Some say that the indomitable Marquis de Sade knew all there is to know of methods of more... painful persuasion. I would have to disagree. He limited himself in more ways than one. Limitation does now allow one to express one's genius. Being the genius that I am, I, of course, leave myself open to any, and all, methods. I do not live only by torture, though. No, there is much more to my existence than the 'simple' pleasure of hearing a lover's gasp of pain, or viewing what I like to call that 'dying light' within their eyes.
As I have stressed before; mental manipulation, angst, finding ones deepest, darkest secrets... it is these small things that allow one to take control of another. To dominate their very thoughts and actions. Blackmail is a lovely thing, especially when you have taken more than they can handle. While I could have the ability to probe their minds, rape their thoughts for every one of my dirty little needs, I chose not to. It would be much too easy, and truly... what fun is there in doing things with ease? Forgive me; but I would rather have the virgin, hesitant and leery, than the whore, ready and willing.
Difficulty can be so much more rewarding.
Yes, I do realize I am undead, vampire, 'Nosferatu', God... whatever title you choose to place upon me. So why do I speak of sex? Is that not what most, if not everything, boils down to? Is that not human nature? Ah, yes... Do not forget; I am not human. I do understand, and grasp this concept quite well. But, I am afraid you miss my point. It is much easier to speak to another when concerning such things as mental, physical, spiritual and emotional tampering if I use terms that have to deal with sating one's libido. Sad? Yes, I know. Nevertheless, the 'evil' truth is there. I simply like to make it more clear and exposed for everyone. Speaking of exposed... let me get back to my topic.
The first meeting between my mother and my plaything did not go very well. She went into instant hysteria and it took a good amount of time for her screaming to stop. Do not get me wrong; like almost every Tzimisce, I enjoyed every single moment of it. I might be anathema in some ways, but not all. Mother had the most interesting expression upon – I shall call it 'her' to avoid confusion – upon her face. If one truly wished to call the down-turned, lamprey-type mouth expressive. I could not help but chuckle.
What the female might have stated is not important at this time; I probably could not remember even if I tried. There was fear there, of course; would you not be afraid coming face to face with a szlachta? If you were human, that is. I am a patient Cainite, and so I waited for her to gain control of herself while I watched on, detached from her apparent emotional...state.
"What do you feel," I recall asking her. I think my voice caught her off guard for she flinched within the bindings and turned her wide, tear-streaked eyes toward me.
"What!"
I sighed then, for I hate repeating myself. But I did so, for the sake of brevity. Unfortunately that did not help any, for she still stalled, staring at Mother as she did so. Now that I think about it, I do not think the fact that Mother was giving her a hungry stare was doing anything to help. Either way, she was dismissed.
"I- I'm afraid."
To this I smiled.
Afraid. Most likely of the unknown. What people fail to understand is that we must challenge our preconceptions, or they will challenge us. Life consists of nothing but change. If we wish to live rather than simply 'endure' or 'survive', then we need to become more accepting and flexible in our concepts and the formation of them. These changes consists of intended and unintended conditions, as well as the predictable and unpredictable.
For humanity to be tolerable to the alternating fluidity of circumstance, the society in whole must learn that encountering the unknown is wholly inevitable; that there is no sense in fearing or avoided. In contrast, these things should be sought for and embraced.
We – and I mean Kine and Cainite alike – must enable ourselves to remain receptive to new and varied ideas. It is the only way one can have better experience and understanding when change comes in its diverse forms and functions.
Those who are generally skeptical and dismissive of the unconventional tend to fear the unknown, because it conflicts with their current comprehension of reality, and interferes with their sense of security found in the familiar. Once they have reached a particular conclusion or understanding about how they think reality operates, this type of person is reluctant or resistant to the consideration of alternate possibilities to the contrary.
But, certainty closes the mind to possibility, making people who are unreceptive to new ideas and methods inflexible and unadaptable to changing circumstances and conditions. And if there is anything we can be relatively certain about, it is that life is change.
Indeed, these kinds of people are unprepared and unequipped to deal with reality, preferring to accept instead their own preconceived delusions. It is a bit of a paradox of human habit that we tend to be both curious and cautious of that which is hidden. For example, most Christians profess a belief in the Second Coming ... that Jesus is destined to return. Yet, if these same individuals were to encounter someone claiming to be Jesus, they would automatically be inclined not to believe him, a situation that is equally hypocritical and ironic.
Unfortunately, we reside in an environment of arbitrary disbelief, weighted by the burden of proof. How sad it would be for us all if Jesus were to appear and be ignored or mocked, or even condemned again.
Truly...it would not surprise me in the least.
Suppose someone claimed that they were an extraterrestrial, or even a supernatural being. What degree of evidence would be adequate for the skeptical among us? Why be so unwilling to believe that the extraordinary is not only possible...but likely? Further evidence of the skeptic mentality prevalent in mainstream society is illustrated in the common and casual disregard toward the possibility, actually a probability, of preternatural life forms...on Earth or abroad.
It is the ultimate in human ego, pride and vanity to think that we are alone in this vast universe, or that there are no wonders to behold. Improbable has become confused with impossible. Another example would be our popularly negative and dismissive attitude regarding psychics and psionics, and the concept of spirituality in general. Without sufficient proof beyond a reasonable doubt, a proposition is not deemed truth.
But terms of 'sufficient' and 'reasonable' tend to be subjective and malleable to whim and bias.
