She dreamed of the perfect morning. However, something was amiss. What was
wrong with this picture? With its white and yellowish walls surfaced with
sunshine from the abundance of windows? With its pure white and untainted
walls sprayed by sunshine from the enormous windows? And as she looked out
from these open gates, her eyes were filled with dozens of wants and
desires as they searched the open fields and plains of wild grass far. Far
away until they reached the peaceful ocean, whose waters were polished by
brazen crystals glimmering, and washing delicate sparkles while the sun's
tides rained down upon it. Her eyes seemed to guide her, for she felt her
spirit float upward towards those coasts, until her nose could smell the
cool crisp scent of the sea breeze. It was a smell that tinkled down her
face and seemed to stay right above her nostrils so that when she gasped
for air, the aroma played its musical joy for her. What was wrong with it?
As her sight turned back towards the room filled by numerous antiques and
polished glass - made from the finest artists in Tamriel? And just in that
mere second, of fate or dream alike, she realized what that was. She yelled
with an urge made from deep within her heart, and perhaps her loins, too.
Her call for it was answered by a person appearing as a slender dot from
the farthest hill, any farther would have put him on the coast or in the
deep blue ocean. Judging from the outlines of the figure, she could guess
it was a man, a native dumner man. A rather tall one by his distinct
features. He walked slowly towards the window and all the time, she could
see his face. In this dream, she knew exactly what the man was present for.
It was something she just knew; the man was a partner, a companion, and a
lover! As the man entered through the windows, she changed her position and
sat upright on the bed. For a grand reason, she knew that face, or rather
the facial expression from that face from a place not so long ago. But the
body of that face had changed; Kenil was no more a small dumling, but a
massive, strong built native dumner with a body to match.
She looked at him from her bed and saw to her delight that he had advanced closer. She awaited for Kenil as if she were a wife and he were her husband, all in a lovers glance. In a way, if one could have possibly looked at her from this dream, that same person would have dropped to their knees in envy. She, who had nothing but a nightgown, looked amiably desirable.
He came even closer still, and was almost nearing her bed, and she could feel more warmth of love and lust as he set his eyes on her with lesser distance. At last, he was within reach; she extended her arms in wait to receive him. A desire or instinct came over that made every moment longer than it was so, so that if she felt there would be any more seconds to lapse before he came into her arms, she would writhe painfully for not being answered. Yet he was reluctant to give her what she wanted. He simply remained there, motionless, unable to reply to her desperate form. There was something distant about his facial expression, as if it was one of regret and derelict. Neither touching nor moving away from her, he stood still as if in wait of something. At last, he came even closer by sitting on the bed, yet not close enough for Sierra to grasp his entire body, but within limits for her to touch his clothing.
And he moved even closer! - So that his lower torso rested on her hind legs. She felt this there was enough nudge to finally clasp her arms around him. She did so in speed and all the strength she could bear. And in the same equal, yet faster speed, he reached out for both of her arms and caught them accurately at the wrist, which had to be where he intended. In return, she fought the grip in frustration, fluttering endlessly as to why he would not allow her to hold him.
The man did not alter, except to push her further backwards so that she once again lay on the bed. The pillow felt smooth on her head; it did a bit to calm her down. At last, she gave up struggling, and lay on the bed with her dear love in front of her face so that she could do little to resist. She could feel her heart race faster and louder constantly. Her pulse continued to quicken until she could no longer stand it. That was when she stopped fighting his grip.
When her heart finally halted its race to struggle, she could do nothing but open her mouth to speak in a breathless tone, "Why?"
He gave the answer in a whisper, "Because you cannot touch me."
As this answer rang in her ears, Sierra felt as if they were destined to be apart from each other. Her heart sank in remorse. She asked again, this time in return for his answer, "Why?"
The man attempted to answer; he allowed his lips to move but no sound came.
Sierra tried but could not hear his voice. So she begged him to come nearer.
