another’s. I remember when the moon signaled romance
instead of morning. I remember lying in a bed, my love at
my side. Now, I lie in a coffin, a dead man who will never
die.
There is no gift in eternal life when you cannot live.
Hiding from the sun, dreading daylight, thirsting for only
blood. Why did this curse not take my memory? Why take
the most human part of me yet leave my heart to yearn, my
senses to relive the simple joys of the living? How much
easier it would be to abide the moon and sleep alone in the
cool, damp bed of earth if the warmth of her skin, the
smell of her hair, if the vibration of innocence and the
longing to touch for pure joy were not pressed in my soul.
Soul…perhaps the curse has taken that, as well. A soul
would have no place in a corpse who is not a corpse. If
there is a soul within me still, at least I am sure this curse
has blackened it, for whatever soul remains in this unholy
body is guilty of unspeakable things, guilty and burdened
and bound to the horror of an existence beyond my
control. I am not a monster. I am a man condemned.
Removed from the sun, I lie in shadows that hide
me not only from light, but also from love. I crouch within
this curse hiding from all that is alive until my very hunger,
my very thirst drives me from the shadows to kill. I detest
my own deeds. Yet, the curse prevents me from denying
this ugly hunger for unholy meals. I hate what I need. I
hate that the need surpasses my own power. I hate that I
no longer reign over my own will. I hate that I know the
difference between what I do and what I want to do. What
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