Current mood:	confused
Current music:	Ad Vitam Aeternum - In the Throes of Apocalypse

Part LXXIX, story i
*gasps* What's this? Mimi's actually doing some squealing today? Why, yes, she is, so do, I advise you, ignore me. :D But whee! guess what? I went to this rather small book sale at the mall last Thursday to hunt for some classic lit and while amassing my uh, library (I ended up getting 14 books :D), my partner in the hunt, my mom, found... omg! Seriously, a few years ago, when it was my favourite book (after rereading it and the original story, I now have to say that the original is much better and is now my fave book ever.. *nods passionately*) , I was trying to find a copy of a certain title online and Amazon was giving me used paperbacks for 80$. I actually thought of stealing the copy from the library, but someone had already thought of it, so I had officially given up all hopes of attaining it, except as an e-book, and omg! the idiots had it for 30 cents... in the clearance bin!!! O__O I nearly fainted, but, he he he, added on top of that, there were actually prices on the insides of the books, ranging from 1-2$, yet the guy we went to thought we found all of them in the clearance bin or something, because we got them for 10$ cheaper than they should have been. He he he that's right, Mimi finally got some better luck and it's about time too! ... Although that was probably just so my ruined weekend after it wouldn't hit me as hard or something. :/ *sighs* That -would- be the only reason for it, I'm most convinced of it after the fact.



A/N: Ha ha I'm not exactly thrilled with the second part of this post. I don't actually know why I added in such an insignificant meeting and introduced the character, but ha ha I guess there needs to be something realistic thrown in there. Actually, I was thinking about how my dear Raffaello would go about doing everything on his own, when the man is so, so clueless, so I thought up some uh, help. Yeah... it's kinda silly, in my opinion, but we get some moroseness beforehand to make up for it. :DDD Enjoy!

June 24, 1897

Two years, one hundred and ninety days remain in which I must perform this foolish charade.

As expected, I have not returned to that small house where the lady of my affections lives. I cannot see her now, for there is such anger inside of me when my mind conjures her image. I see that tempting siren, with her hair undone and streaming around her in wild tresses, her face perpetually streaked with her flowing tears. This, of course, is something for which I alone am responsible. I am slowly but surely destroying her, as I have done to countless others and if fate should have foreordained me to continue in this world, I would continue to do so. I am a predator, an animal that hunts and kills for a living. There have been times when I have yearned to be human, to merge with mankind and forget the deceit I have orchestrated among this race. I grow weary of this meaningless life. I grow weary of this horrendous world.

I have contemplated this all evening, even in the brief moment I spent playing my beloved violoncello. Any fool could hear those sentiments permeating into my music and despite this, my maker has not resurfaced. Under normal circumstances, he would flicker in my head like a large, orange flame, blinding me momentarily and resuming his maniacal laughter. To-night, no such thing happened. I scan through these very pages, realizing with both contempt and grief that my maker has not come to me in quite some time. Why, the last time he had been here, Hylas was still residing in my house. Now, the boy is back to his normal life in London, my maker has returned to disregarding my presence and I am once more left to wallow in my solitude. It is a miserable existence and the only way to satisfy such urges inside of me – urges of self-destruction and punishment – is to sate that eternal appetite for blood, if only for a brief moment in time.

Ah, my writing is throwing me further into this pit of self-misery. I sit here at my desk and shake my head in sheer disbelief, not understanding why I do not cease such words and thoughts. It is unhealthy, my maker would say. No doubt, if my lady were here, she would carelessly fling this very journal from my hands and onto the ground, calmly stating that she does not want me to think like this. And she would cry. How I grow tired of tears! Tears of diamonds and crystals and of the most forbidden waters; liquid that is impossible to taste upon the tip of my inhuman tongue.

I shall cease this nonsense and return to my shallow sleep, knowing that it is nothing but a temporary escape from the troubles that continue to overwhelm me. Sleep is a drug, I suppose, just as blood is for my kind and opium is for the remainder of people on this earth. And I shall now allow it to fully intoxicate me.

June 26, 1897

I have improved, in terms of my mental state, since that horridly embarrassing chronicle of my life just two nights ago. As specified on that date, I have doused myself for the past two nights in nothing but mortal sleep, drifting in and out of this delirium until my body can no longer handle it. The craving for blood is not yet strong enough to sate and therefore, I began this night by wandering about the vast caverns of my home. I know not why I chose to do so, but my feet led me where my mind refused to allow me to go, into the barren music room where the harpsichord sat in utter silence. Having been in nothing but my shirt-sleeves, I merely sat down on the bench and laid my deplorable fingers upon the contrasting keys, letting the faintest trill escape into the air. Ah, this instrument as well as everything inside of this house (including myself) has seen far better times. It saddens me that all of this has fallen into permanent disrepair. Why, I recall so vividly the time where I sat at this instrument (that, of course, not being the exact one that lay before me now) and played with such fluidity that the ladies with their powdered wigs and painted fans would all stand behind me and flatter me with the most unnecessary compliments. Now, as I played that melody once more, it was heard by no one and I could not help but loathe it.