He, with no other choice, as if his voice was dimming by the moment, did so. As if this was the only chance presented to her, she seized the moment and shoved her head forward for his lips! She reached for it swiftly with her mouth, and as she found it, she realized he had not attempted to back away, as said. And for not doing so, all their senses were engaged in this wondrous, most pleasant moment. Sierra found she could not move away from the engagement, and freed herself dearly in every moment of it. Yet, where there seemed no end, the man did actually pull away from her needy lips. Sierra felt pain for stopping before reaching her utmost satisfaction. Why then did he permit her to be filled with such unrest? But she soon knew the reason.
Soon, there became a glow from the man's eyes to the point in which it scared her to see it; it was accompanied by a distant flare of heat from his body. It became hotter until the heat radiated like boiling water onto her skin! It became too painful to touch, and she retracted back, even against her will, with horror.
His face turned to gloom, and as if to end her dream, he said, "I'm sorry." The figure sat back and shook its head while looking down at her, like a miserable scrib. "I'm sorry." It kept repeating.
What happened next drew ambiguity from her; both love and hate mixed together.
The man's face began to mold. The skin began to rust from the heat and its outlines began to age. The man's skin resembled an elder on his deathbed, with everything dragging wherever the ground pulled it. The flaps above the eye sockets began to droop, like a mask had finally lost its sense of stick on the man's face. Sierra was thunderstruck, too shocked to be afraid. The man sat there in front of her, sat like everything was normal, while his face burned and sagged until it was just a piece of mush. Then, suddenly, to her very own surprise, after the initial shock swept through her, a feeling foreign to her took its place, Sierra now found herself unwilling to wait.
She reached into the fire for the man's head and began to pull off the layers of skin! And wherever she touched, she felt flame crawling, snipping her fingers. But she was unwilling to stop. For a while, there seemed to be endless amounts of skin on his head! So it seemed that as each time she peeled off one layer, another layer seemed to have molded then decay and sag once again.
At last, with fear behind her, she felt for a layer of true skin and found it. She dug into the man's face, digging relentlessly until all of the inconsequential flesh was gone and the real true skin was left - skin that wasn't rusted or old or dangling.
And the face that struck through those layers of mask brought love and adoration to her heart.
It was a young women's face, fierce yet beautiful. Its eyes were staring right at her with a maternal countenance; and filled with a red blood shot color. The eyes were of Dumner but the face resembled the white man. Who was she? A person she had long forgotten? Someone from her distant past that now she only could glimpse at? Sierra was too deep in love to care. She embraced the maiden's body in the loveliest way she could imagine.
She heard the maiden cry her name, and felt wet tears as the warm substance trickled down her ears and carouse her cheeks. Some of it dripped down into the corners of her mouth. The taste was the flavor of copper. She could feel herself being changed by this luscious taste, and welcomed it. In fact, she begged for more.
Sierra became a vampire purposefully upon that day. Much to the devil's will and desire.
She looked at him from her bed and saw to her delight that he had advanced closer. She awaited for Kenil as if she were a wife and he were her husband, all in a lovers glance. In a way, if one could have possibly looked at her from this dream, that same person would have dropped to their knees in envy. She, who had nothing but a nightgown, looked amiably desirable.
He came even closer still, and was almost nearing her bed, and she could feel more warmth of love and lust as he set his eyes on her with lesser distance. At last, he was within reach; she extended her arms in wait to receive him. A desire or instinct came over that made every moment longer than it was so, so that if she felt there would be any more seconds to lapse before he came into her arms, she would writhe painfully for not being answered. Yet he was reluctant to give her what she wanted. He simply remained there, motionless, unable to reply to her desperate form. There was something distant about his facial expression, as if it was one of regret and derelict. Neither touching nor moving away from her, he stood still as if in wait of something. At last, he came even closer by sitting on the bed, yet not close enough for Sierra to grasp his entire body, but within limits for her to touch his clothing.
