it shall be my downfall. The smoke nearly choked me as I did so but I was determined to ask.

"But he looks perfectly human, how can this be?"

The carriage ride had come to an end before Bertwald could tell me anything. He said that it was for the best that the driver was out of earshot. The guard's quarters were facing us as they were to the side of the castle. Unlike most of the town, they were clean and nearly as well built as the castle. Bertwald looked from side to side- as if looking for someone- before opening his door. A panicked stare embedded itself into his rough-looking, jagged face. This was far from the usual features Bertwald shrouds his expressions and mannerisms in. This unnerved me completely: if something can scare the most courageous man I know, it would easily scare me. I am easily scared anyway but this will probably make it worse. I stepped in, giving my eyes time to adjust to the dark walls and absence of a true light source. He did have a gas lamp, stood on a poorly made table, but this barely made a difference to the current sate of darkness

He walked over to a large wooden chest and picked out a book. It was rather old, the gold leaf had peeled off and left engraved marks onto it's leather cover. It read: "The Diary Of Beings And Entities". I examined the rather stained and torn pages of the book and the melted lock made of pewter. He noticed me staring and decided to explain the lock and it's condition.

"I had to, my great grandfather wrote this and handed it down through the generations. He made my grandfather promise that he would never open it and that he would pass it on and the message. I, however, ignored the warning and opened it. the lock had to be melted as there was no key with it." He then opened the book to a page with a diagram, of what they call a "Vampire".

It was a crooked, rabid looking creature. The skin that covered the hunched over beast barely did that, most of it's pale bones were visible. The shaded grey scales exposed sections of it's spine, fused onto this and slowly winding around the thing's sides were ribs, badly broken ones to be exact. The jagged splinters of bone ripped through the grey flesh like wary animals looking for danger. Sheets of skin stretched from the creatures arms, they were deeply embedded with veins and finished just below the creatures bent knees. My heart raced and my face crumpled, I didn't want to look but my eyes would not turn. It's face bore an elongated mouth; abhorrent, disjointed sets of teeth protruded from it's thin, black lips. They were brown and cavity riddled, as if centuries old. It's jaw hung desperately to it's chest, well the part that was still attached. Only thin, singular strands of hair were left clinging onto the creatures cracking skull. Two thin, almost closed, slits lay above a dark hole in it's face. No eyes, no nose, just the mouth. They were once features but it was as if some form of decay had sealed them shut, in a few years time there will be no visible record that they ever existed. Its stretched limbs seemed to hang limply, as if pulled out of their sockets, from the creature's torso. They had chipped, yellow claw like nails at the tips of its bony, grey hands. Grey paper like wings were also visible, the emerged from the severely bent spine. I stared in horror, many questions lingered in my mind.

"The cardinal is not that, is he?" I ask with a cry. Bertwald said nothing, he just nodded. I stared at him with an apparent apathy to my look, this was completely opposite to the thoughts racing through my head. As he has known me for many years he knew what this meant and explained the situation further. To be honest, I really think that I should just leave the subject there but my curiosity wouldn't leave me alone. Maybe it would be best, for both parties, if we just left it alone.

" Y'see, this kind of vampire, the true vampire are able to shift from the human form to that. They are not affected by crosses or holy water as they are man made objects of religion. Only heavy impact, organ failure, or the true face of god can kill them. They do not only feed off of only blood, they feed on all of the fluids produced by the victim. On occasion, they will even eat the meat, hence the title "the life eaters". They also do not have immortality, they just live longer than humans.. Basically something that you do not want to mess with." he finished, his expression was frightfully straight for this conversation topic. Maybe the thought of some light humour would ease the tension but he is a man of seriousness, the entire thought of breaking the mood with laughter has never occurred to him before. All of this baffled me, how could this great, religious man be that? My mind wouldn't stop spinning as I was trying to process the information. Trying to focus on something else was to no prevail as the image of that thing burned itself onto the back of my mind.

"I am sorry but you have to go now, the king's high council of guards do a routine check of the quarters soon and if they find this, they will confiscate it and throw me in prison. Goodbye prince Roderich." he muttered quickly.

"If it were anyone else, Bertwald, I would have accused them of trying to get rid of me." I stated coldly. The start of his statement did sound like a lie, a great excuse for getting rid of me.

"Please Prince, just this once, believe me." he answered, his expression grew ever more stern as the moments passed. He was trying to make me fear staying here, most likely. Despite my thoughts on the matter, I complied without another word spoken. If all of that is true, the King's Guard will have his head. I knew that to do this before, my childhood friend's father met with that same gory fate.

As soon as the large wooden door opened, sunlight blistered through. Only then did I realise that Bertwald had no lights in his cabin. The shock of the information had diverted my attention from my surroundings. Why hadn't someone told me about him before? My closest allies and the palace servants have told me that the man changed when my father and I arrived here. Maybe this is the change they are speaking of. That could have prevented me from having a close friendship with him and that could have been for the best. Maybe that is why they didn't tell me. All of these "maybes" and " what ifs" are spinning in my mind. I took one last look inside Berwald's house and to the outside again. With my final farewells, I ventured out into the town square. It was bathed in the late night sunshine that you always get in the summer months. I checked my watch and it stated in bold numbers, pointed a by large hands; 10:30 PM.

