Disclaimer:I know, it's been a while since I've written anything, butthis is actually this first time I've been able to be on a computer since school let out. I know, I'm finally a high school alumni, and I nolonger have to deal with boring term papers and stupid, narcisstic teachers telling me what I should or shouldn't do. Oh, where was I...oh yes...I don't own Van Helsing, but I do own the movie and blah, blah, blah...as I was saying, it's been a pleasure writing for all my fans, and it will be my pleasure to escort each one of you into a world unlike any other, my world of imaginitive pleasure and sensual - more or less sexual - fantasies. I've noticed that many readers do not understand my previous chapter, so, I've replaced that abysmalgarbage with something more worthy of my time and yours. Enjoy, and please...do review for I do love them dearly, as do I love a rainy summer day.

Post Script:My inspiration for this chapter comes from an authormost dear to my heart: Anne Rice.It isn't based onany novel she's written, but more by her style, which I love greatly.

What could be seen in those final hours? As she lay broken on her sheet less bed, her mind raced with thoughts foreshadowing what would soon happen after her blood ran dry. Her crystal blue eyes had all but remained as they were before this day; her nightly hair had faded to a color so close to that of her skins. Staring into her eyes, it was as though she were telling a story, one with a horrifying past, one with a nearing end. As she breathed each tumultuous breath, those tears that rolled down her cheeks like rain upon leaves, revealed her humanity. Her quivering lip captured her fear at its best. With each tremor, fears aroma prevailed. Even though fear worried her, it was a bittersweet fear, one that would soon lighten her life with a melodious accent to faith. She knew, even though this fear terrified her, that after all this waiting, death would soon captivate her soul, would take her life and lead her home to her father.

Painfully, she forcefully clawed her hands into what remained of her mattress.

Then with a slow reach towards her bedpost, she wrapped her hand around one of its many knobs and shrieked out a low, breathtaking cry.

"Mine," she shouted, her cry now forming words. Her body formed into an arc, with her head staring upon a cold and wooden floor.

"Mine is life." She finished, before closing her eyes. With her head slumped over her beds edge, it was easy to confirm that her story was now over; however, something strange soon followed after her death. A choir of whispers, lower than any normal voice, consumed her entombment of a room. They didn't speak any word unknown, just one sentence that would phase all eternity, until death revived her soul.

Mine is life…mine is life…mine is life…mine is life…

For all eternity, till her soul's reborn.

I will never know what lies beyond eternity

But I will venture to where eternal souls lay

My death shall live forever in time,

Entombed by words of malice and hate

I hope you enjoyed that chapter. It isn't my longest one, but it is my favorite. I love each reader, and I do hope to recieve some input.

Yours truly,

Aronas De Vicomte Arashiette (Arvanastt'e)