I know not what drove me to visit the castle graveyard that night but the cold October air was refreshing on my face after hours of pointless sex. My libido had finally calmed enough to let me have a couple hours unfettered by lust. The dry, scraggly leaves that blanketed the ground around the myriad old, lovingly tended gravestones rustled under my feet and made me wonder who would take up the mantle of gravedigger after the octogenarian Randall passed on. He was one of the few old servants left who had no children to apprentice to his trade, nor did he seem to desire to teach any of the many youth who'd grown up around the manor.
First, I visited my own emptied grave. My name sat regally embossed on the crumbling stone. The empty casket mouldering and decrepit in the still open, but mostly collapsed, plot. I looked at the neighboring stone which bore my brother's name, now weathered to almost nothing. The burial site was also empty, but the ground encasing it was undisturbed.
A memory seemed to dance before me. A moment later I realized it wasn't my vivid imagination but an actual spectre. I caught myself stepping forward and quickly reversed my direction. The image reached out to me and I was caught between longing memories and brutal reality.
"I know you're not really my soul twin," I stated.
For a minute, only a stiff breeze rushing through chattering branches was the only sound. Then a ghostly echo of his voice could be heard in the wind. I blinked, not daring to believe, not wanting this wish to evaporate, but unsure that I had any semblance of control in the situation. He was different in some undefinable way, but I could feel in my soul it was him.
"Why?" was all I could manage. My advanced age had caught up with me and my original reason for sending him away was lost to the centuries past.
"I could sense that your time as a mortal is ending," he whispered.
"My time? What of yours?"
"I am no longer mortal."
"Have you become a harbinger?"
"Not as such. I'm a deity. I want you to be eternal consort."
"A deity of what?"
There was a slight catch of hesitation before he answered. "I intend to sire a race of vampires."
I was flabbergasted. "Could you not have simply been a god of assassins or death?"
"I probably will be. There is no existing pantheon where my influence is felt."
"And you want me to ... aid you in your task... to create this vampiric race?"
My objections were merely my mouth sounding intelligent. My heart had already made its decision.
First, I visited my own emptied grave. My name sat regally embossed on the crumbling stone. The empty casket mouldering and decrepit in the still open, but mostly collapsed, plot. I looked at the neighboring stone which bore my brother's name, now weathered to almost nothing. The burial site was also empty, but the ground encasing it was undisturbed.
A memory seemed to dance before me. A moment later I realized it wasn't my vivid imagination but an actual spectre. I caught myself stepping forward and quickly reversed my direction. The image reached out to me and I was caught between longing memories and brutal reality.
"I know you're not really my soul twin," I stated.
For a minute, only a stiff breeze rushing through chattering branches was the only sound. Then a ghostly echo of his voice could be heard in the wind. I blinked, not daring to believe, not wanting this wish to evaporate, but unsure that I had any semblance of control in the situation. He was different in some undefinable way, but I could feel in my soul it was him.
"Why?" was all I could manage. My advanced age had caught up with me and my original reason for sending him away was lost to the centuries past.
"I could sense that your time as a mortal is ending," he whispered.
"My time? What of yours?"
"I am no longer mortal."
"Have you become a harbinger?"
"Not as such. I'm a deity. I want you to be eternal consort."
"A deity of what?"
There was a slight catch of hesitation before he answered. "I intend to sire a race of vampires."
I was flabbergasted. "Could you not have simply been a god of assassins or death?"
"I probably will be. There is no existing pantheon where my influence is felt."
"And you want me to ... aid you in your task... to create this vampiric race?"
My objections were merely my mouth sounding intelligent. My heart had already made its decision.
| Setting: | Derelict Graveyard |
| Plot: | The Collector |
| Narrative Device: | Poor Communication Kills |
| Hero: | Commanding Coolness |
| Villain: | Alas Poor Villain |
| Character As Device: | Always Lawful Good |
| Characterization Device: | Switching POV |
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