In the nights after their deaths I remained in my room, my mind black and empty. The only time I left was to fight, as attacks against us were becoming more frequent.

Maria attempted to comfort me, in the only way she knew how, telling me it was God's will and such. I ignored her. I didn't respond as she touched me or kissed me. I didn't move when she lay beside me, her arm closed over my chest and her head against my shoulder.

Weeks began to drag by and my thirst was causing me immense pain. But I didn't go out to hunt. My raw heart was still too pained by watching Lucy and Nettie die to be able to suffer through emotions coupled with killing humans. I lay on the floor of the bedroom, staring up at the ceiling in silence.

Many conversations passed through my memory. Small moments when I spoke to Lucy or Nettie privately. Though I was so deeply involved in a world of violence that was intensified by sheer hate, I felt I had comrades. I still felt some warmth and comfort in my companionship with Nettie and Lucy. Even if they never acknowledged it until their deaths I knew they cared for me to. We were like a family, even though we were brought together out of convenience, for a time we still were close.

But it was pointless now. Their bones were dust buried beneath the earth and I was slowly rotting away because of my thirst.

Unwillingly I drew myself from my mind, and went out into the world to hunt.

I hunted for hours that night, but still only killing two humans. Mostly 'hunting' was an excuse to be free of my thoughts. I really just wandered around town watching the humans and basking in the warmth of their peaceful emotions. It was comforting, almost like a gentle hands placed holding tightly to my crumbling soul. It wouldn't really help it, but it lessened the pain.

When I returned home at dawn, I had no more time to dwell on my emotions or thoughts. Violence had broke out again, and I found myself fighting another band of vagabond nomads. When it ended I was left thinking; could this really be my life for the rest of eternity? Endless death and fighting? No.. I couldn't accept such a fate. But what could I do to stop it?

As a few more years passed life continued in that same routine, but to my amazement, the battles became few and far apart. Instead of fearing an ambush I was almost able to enjoy my life, that is until the remorse of killing humans crawled back into my consciousness.

When we were fighting constantly I rarely thought on it. I fed quickly because I needed strength to fight. And sometimes Maria presented a human victim to me as a 'gift' though it was by no means a gift to me. But when I was free to feed without any real need to, I was tortured by it.

It was a curse really, to feel their fear as I killed them. And every 'gift' presented me with a challenge. I had to fight my lust for their blood so that I would not be crippled by the guilt after. But as always I killed them, and as always I wept inside. I was truly so weak. The only time I ever felt strong was when I was fighting. But in fighting I felt numb and monstrous.

Why the hell was I so conflicted? Why couldn't I just be how every crazed newborn and ambushing coven, unapologetic and cruel?

I thought I would never find another to understand my dilemma until a fateful night.

Maria and I had gone out to search for new borns, as we had to replenish our numbers from the last battle three months before. She quickly took up several of them, allowing me to seek out ones I wanted.

I wandered off on my own, distancing myself from her. I couldn't take her emotions, and needed seclusion.

As I drew close to the tavern, I smelt the air.

It was thick with smoke and rum and the voices of many drunken farmers echoed through the thin walls.

I slipped inside smoothly, settling myself at a table far from the commotion in the center of the room.

It was entertaining to watch humans acting so 'naturally'. I rarely had time to appreciate them when we were so engrossed in fighting. They were merely sustenance for either our coven or the attacking ones. But at times like this they were merely human. They had histories and personalities, families and drunken stories to tell. It made me feel a connection to my former life that should have been destroyed over the years. I felt almost human. I felt as if I belonged there, pretending to drink and listening to gallant tales of fighting and courting women. That is until a human passed too closely and I found myself draining them dry in the alley. But tonight was different. I fed earlier in the night so that I would be at peace. And I was for a while. I sat back and watched as a couple of men talked loudly a few feet from me.

Their voices rang through my ears and in one I picked up a french accent. He must have been creole, and come here from Louisiana. I was right as he spoke of a life in New Orleans. I smirked despite myself as the conversation quickly turned violent, and the two men rolled past my feet, punching and grunting.

I rose carefully from the chair, taking myself out the back door just as the room erupted into chaos. Ah alas, better to dwell in the world of chaos that I was accustomed to, rather than the drunken bar brawls of humans.

As I strode back toward the main road, I spotted Maria standing alone. She nodded to me as I approached, her hand clenched around the collar of a man whom hung limply against her leg.

"This one is a good one". she said softly as I glanced down at the man. "I think he'll make a fine addition."

I shrugged at her as I looked down at his face.

He was very handsome, even for being human. He had wavy dark hair and a slender face, broad shoulders and long arms. His hands were callused and scarred, the hands of a farmer.

"Should we return home?" I said taking the man's body onto my shoulder as she nodded swiftly. We turned and walked down the street at a human's pace, ascending the hilltop to our house smoothly.