And he moved even closer! - So that his lower torso rested on her hind legs. She felt this there was enough nudge to finally clasp her arms around him. She did so in speed and all the strength she could bear. And in the same equal, yet faster speed, he reached out for both of her arms and caught them accurately at the wrist, which had to be where he intended. In return, she fought the grip in frustration, fluttering endlessly as to why he would not allow her to hold him.
The man did not alter, except to push her further backwards so that she once again lay on the bed. The pillow felt smooth on her head; it did a bit to calm her down. At last, she gave up struggling, and lay on the bed with her dear love in front of her face so that she could do little to resist. She could feel her heart race faster and louder constantly. Her pulse continued to quicken until she could no longer stand it. That was when she stopped fighting his grip.
When her heart finally halted its race to struggle, she could do nothing but open her mouth to speak in a breathless tone, "Why?"
He gave the answer in a whisper, "Because you cannot touch me."
As this answer rang in her ears, Sierra felt as if they were destined to be apart from each other. Her heart sank in remorse. She asked again, this time in return for his answer, "Why?"
The man attempted to answer; he allowed his lips to move but no sound came.
Sierra tried but could not hear his voice. So she begged him to come nearer.
He, with no other choice, as if his voice was dimming by the moment, did so. As if this was the only chance presented to her, she seized the moment and shoved her head forward for his lips! She reached for it swiftly with her mouth, and as she found it, she realized he had not attempted to back away, as said. And for not doing so, all their senses were engaged in this wondrous, most pleasant moment. Sierra found she could not move away from the engagement, and freed herself dearly in every moment of it. Yet, where there seemed no end, the man did actually pull away from her needy lips. Sierra felt pain for stopping before reaching her utmost satisfaction. Why then did he permit her to be filled with such unrest? But she soon knew the reason.
Soon, there became a glow from the man's eyes to the point in which it scared her to see it; it was accompanied by a distant flare of heat from his body. It became hotter until the heat radiated like boiling water onto her skin! It became too painful to touch, and she retracted back, even against her will, with horror.
His face turned to gloom, and as if to end her dream, he said, "I'm sorry." The figure sat back and shook its head while looking down at her, like a miserable scrib. "I'm sorry." It kept repeating.
What happened next drew ambiguity from her; both love and hate mixed together.
The man's face began to mold. The skin began to rust from the heat and its outlines began to age. The man's skin resembled an elder on his deathbed, with everything dragging wherever the ground pulled it. The flaps above the eye sockets began to droop, like a mask had finally lost its sense of stick on the man's face. Sierra was thunderstruck, too shocked to be afraid. The man sat there in front of her, sat like everything was normal, while his face burned and sagged until it was just a piece of mush. Then, suddenly, to her very own surprise, after the initial shock swept through her, a feeling foreign to her took its place, Sierra now found herself unwilling to wait.
She reached into the fire for the man's head and began to pull off the layers of skin! And wherever she touched, she felt flame crawling, snipping her fingers. But she was unwilling to stop. For a while, there seemed to be endless amounts of skin on his head! So it seemed that as each time she peeled off one layer, another layer seemed to have molded then decay and sag once again.
At last, with fear behind her, she felt for a layer of true skin and found it. She dug into the man's face, digging relentlessly until all of the inconsequential flesh was gone and the real true skin was left - skin that wasn't rusted or old or dangling.
And the face that struck through those layers of mask brought love and adoration to her heart.
It was a young women's face, fierce yet beautiful. Its eyes were staring right at her with a maternal countenance; and filled with a red blood shot color. The eyes were of Dumner but the face resembled the white man. Who was she? A person she had long forgotten? Someone from her distant past that now she only could glimpse at? Sierra was too deep in love to care. She embraced the maiden's body in the loveliest way she could imagine.
She heard the maiden cry her name, and felt wet tears as the warm substance trickled down her ears and carouse her cheeks. Some of it dripped down into the corners of her mouth. The taste was the flavor of copper. She could feel herself being changed by this luscious taste, and welcomed it. In fact, she begged for more.
Sierra became a vampire purposefully upon that day. Much to the devil's will and desire.