I loved a mortal, once.
It shouldn't have been possible. I was old before she was born, each year of my cursed life a burden on my soul, while she was all innocence and fiery idealism. I knew who she was, of course-how could I not, when her line and mine are ancient enemies, and from the time I was old enough to speak I heard my father curse the name of Belmont? It should not have happened. I should never have loved her.
She looked nothing like her ancestor, Trevor . and her descendent, Richter, looks nothing like her. Too many years separate them, a gulf of generations that mortals overleap easily, while my kind plods unchanging through the years.
I care not for the fate of Richter Belmont. Let him wander forever these labyrinthine halls. Let him sink deeper and deeper into his madness; what does it matter to me? The last mortal I cared for died centuries ago, consumed by the same mad quest that has claimed all her line. Leon, Trevor, Simon, one whip-wielding fool after another, damned by their absurd crusade.
But she . she has asked me to help him, and I suppose after all I must be as mad as they. She looks nothing like my Sonya, my ancient love, but there is something in her that reminds me of her fierce beauty, and the ashes of my soul begin to stir.
It shouldn't have been possible. I was old before she was born, each year of my cursed life a burden on my soul, while she was all innocence and fiery idealism. I knew who she was, of course-how could I not, when her line and mine are ancient enemies, and from the time I was old enough to speak I heard my father curse the name of Belmont? It should not have happened. I should never have loved her.
She looked nothing like her ancestor, Trevor . and her descendent, Richter, looks nothing like her. Too many years separate them, a gulf of generations that mortals overleap easily, while my kind plods unchanging through the years.
I care not for the fate of Richter Belmont. Let him wander forever these labyrinthine halls. Let him sink deeper and deeper into his madness; what does it matter to me? The last mortal I cared for died centuries ago, consumed by the same mad quest that has claimed all her line. Leon, Trevor, Simon, one whip-wielding fool after another, damned by their absurd crusade.
But she . she has asked me to help him, and I suppose after all I must be as mad as they. She looks nothing like my Sonya, my ancient love, but there is something in her that reminds me of her fierce beauty, and the ashes of my soul begin to stir.