I fled from that accursed room in much haste, ending up with great surprise in the very chambers that had already been designated by my lady. They too remained utterly abandoned and lacked the personality I longed to feel. It was nothing but a hollow, dull room. I left it immediately and returned to the one place where I could focus on the crumbling remnants of my artificial life.

I know I must visit Madame Monteil soon. It hovers over like an omen, reminding me constantly that it is one task that needs to be done. Really, I cannot go on and ignore her until that dreaded date comes about. Of course, when I speak of this dreaded date, I refer to the night of our wedding. I shall be a married man. That fact, for some unbeknownst reason, causes me to laugh in sheer disbelief. Those words, projected onto paper, seem a paradox to the beast that stares back at me from that horrid looking glass. I am a monster, and this fact, this overly apparent fact, is the only thing that can fuel the indecision inside of me. I know it is wrong of me to abuse the sanctity of marriage in such a fashion, to mock the very religion I have been raised on and still firmly believe in. Why, it surprises me that God has not come down from His realm and raised the sun in the middle of the night, putting an end to the fiendish plans His earthbound daemon has orchestrated in his delusional and profoundly disturbed head.

The world continues as if this blasphemy were not taking place. Satan is taking a mortal virgin as his bride and not a soul notices. Due to my monstrous nature, I manage to laugh at this as well.

June 28, 1897

In this convoluted mind, I had never, in all my imagination, contemplated the fact that perhaps I need to prepare some gifts for my future bride. Truly, she cannot come into this house and survive on the few provisions I have here. Why, there is nothing here, even from the previous owner, to house a member of the fairer sex.

Now, I can earnestly say that the thought of marital proceedings and customs has not crossed my mind at all during these months. I am a man who was raised in an entirely different time, where a marriage was more of political or financial union. Never in my convoluted mind had I considered that I would be in such a situation and having nothing to rely on. Of course, I had not bothered to find the appropriate information about these modern-day proceedings and happened to stumble upon them quite accidentally in the book I was reading earlier to-night. With that knowledge so startlingly falling upon me, I realize with horror that I must do this properly.

Why do I speak of this? Ah, there is always a reason for my silly thoughts and this time, I have discovered there is only one way to go about this properly and that is to take the advice (or rather, search for) of a cultured lady. Alas, the inclination to follow through with these ideas is quite lacking to-night and therefore, I have vowed, on these very pages, to begin my plan on the night after to-morrow, mostly to sate that appalling hunger inside of me.

Oh, but I am in no mood to speak of this any longer! When the time shall come, I shall chronicle this properly. I must see Madame Monteil, and this I repeat in to-night’s entry mainly due to the fact that the desire to do so is lacking. Yet, I also know that if I do not see her soon, that brazen woman shall come here of her own volition and no doubt pound the door down with her incessant knocking. This is one thing I have noticed from her previous attempts. She, perhaps suspecting that the doorbell is not functioning, has presently decided that knocking is preferable. Truly, I know not where these ideas are produced, but I have to stop her before she returns. I have angered her and with every night that passes, I feel that distant emotion heightening. I chuckle now; quite amused by the image I have of her physically attacking me for my lack of interest in her. There are times when I wonder that if she were not possession of her angelic features and ample bosom, one might take her for a free-spirited man. Lord knows, she behaves like one at every occasion she gets. I shall visit her shortly, after I have gone about and concluded the necessary arrangements for my future bride.

June 30, 1897

Ah, how shall I begin this horrendous night? I cringe even now at the memory of the woman I have seen, thinking her the best source for such information. Of course, she has been of infinite help when it comes to my queries. As for her presence, she is but a nuisance and nothing more.

I fed last night, knowing that had I gone without receiving the necessary nutrition, I would lose my concentration to the skin on her neck and the blue veins running underneath the white flesh. Unlike Madame Monteil, who tries effortlessly to retain an air of propriety and lady-like charm, my host for this evening held neither of these assets.

Allow me to retract those statements and go the beginning of my frustrating tale. I fear I am being terribly unclear and that even I shall have trouble remembering the events of to-night with such a vague introduction. I have spoken about the bothersome groundskeeper from my neighbour’s estate on several occasions although for the moment I cannot recall the bloke’s name. Ah, that is of no importance now for I did not see him, but rather, his master.

