Everyone needs someone to touch them

Everyone needs someone to hold

So why's it so damn hard to love when we're alone

I've lived a lifetime telling stories

About the way we live and die

When love was born it was a mystery

I'm yet to find

And when I wake up in the [evening]

There is a twinkle in my eye

That maybe someday you will meet me

In the light

I came to the so-called Paris of the West looking for something, preferably someone, to assuage my growing ennui.

I was coming into my ninth century of existence and had recently parted from my maker again at his gentle insistence that I travel somewhere new. He had grown weary of my relentless pining, and who could blame him? Watching someone you love, especially your progeny, yearning for something, anything, to renew their usually zealous lust for life must be nearly as painful as what that person is experiencing.

After a few nights spent wandering the bustling, crowded streets, bored and on the edge of regretting my decision to make the trip from New Orleans to San Francisco, I found myself standing across the street from a grand music hall. I hoped to find more here than I had in the shallow diversions I'd found myself less than entertained with in the saloon I visited the night before.

It wasn't long before I spotted exactly what I had been looking for.

I waited and watched as the patrons gathered in front of the hall's entrance. The night air was practically electric with their anticipation for the show, filled with the excitement generated by a crowd dressed to impress and ready to enjoy a night on the town. The people were of a different class than those who patronized the watering holes I had spent the last few nights stalking.

My eyes fell upon her and I was instantly transfixed.

She was stunning - a Gibson Girl come to life - golden-haired and fair-complected, even from here I could see that her eyes were as pale and blue as my own. She was dressed in a fashion-forward gown with flowing skirts, a deliciously low neckline, and the tightest corset to be seen in that crowd. Her copious hair was swept up fashionably atop her head, and she wore a very large, ornate hat. Even for this town, this 'Paris of the West,' she was far too good for anyone here, hell, she'd be too good for anyone here a hundred years from now.

I had to have her and not just for one night. I wanted her for my very own. Forever.

She was standing next to a man of similar height and they appeared to be arguing over something, or at least he did, as he was the one who was gesticulating wildly, she just stood there hand on hip with the most amusing expression - a mixture of boredom and irritation - fixed upon her lovely features.

As he turned to stalk off toward an approaching carriage, I recognized him. I had seen him a night or two prior in one of the bars I stopped into to slake my thirst after my long journey where he and a couple of acquaintances were busy gambling and groping. Later that night, I had come upon him again wasting some poor girl's time behind the building with his mediocre efforts at debauchery.

Well, that sealed the deal: there was no way in Hell I was leaving her to his profligate devices. Never in a million years did that buffoonish libertine deserve anything as perfect as her.

Of course, she put up a good fight, but I could tell that she was enamored of me too. When she started arguing with me, I considered glamouring her for a split second, but I quickly decided that I did not want a child who would hate me forever because I had conned them into this life; I much preferred that she meet me willingly and of her own accord.

I didn't allow myself to turn back for one last look as I walked away.

I prayed to the gods that it would not be the last time I saw her.