Vampirific

A series of letters Claire and Chelsea, two characters who are very much alike in both character and appearance but so very different in race and history, wrote to each other as part to understand each other, the other kind and perhaps even their own, better.

'At that moment, I struck me how much our kinds are alike. Of course there are differences; we have some humanity in us, a last sniff of it, the last tie to our own soul, whereas demons apparently consume souls to replace their own, gone forever. The shinigami are weary, suspicious like my own kind. How not many of us bind themselves permanently to another, in fear of losing this dear one. There are not many familial ties, and those that do exist are usually very badly.'

'Weary, you say? It is in our nature to be wary around strangers of other species. Old records show that there were many before us, that were not friendly towards mine because of what we do. Our job is the inevitable. Not many seem to realize that death does not wait for petty mortal rites and rituals.'

'Mortals are foolish. They live too short to see. I have watched, but I do not the riddles of the world. I ought not to. Some things are not meant for the eyes of my kin. Some things aren't meant for the eyes of yours, either. I wonder if there is something beyond this long stretch of unlife that is before me. Something like redemption.'

'Didn't the blonde have found the answer to that? About heaven, or hell?'

'Those, too, are foolish mortal beliefs. I do not know what Lestat saw. But seeing as Claudia came to me and told me there is no such thing, I am not sure any more.'

'Ghosts are strange creatures. Elders of my kind have never figured out what they are. Some just leave, others need some sort of completion in their afterlife. I have encountered a few, and none were friendly towards me.'

'I have met more than a few, but my eyesight for them is fading. It has happened before, and I can only hope it will return.'

'My eyesight will always remain the same. Those glasses are actual shinigami glasses, but do not hinder my eyesight for ghosts. They are frightened of me, and perhaps for good reason. There are ghosthunters among us, but that might be only rumours.'

'Rumours are perhaps man's deadliest weapon.'

Some days, I wonder how it has become so easy to ignore the world’s beauties. While my close friend Louis still gets enchanted by a simple thing like the flame of a candle, I can walk through valleys and ignore their beauty. Recently, I have been staying with Marius. Mentally, he is older than me, since I have slept for many centuries. While we are both artists, his work is stunning. He sees the beauty like Louis does, and learns me to look like them. It is hard, but it pays off in my works.

I have never experienced a heightening of senses like that. My extra senses awoke gradually, and therefore I never really did see those beauties you speak off. Perhaps it is because your senses are not perfected for the job I do. If death is with the bouquet of senses, we’ll pick it up earlier than the smell of roses a meter away from us. We feel dying souls near us, our eyes focus on them even if they are only in the corners of our eyes. We are born workaholics, as it is in our blood.

You say you are a workaholic, that it is in your genes. But it is in my blood to, to be a workaholic. You grow out of it, though. When you are young, or weak, all your senses are fixed upon your mortal prey; the beating of his heart, the smell of his blood. When we are fulfilled, our senses focus upon other things. It is the sudden clarity after the drink, after the Swoon as we call it, that makes us see these wonders. When the Swoon becomes less and less, the urge to feed quenches, the clarity will appear too, until it is all a monotone grey, so to speak.

I learned myself to see those beauties. This must mean it is possible for one of your kind, too. Shinigami are not the worst; demons are said to see even less beauty. I am not sure: I never asked one of my family. Perhaps I should, perhaps I should leave it be. At least you can teach a half-demon to see the world’s beauty. Perhaps, it’s in his genes too. My young Drake is three, but already naming the colors like a game. His sister, Esmeralda, enjoys the piano more, playing day in day out under the skillful guidance of my butler.

Sybelle plays day in day out, too. She plays the appasionata every time. That is why Marius has gotten an own house for her and her companion, Benji. A long companionship used to be long, but something has changed. Perhaps it is the fact that there are rules now. We are not as free as we used to be, we cannot begin wars, or make fledglings freely anymore. Since our Coven was made, companionships seemed to last longer. The fact that it was only we, a lucky few, that had survived the slaughter must have done something to the bonds…