Not having done so for a considerable time, I dressed the part of a gentleman to-night, locating a fine evening suit and pairing it up with the according hat and cloak. When I had finished, I proceeded to the grand manor on the adjoining property. The door was opened by a well-dressed servant who ushered me into the front hall and politely told me that both the master and lady of the house had retired for the night. Expecting such a response, I handed the young man my card (which I had conjured for this very purpose) and requested for him to bring that to his esteemed lady. He bowed and left me alone in the grand hall for several minutes, allowing me the time to inspect the surroundings around me. Even though I had been invited on many occasions to this very place, it still struck me as amusing that my barren and lonely manor seemed far more habitable than this ornamental creation. The marble floors beneath me were always cleaned and polished and if one did not know that an entire family, consisting of five children, and their horde of servants resided here, one would think it was nothing more than a museum.

According to my predictions, the servant returned and informed that the lady would be honoured to accept my visit and at these words, I was led down more manicured hallways and through my hostess’ dull, impersonal antechambers until the two of us reached our destination. The servant opened the door, bowed and signalled towards me. ‘Madame,’ he announced, ‘I present you Monsieur Petroni.’

The woman spun around from her upholstered bench and smiled up at me with great eagerness, clearly forgetting that, in mortal years, she was double my age. She stood up, wrapped her dressing gown over her nightclothes and approached me, warmly grasping my hands and allowing me to kiss the warm skin that was revealed. ‘Ah, Monsieur Petroni! What a delight to see you again! It has been such a long time. I do hope that my butler did not cause any problems for you. Really, he should know that you are welcome to visit my rooms at whatever hour you please.’ She laughed boldly and signalled me to have a seat in a nearby armchair, most likely put there for the very purpose of entertaining personal guests. ‘But you must forgive me, Monsieur, for I am in the midst of my evening toilette. Why, I must be a mess!’ She giggled once more, which could be better attributed to her small mass of daughters.

This was – for such a woman needs a proper introduction – Madame de T— (now, one may wonder why I have not further specified my neighbour’s name and there is one reason that although the rich are fools, their families retain their immortality as a clan.) I am sure that long after my death, the name will remain, most likely losing the noble claims that it has held in previous eras. Why, two centuries ago, I remember entertaining a marquise of the same name and if I had asked this very woman in front of me, she would confirm my suspicions that she was but a direct ancestor to this family. The rich, you see, are quite fanatical about their genealogy, another point which allows them to attain this false sense of superiority over others. Ah, but I shall return to this said woman!) Madame de T— was around fifty years of age, married to the illustrious marquis who happened to be a decade older than she and had borne him four children: an unfortunate set of three daughters and one son. They, to my knowledge, ranged from thirteen to one-and-twenty years and all happened to be, as of this moment, unmarried. Madame de T— was a kind woman and one of the very, very few wealthy individuals I could endure in this day and age, and this I mainly attributed to the fact that she was terribly old-fashioned. Her morals and ideals came from the previous century, ones untainted by the filthy revolutionaries and their meaningless, cruel purges. Her family had hailed from the countryside (something which I had been indulged in knowing) and this, she proudly told me, was the cause of her family’s survival.

Now, I suppose that is enough of this amusing woman for I cannot take up so much room and not say anything of our meeting. As mentioned earlier on, I had seated myself next to her as she undid the pins in her blond hair, revealing a myriad of white hairs intermingled with the ashen strands. Her blue eyes turned to face me in curiosity, wondering what had brought me here at such an hour.
‘Forgive me for not having brought any prior notice of my visit, Madame.’

‘Oh, you are always welcome in my boudoir, Monsieur. Such a handsome man must cause envy amongst my daughters. You are more fitted to be seeing them than their old mother.’ She laughed wearily as she signalled for her maid to clean her face and remove the paint that had obscured her age. ‘But tell me, young man, is there a reason why you have by here or is it simply a friendly visit?’

‘Does one need a reason to look upon such a beautiful face,’ I answered quite instinctively, knowing immediately that her resolve would soften and her smile to widen. Really, the wealthy all possessed one mind that had been raised to think in exactly the same manner, as if they were only capable of looking ahead of them. Their ideas were always ill thought of and underdeveloped, so much so that I held nothing against peering inside of that blank mind of hers and reading those shallow thoughts. As I did so, upon the words I had just uttered, she had hastily wondered what a joy it would be to take me to bed this instant. Yes, I am quite serious although I had the greatest urge to shudder at the very idea. My hostess, as one may very well see, is a certain type of woman that is far too prevalent along the upper classes. The fact that her husband, the aging marquis, was down the hall from her did not seem to faze her at all. She stood from her dressing table and reclined on a nearby chaise, calmly dismissing the two maids that had been circling her incessantly for the past few minutes.

‘Well then, Monsieur, what brings you here?’

