The Vampire's Lament

From a delicate kiss of your lips, you snatch the life from a new victim. You let their body slump onto the bed and sit beside them. You gaze at them; in the past, you would have torn them apart, driven by your uncontrollable thirst for blood; or so you think. You've lived through so many seasons that you've lost the sense of what the past truly is. Now, the blood seeping from the corners of your lips no longer has even a hint of its old effect; it's just sustenance.

You clench your fists until they pale more than usual. It's all that damned girl's fault; you don't remember her face, the place where you attacked her, or the taste of her blood; but you do recall her innocent voice asking you the same question every night:

Who are you?

That was the trigger. Those simple words wormed their way into your heart like worms in a rotten apple. And like the worms, they devour you from within.

No matter how hard you try, you can't find an answer to that question, even as you accept yourself as a vampire, lord of the night. But that brief solution doesn't satisfy you. Before, in a time when this ruinous castle didn't even exist, you were a man, a poor mortal like those who are now your livestock.

You stop gazing at the corpse and rise to your feet. You walk through the dark castle halls lost in the tormenting thoughts. Perhaps, if you can discover who you are, the blood will regain its beauty.

But that's impossible; living for so long, you've not only lost memories but also your identity. No matter how much you accept yourself as a vampire, without that small part that was once human, you'll never possess all the pieces of your existence. The girl's question will remain unanswered, and the blood will be as tasteless as your life.

You halt in front of the steps that lead up to the tallest tower. You step onto the first one and decide; when you reach the end, you'll do what you should have done a long time ago.

But how will you figure out who you are? You've tried everything; potions, elixirs, and spells have no such power. Only one can achieve such a thing, yourself. If you were a mortal, you would have hope and the possibility to succeed. You would gather the small fragments of your life and piece them together to glimpse the image of your complete existence. But as a vampire, you can only resign yourself.

You release all your frustration through your throat. The scream echoes through the castle and shakes its surroundings. It's the last cry the earth will hear from you.

You reach the top of the tower just in time; dawn is approaching. As you glimpse the first rays of sunlight, what you do remember are the words of that old sorcerer; the one you killed in anger for not revealing the magic that would transform you into yourself:

No man has ever been entirely himself, but all aspire to become so, some obscurely, others more clearly, each one as he can.

How right his words were.

Unable to endure such torment for all eternity, you allow the light to consume you and the breeze to scatter your laments in the form of ashes...