Pass me that beer and I'll tell you a story. Who's the story about?
A
dashing young man and the devil with the face of an angel that seduced
him.
Yes, you're correct, 'tis Angelus and myself.
I can still remember the night I was sired. It was a beautiful night,
the
moon was high and I was flushed with success, my pockets jangling with
weight of stolen coins. I'm quite the pickpocket, smooth tongued and
quick
fingered. It never bothered me whether I picked up a young gent or
a shy
maiden for a night of pleasure but I digress. I was doing well, the
picking
were rich and I was cocky, a little too cocky you could say.
I was riding high on my success when I made the mistake of deciding
to
relieve an Irish man of his wallet. The mistake that was to change
the
course of my life. I managed attract his attention, Angelus was always
one
for a pretty face and he bought me a drink. I could read his intentions
a
mile away. He had a pretty blonde thing with him but she didn't seem
to mind
him picking me up, hell, she seemed to enjoy it.
I spent an entertaining evening drinking with him and we both retired
to
bed. He's a wonderful lover, slow and tender or fast and hard, I didn't
care. He was unusually cold though.After we'd both given into lust
and the
bed was
rumpled and we had scratches trailing down our backs he pulled me close
and
fell asleep. I'm not normally one to stick around, it tends to go something
along the lines of have sex, nick wallet or jewels and leave
my victims to
their
slumber, but this was different I didn't want to move.
I ended up waiting till he rolled away from me. I felt so cold when
he did.
Strangely enough I never noticed his heart didn't beat, but I guess
the
drink had addled my brain. I slipped out of bed and picked up his forgotten
clothes from their places scattered around the room, searching for
that
wallet I'd seen when he'd paid for the many rounds of drinks. I don't
remember much after that. I guess he wasn't really asleep. His hand
connected with my face and I saw myself from somewhere far away, jerking
back. He loved to mark me. Show others that I was his. The golden boy.
Then silence. He was just holding me, I could feel his arms around me,
my
back pressed against his chest. I was strangely comforted. I knew God
wouldn't save me now. I was dancing with the devil and the waltz would
never
end. Sharp teeth grazed my neck and I could feel the ridges of his
true face
against my neck. It didn't hurt much, I was still floating above the
two of
us when those teeth, the ones that brought me such pleasure sunk themselves
into my neck. The blood was leaving me along with my life. Memories
passed
though my mind, Mama, dying slowly from typhoid, Papa, the day before
the
mine collapsed.
Angel of death and his willing victim, what a picture we must have made.
Eternal light against the dark but the light would become tarnished
over
time, the dark would see to that. He forced my mouth open, holding
his
bleeding wrist to it. I automatically suckled at it, the dull, copper
tang
of his blood passing down my throat, ironically, some of that blood
is my
own. It's last thing I remembered before the darkness took over and
any
remaining life fled this empty body.
When I woke up we were in a carriage, I was jolted upright a dull, gnawing
hunger deep in me. He fed me, not many sires do that it cause siphons
off
some of their power. The blonde from the bar was there. She seemed
proud of
him and me. Anything we did after that was tainted with blood and darkness.
It's a wonderful life, no rules, lots of killing and great sex.
And still the waltz plays on, the two of us dancing, never stopping.
Remember you never stop when you dance with the devil.