‘Madame, you are a highly esteemed lady in my opinion, one whose discretion and honesty I can trust wholeheartedly for this matter which brings me here involves a particular member of your very own sex.’

She laughed softly, pressing her hand to her bosom and arching her head upon the back of her chair. ‘Oh, you amuse me so, young man.’

‘Renato, Madame,’ I added calmly.

‘Renato,’ she whispered playfully, upturning her pale lips and continuing. ‘Whatever are you referring to? I had always taken you to be a man greatly uninterested in our sex.’

I chuckled politely, leaning forward and sending a torrent of wild thoughts from the woman’s mind. Oh, how excited she was getting at this moment! It was terribly disquieting and even slightly appalling even though I did not wish to voice this at any time. Truly, I feel the guilt attack me even as I write it here. She was a poor woman who was deprived regularly of affection and for that, I most certainly could not blame her. ‘Madame, I have recently become engaged.’

And that poor woman’s mouth dropped until it was wide open, accentuating the similar state of her startled eyes. ‘You are engaged, Monsieur. Why, I had no idea you were even looking for a wife! If I had known, I would have gladly suggested my threesome. They are handsome, capable ladies. Ah, but congratulations are in order. I should really call for some drinks.’

I declined accordingly, a skill that I had developed to perfection at this point in my long life. ‘Madame, I am here to ask for some advice. I know that it is fitting to purchase something for my future bride in terms of where she shall be residing in my home. I am terribly ashamed that not only does my house not come equipped with such lady-like necessities, I am quite unsure of what is required.’

She laughed once more. ‘Surely, her maids would know something of this to a degree.’

‘She does not have maids, Madame,’ I calmly informed her, watching her face contort from surprise to great terror.

‘You are… you are marrying a girl of the middle class,’ she whispered in horror, revealing every bit of that old-fashioned woman to me.

‘No, Madame,’ I answered amusedly, quite taken aback with the emotion my hostess had shown towards me, knowing only it was regret she held towards her lost opportunity. Why, the woman truly believed that I would willingly accept one of her daughters as an ideal bride. They were nothing more than mindless chits, laughing and idling away their lives as if their little brains could not comprehend the passage of time. ‘She is simply not a titled aristocrat. But I do fear that I shall not be able to provide for her when she does come into my home as my wife. Surely, you must be aware of the items that a lady needs.’

‘Of course I shall help you, Monsieur; simply because I do adore you so much. Are you aware of what you are already in possession of?’

‘Madame, I know nothing about women,’ I told her honestly, truly humiliated that this was the case. Why, I had spent centuries upon this earth and females still posed the same enigmatic troubles as they had when I was a mortal. Of course, they too have seemingly evolved over the ages top become outspoken sirens, but I shall not speak of this now.

‘Shall you permit me to see,’ she asked eagerly. ‘I can come to-morrow afternoon.’

‘Alas, Madame, it seems that you have forgotten about my unfortunate condition. I can only properly entertain you after dark.’

‘No matter then,’ she announced excitedly, waving her hand in languid acceptance. ‘I shall come to-morrow evening. Do tell me, it has not improved in any way?’ She worriedly sat up, creasing her aged brow and peering at me for the first time without including that horrid lust.

‘Sadly, Madame, it seems to be worsening. I fear that my physician has advised for me to not risk exposing myself to daylight at all.’

‘Oh, you poor thing,’ she exclaimed and after I had accepted her pity, she wandered (as all ladies do) to talking of herself and her yet unmarried daughters. Really, it was despicable to hear the eagerness with which she spoke of ridding herself of the financial burden of her three children. If memory served me correctly, as it frequently did, two of those said children still had not reached the age of eighteen.

I had parted on the excuse that I was tiring my hostess out even though I had come to the point where her presence had become unendurable. I suppose that I am growing old and senile for those durations where I must pretend to play the part of a human and last through those trivial conversations is waning. Humans are insufferable now and I cannot understand how I could survive them in earlier times. Perhaps it is this horrid era, the modern age as so many of them proudly claim, that makes mankind increasingly bothersome.

Now, I am back at my home and truly wondering whether what I have done was wise. I do not want another mortal wandering throughout my home and exploring it until they can sate their curiosity. I want to be rid of them, all of them, until I am alone with nothing but immortals to revert to. I find myself thinking of my maker less often now, which is a horrid blasphemous thought in itself even though I know that he fully deserves it. He chose to forsake me and for that, I remain in my solitude, foolishly inviting mortals to come and temporarily amuse me.

I am contemplating, at this very moment, whether or not I should simply lock myself in my coffin and refuse to leave until to-morrow is over, merely blaming my rudeness on my poor disposition. At this time, the idea sounds very alluring indeed.

to be continued

PS. Remind me once for all to look up these Roman numerals... these nine-ending numbers are absolutely confusing me. -___-