Disclaimer – I do no own any of the characters except for those that aren't recognised in the nightworld books written by the goddess L.J.Smith. But then if you wanted to read a work of fiction you wouldn't have come to this site.
Authors note: hmm, I'm not sure if I like this bit, it's not really up to scratch, but it was needed. Other than that, nothing really, only that there will be more action to follow and perhaps another poem (it you're lucky).
incarnated-soul – You'll have to continue reading to find out, how things turn out and don't worry I have everything planned in my head it's just a question of writing it down. I'm glad you liked the email, I liked yours if it's anything. I just get these spur of the moment ideas (kinda like the time me and my friends got hold of a guy another friend knows email address and emailed him. We tried to freak him out, but he ignored us – so annoying, but I still think it worked. Hehe. Not that you proberly care much about that).
They argued this morning. My loving sweet Mary-Lynnette and him – the less said about him the better. I listened from the tree outside their window, listened and listened all through the night.
My tree is thorny, dark – more like the night than a tree's dark brown haze. It is not comtable, but I prefer it that way and as I sit and watch. As I watch her I imagine her soft white skin on mine once more.
She is so different to myself. I am the tree – my tree and she is the softness of new born leaves, the softness my tree will never have. The softness which is mine, and mine alone – not his.
He hurt her this morning, hurt her badly. But he will not hurt her much longer.
They argued about my gift. The gift of my people and my soul; the gift of blood. The ultimate gift.
I did not here what she had to say about my poem. But I heard him, the boy how has the guts to call her his soulmate.
He hated it, but then I was prepared for that. Not everyone has the gift to see what life is, real life; the reason for being.
She went shopping with her friends today, I followed. I saw each flick of her hair, each laugh that sprang from her lips and I was amazed.
It was as if each time I saw her, each time she did something I had never seen her do. Each time she did something I had seen her do before, I yearned for her more.
Yearned to feel her laughing, stubborn lips on mine. Yearned to trail my finger from her forehead to her neck and find the pulse point imbedded there.
I can feel my fangs lengthen and I wonder what it would like to taste her blood on my tongue, to feel it slide down my throat.
I want her laughing eyes find mine across the room and I want her to walk to me. Walk with wonder in her eyes and on her face.
And then I will whisk her away to a land forgotten. My land, a dark land, full of all things true; blood, terror, fear and the joy of the hunt.
She will delve there and flourish, she will see who I am. And she will be mine.
But for now all is quiet. I will stay low, watching, waiting. I will woe and send her my gifts. I shall watch and wait.
She's forgiven him, I see it in her eyes. I watched as they walked to there room hand in hand. When they slept they'll be waiting, waiting for something around the corner and they won't like it.
But for now I leave. I cannot bare to see there bodies entwined as they sleep.
I will have to make do. Find another girl in the shadow of Mary-Lynnette, my need for blood grows and I cannot ignore it's deathly plea. She will not do, whoever she is, but she will ease the need and the blindness that comes with it.
She will not be who I want but she will have to do.
They say the best things are worth waiting for.