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Memories Only One Knows; Charade's Secrets of the Past
Topic Started: Sep 24 2006, 10:49 PM (109 Views)
Professor Charade Blackwell
Unregistered

Journal,

Yes, I am starting a small Journal now. Who would have guessed it? Charade Blackwell, the mysterious and dangerous vampire, starting a simple Journal? But, I have decided to do it, if only to rebel against those who doubt me.
I am not sure what one writes in these, I usually do not find time for such things. My thoughts have weighed heavy upon my head these last few years and I find myself wandering my past too often. Perhaps I shall find deliverance through this small, black leather bound book. A place to relay my thoughts and make sure that none read them.
I suppose that I should start from the beginning to be able to read back and recall both fond and horrible memories.

I was just a small child when I found out who I was. My father, Count Vanthares, was one of my kind. He was my deliverer. Yes, he was the one who gave me this curse and blessing. He was the one gave me the beast and now lives thrives in my soul. He was a proud man, my father. Always put on airs. He wore elegant clothes, as all vampires have such an attraction to, and believed himself to be the best of all. The only other he loved more than himself was my mother.
Oh, my heart bleeds as I can recall her face. She was beautiful, the essence of beauty. She too had vampire blood, however only half. She was the witch in the family, the one with the "human's" magic. She never complained. My mother, the Goddess who had come down to earth to produce children that weren't half as beautiful as her, was there to comfort me and my older brothers in times of horror. She was the warm parent, the one we went to to seek comfort and the safety of her arms. She was always there.
Yes, I love them both. My father and she now live alone, no one knows where they are besides Radant.
I mentioned my older brothers earlier, did I not? Yes, there were four of them. All strong and healthy. All wonderful and horrible to me, as siblings often are. They stood up for me and helped me through tough times. Until the day they past away. Oh Journal, tears fall down my face as I can recall the day they left the world. The day they left me. And whose fault was it? Mine. They died at my own hands.
I will never forget their eyes, their faces as they realized they would leave. They didn't even raise a hand of resistance, they loved me so. They believed it was a hoax, a cruel trick. But no, Journal, it was all very real.
I cannot recount the last night that I was still whole, though I visit it in my dreams often. Vampires have few weaknesses, one being the disembowelment of our intestines. Yes, Journal, that is what I did. I killed them all, just because the curse that lives inside me broke free and destroyed those that I held dear.
Even now, Journal, tears slide down my face in painful streams. I remember them so well, their faces and their moods. Their beings, they were really the best brothers one could ever wish for. They stood up for me, me! Against those that hurt me and teased me. They helped me up from my knees, gave me strength. They loved me and I them. But, oh this curse, the curse opened my most fiercest emotions. My fiercest dangers. My most fiercest fears.
Yes, Journal, fate had its revenge on me for what I did. I cannot remember a time when I remember my brothers that I do not cry. I remember them so well that their faces haunt me, my own past haunts me still. I told my parents a lie and I live by the lie even now. I told them that I had found my brothers there, in the dark forest that had claimed their lives, and that I had seen our Uncle flee the scene. Yes, my father killed my Uncle himself, but it didn't do any good to erase the hole that was embedded in his heart. He had lost his four sons all in the same night. I believe I was only 12 when I killed them, home for the summer. They had already begun to live in the world and try to make a fortune for themselves. They never even got the chance.

Journal, I cannot write anymore. Tears blind my eyes and my hand has started to shake. I cannot fall asleep for I know that my brothers will haunt my dreams. I do not believe that I have had my blood for this month, no. I will tell you perhaps another time about my weaknesses, for I must write them down. Yes, those that tell you that keeping a Journal is wicked are wrong. It is a very good way to let your feelings out without hurting another. Which I so often have done in the past.
I am now to change into my wild form and hunt. My soul yearns for the release it needs and I must succumb to it, I have no power over this curse. This curse that binds me together and makes me who I am.

-- Charade Blackwell
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Professor Charade Blackwell
Unregistered

Journal,

As I look back at my former entry, I realize how emotional I am now able to become. Vampires are not supposed to feel anything, we are supposed to be cold blooded and vicious. Not warm and caring. Certainly not sad and regretful. But, I am not like others of my race. My mother brought that out in me, I suppose. And perhaps in my brothers. I still miss them, Journal. Even now, years later. My parents have fled away from me, they know what I can do. Ever since that night, they never treated me the same. My mother didn't know as well as my father. He saw straight into my soul and saw the miseries and horrible past taunts. Yes, even now, I am sure he would still be able to see the little girl I once was. I am told by elder people that these Journals get emotional for younger persons (apparently 11-12). Does this mean that I am but 10?

No, this cannot mean that and never will. I am not ten years old as I once was. Where was I at ten? Oh yes, attending Olympus. That was a school also for unique ones. So many were almost exactly like me, they all had something that seperated them from others. And I actually felt wanted and safe there. There was nothing that would hurt me and I felt so strong. Silly how, even now as an adult, I do not feel that strength that I once did. Now I am weak, but a mere shadow of what I once was. I admire the coldness that others can produce, but I know that that is not truely who they are. Everyone is warm on the inside, there is not one who is cold. Look at this, Charade Blackwell writing down 'wisdom'. Ha, as if I could write down anything wise.

My writing chair has decided to become uncomfortable and I must leave it now. The air and freshness outside calls to my inner nature and, as before, I cannot deny it. The vampire blood that runs through me is who I am and I am not one for denying who one is on the inside.

-- Charade Blackwell
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