Even if or when convincing and abundant proof is acquired, many people are hesitant or reluctant to believe and accept as true something which conflicts with their existing paradigm. They resist change. The only thing that tends to be constant...
Though...that is a rabbit I will chase again another time.
Nevertheless, she had no choice but to accept what was real, different, or strange. After all, she had one of those impossible – or improbable – beings looking down at her at that moment. She lay there, of course, her form bared, spread-eagled, as it were, still damp with her taint as well as her two-time rapist. Who, by the way, was still hanging within the same room.
The rhythmic dripping of blood provided a nice backdrop and I was reluctant to have it cease. I closed my eyes, mingling that drip-drip-drip rapport and the steady, but swift, pants of her breath through her lungs, and grimaced when the natural music was broken by a gentle sob. Oh dear, she was crying again. I sighed.
"Wh-what will you do with me?" she asked between wracking chokes and I looked down upon her sweat laced face with a curious tilt of my head.
"Have I not done enough? Do you want more, then?" A ragged groan came from the other room and I grunted, turning my attention to the creature. "Oh, do hush, mother. I was not speaking with you." When I looked back the prize was staring at me with little to no understanding.
I was willing to be it was more the latter than the former.
"Why, if you were not screaming so much you would have been properly introduced. I daresay that it was quite rude and you might have hurt her feelings." As if I cared about the szlachta's emotions.
She made a soft noise in the back of her throat that I would have likened to the pained keen of a wounded animal.
"I have not decided what I will do with you," I answered honestly. It was true. For once I had not thought past the game, and something stilled my hand with simply getting rid of her once and for all. No, something was stirring in the back of my mind. Something that wanted to come forth and have me play another little game with her. By time she took her next breath, I was smiling. My decision was made.
"I will let you live."
Again she placed a vapid, wide-eyed stare upon me and when I moved closer to her, she sank against the beams, as if trying to go right through them. The thought was amusing enough. I moved across the room, exiting through the door that would take me to the observation chamber. There was no need for me to watch her, I could tell that I had been privy to most of her responses over the night. No, I went in there to prepare a concoction that would have her rest.
When I returned and she saw the syringe, she began tugging upon the binds, babbling pleas. If it was in my nature to roll my eyes, I would have. Did I not tell her that she would live? I suppose she did not believe me. Then again...would you believe a thing that had just ripped apart someone before your eyes? Mmno. I thought not.
"Keep still," I ordered sharply and she whimpered, turning her face away from me. Stopping near where she lay, I lowered my hand, trailing the cool touch of my fingers along her jaw until I could take a hold of her chin. Clasping firmly, I turned her face to look up at me. Coolly I looked into her eyes, and I do believe she was appalled to note that my own held nothing.
When her chin was released I tapped the side of the syringe, ignoring her questions of its contents as I took a hold of her arm firmly, cutting off most of her circulation. Dipping the needle into her skin and piercing a vein, I slowly worked the anesthetic into her veins. I did not need her completely unconscious, not yet. I still had some things to say to her.
LINEBREAK
It was close to three in the morning when I dropped her off at the club, placing her back within her car where she would groggily wake and undoubtedly wonder if it was all a dream. Cleaned up, dressed and left with a forced intoxication, there would be little to no evidence that she had left the grounds.
What, exactly, was in my mind when I had let her leave my haven – something that has never been done before?
It is quite simple, you see. She was now my two-legged guinea pig.
Her body had not been the only thing wiped clean. Her mind, too, was like my slate and I carefully dabbed away all of our meeting save for one thing; the fact that she had given the order for someone's death.
Who – she did not know.
Why – she did not know that either.
When – same answer.
She would forever have that guilt on her conscious, yet have no idea why it was there.
I watched her go through her usual routine every night, and during the daylight hours when it was an impossibility for me to go out unless I wished to spontaneously combust into flames, I had one of my pets watch over her. Her demeanor took a steady decline and within a week she was seeking out a psychiatrist to find if she was going crazy.
Unfortunately, the dear Doctor would not have been able to assist her. Undoubtedly he was just as confused when he found out that his patient was a normal, everyday individual with an insecurity and worry that had nothing to do with her past. She was not another who had been abused or neglected, or had some other random experiences as a child that lead to this change.
How long would she carry on with this guilt, I had wondered? How long before it ate at her and she went absolutely mad from her lack of understanding?
Not long enough.
What was happening inside of her began to take a physical manifestation; she had bags under her eyes from the inability to sleep, she jumped at the first sign of a siren, as if she expected the authorities to take her away at any minute. She had become so paranoid that she quit her job and rarely, if ever, left the house.
This did not surprise me in the least. While the woman seemed strong, especially within her little black-latex world, in her mind she was no more than a child using what strengths she had to distract others from her insecurities.
Misdirection is one of society's greatest tricks.
My projects life was cut drastically short. Literally cut. Within a warm bath she sawed through her arms until the tub water was as red as her hair – well, redder in my humble opinion. I was almost disappointed for I wanted to see just how rapidly her mind would twist, inspired by some guilt that she could not understand.
Perhaps next time I will try this test again, though I will keep the subject within my own home, and away from all sharp objects.
After all, blood is rather hard to get out of the carpets.
And that's it, Ladies and Gents. Stay tuned for more from dear Meuric and his twisted adventures.
Here's a thanks to those that read and could stomach his...games. Thanks!