Description
The ancient and tragic journey of the vampire Vittoria de Luca Bonenfant as she so vividly recalls. The struggles of an immortality she deems to be forsaken by God. A Christian who is loath to see her faith wain. A vampire with the profound inability to take mortal life and allow the warmth of human blood to make florid her pallor skin so that she might not be, in her view, this grotesque and perfect vision of conscious death. A vampire at a loss as she wanders the grey twilight- » » With you I leave my confessions, as in those wretched wooden rooms. Do with it as you like; tell it to your one, or to many, or burn it with my rosary, which I surely have blasphemed. How long ago the mortal soul in me was lost, I do not know. How long ago since I said, "Take me," with such hatred in my eyes. "Take me now from this cruelty!" But non, He would not. I know He has left me, my God, my Savior, my Abandoner, turned His crystalline gaze from my ruin. But with nervous hands and nervous breath did I pray to Him still, my breast cracked asunder as I strained to hear Him. But lo, that I heard the cold laughter of the Morning Star, and was blinded by the Son of Dawn. I said the words, "I will not go with you, Devil," and the Devil, who became the serpent of my rosary, and like a strange stigmata, bit my praying palm, pressed my fingerstips to his pallid lids, as though he felt a pull at his heart like so many strings. I loath him and do unto him cruel things. I like to do it. Because it is I, alas, who had become the Devil in the end, a savage Devil with sweet, ruddy tears at the rending of mortal flesh. Now, I daresay, no earthly living thing binds me to gracious mortal empathy, that mortal beating heart in its miserable rhythm. I have not eyes for their mourning visage, nor ears for their desperate cries. No heart for them. No heart. No heart that He may never forgive. #1 Poetic Prose #1 Musing photo credit: Laura Makabresku
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