I walked over to the grand fountain, situated just outside of the palace gates. I looked at the vast building embellished with gold and a wrought iron gate. The stark, mountainous horizon, enveloped in golden shades of light, stood out behind it. Along the far mountain lay train tracks, they had always highly regarded the landscape here as beneficial for the growing urge of modern transport. I have to say that they are true in that respect. My hero, the late king Jerome Francis Carriedo II, made this place the marvellous tourist attraction that it is today. He could have built the palace anywhere in Neon but he chose Oakland because of it's balance of flat woodland and sharp mountain ranges. He is my role model, alongside the Baron Carlisle Draco (My great grandfather 6 times removed) , for many reasons but mainly for their love of architectural designs and the arts. I would love to become a great designer like them one day but I will have an empire to look after first.

My love for the arts has grown throughout the years but it started when I was a young boy. It fully fluctuated around about 7 years ago, I dabbled in many art forms before this but music was probably the one that struck my heart. My grandfather told me that art was a waste of time, that the world could live without it, but I knew different. My father was pretty indifferent about it, he simply wanted to give me a childhood but also respect his father. Art was one of the only things that I knew of, at the time, that didn't involve war. It was pure and showed the deep thoughts of the artists portrayed in one marvellous way. I was rather disheartened at his attempts to crush this hope but I respected his wishes as he is only obeying my grandfather.

He sent me to his newly opened grammar school but this was an even bigger waste of my time. I have never been, what they call, academically gifted but I was intellectual in my own ways. In ways that excelled children of my age. For example; I couldn't read or write but, by the age of 10, I could play the piano at a level higher than most adults in the city of Oakland. I could play Denaerian Myx Emelae Aeriusa with my eyes closed. I was still outraged with my grandfather so I shut myself in my room for days on end and compose, sometimes I would also draw. My grandfather and I had many disputes due to this I spent less time with him, most people really. At the age of 15, I became a recluse. I stopped attending different social occasions, this year being the first ball held at the Heart's kingdom that I attended in many years. I dropped school and refused to leave my room, this was the main reason why he changed his mind.

My stubbornness paid off, I managed to get my way. He eventually gave in and I integrated back into the world. He made me promise though that if I completed my father's diary, in honour of him, I could do any job that I wished- providing that it was honest and legal.

Sitting on the marble fountain, I opened the leather bound book. My father had completed fourteen and a half years of entries before I got the book. All of them gave detailed accounts of being heir to the throne of Octavia and then as the King of Clubs in the Neon Empire. Some of them describe the Irredessian wars and most of them explain what it was like when he was younger and under the control of his father. Most of the single papers were buried with him, the books were given to the Neon National museum, but I have the one that was left unfinished when he died. The half a year left unwritten was when he returned to his home land. He spent the time mourning the loss of his father and his battalion. He always felt selfish for leaving them, his words being "I left them in one damned act of selfish preservation". He would only speak to me and a maid, whom he held dear, due to his guilt. When I was old enough this book became mine.

Dear Diary,

Today has been eventful to say the least. I was informed that my friend and (from time to time) role model was not all that he seems. He is the last Llystkivr in Neon, I would describe one but that image is something that should not be shared. I also had a daydream of him again, the mystery man at the ball. He bugs me still as I never learned anything else about him. We haven't met since and this hurts me every day. Just when I thought that I was going to get over him and not being able to see him again, I see an image of him in my mind.

Prince Roderich Eilderstien, rightful heir to the throne

As I looked up from the book, a shiver ran through me. I do not normally dwell on that day but it really hit me today. Where is he now? Maybe he has even skipped the country, who am I to know where the man is now? Also, writing about those things unnerved me more than the picture, this is because seeing it in my own words forces the reality of those things back to me.

It was soon forgotten though as I looked around me. The golden dusk sky, that now surrounded me, created a perfect light for the majestic white stone castle. It's appearance, as a building, would suggest that royalty didn't live there but they do regardless. It is one of the least decorated palaces that I have ever seen but it is home. I sighed as I witnessed the sheer beauty that was the sun setting, even the wind held it's tongue as it saw the marvellous sight.

The streets were now alive with bright yellows and sombre (in comparison) ambers. Shutters of recently closes shops were the only things that could be heard, it was a vast contrast from the bustle of the day. This was something else that I am thankful for, the refreshing silence of the night. I held my breath as the silvery mist spread out along the towers, shrouding them in a mystic veil. The two churches, positioned in the east and west (St Matthias in the east and St Jerome's in the west) stood out against this fog. They stood, dutifully keeping watch over the people like a worry filled mother at her sick child's crib. At least they were far kinder than the people who they were named after. The clock, in the town's square, struck 12 and I realised that I am rather late. "King" Jerome forbids lateness.

With an almost ritualistic glance at the clock tower, for proof I began to walk towards the gates. The panic set in as I realised how late I actually was, 2 hours. Last time I was late, not even this late, the king drugged me and when I woke up- a week later- I was in prison. This lasted for a month as he doesn't care what happens to me really. I winced as I opened the door, God knows what mood he will be in. This plays a big part to how he is going to reinforce the rule of staying out past curfew.

"Ah, Roderich my boy! Care for a drink?" a slurred, alcohol tainted voice called from the throne room.