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Library: The Soul of Winter

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Author: Evora
Date:Nov 2 1995

Snow covered the earth like a heavy blanket upon one whom didn't wish to wake.
Skeletal trees reached with bare arms to the grey heavans in hopes
perhaps of spring, but spring was a long time in coming yet.  Another winter.
I don't remember the number of winters I have seen, like empty pages in a
book, they stand in my memory as a long white blur, daring me to put words or
pictures upon their stark surface.  I have seen many winters.
     Something stirred within me tonight, as I rose from the place which hides
me from the day.  Something of a memory that haunts at the back of my mind but
will not be seen.  I treasure it for the mystery it is.  There are so few
mysteries left . . . there is so little left to see.
     Wrapped in my thoughts, I enter the cold winter night.  There are lights
in the distance and they draw me to them.  I have hunted here before,
recently, and part of me feels I should be more cautious.  I ignore this part
and advance to the lights, for nothing draws a shadow faster than light, and I
am little more than shadow . . . now.
     The village is quiet when I enter it, the air is filled with saddness and
one mind close by holds such pain that I find myself pulled towards it. 
Perhaps this once, my kiss would be welcomed.
     He is alone, this tortured one, and young.  I am curious, what could
cause such pain in one so young that his pain reaches me when unsought.  Two
mysteries in one night, I am fortunate.  His home is near others and as I come
close, I can feel the lives within the wooden shells.  Fragments of thought
drift to my mind from those within and for a brief moment, I feel the pang of
longing for what once was.  It passes, as all things do, and again within me
there is little more than the cold, and the two mysteries.
     And now I am at his window, peering into his world through a glass that
separates us in more ways than the living could imagine.  He sits on the edge
of his bed, a bed too large for one who sleeps alone.  He does not see me, nor
could he unless I wished it.  He stares out the window at nothing, but his
eyes tell stories that words could never match.  She is dead.
The grief he feels flows against me in waves and fills me with emotion . . .
passion.  I feel such a desire for this passion that it is all I can do not to
hurl myself through the glass . . . even if I could.  I almost remember being
loved that strongly . . . almost remember loving.  Perhaps he was not the only
one to project emotion for he was now looking directly at me . . . seeing me.
Startled, I move quickly from the window, wondering why I was filled
with such apprehension.  And now he is moving.  I can hear him walking to
the window, see the heat of his breath upon it as he searched for what could
only have been an aparition.  I am about to leave when I hear the window
open and hear his voice calling out for someone named Anna.  Such pain and
hope in that voice, such longing.  I almost wish I could be the one 
he called to, and though he had seen me, it was for her he called.
     I drew the cold again inside me.  I am Evora DuGrey.  I have been a
vampire for more years than Anna walked this earth and it is foolish to
entertain emotions over this one who will become prey should he leave the
safety of that house.
     No sooner were those thoughts within my mind than did I hear the sound of
the lock clik and the door open.  There he stood, looking out into the night
for his lost love.  What would he find?  I stood for moments, watching him. 
He was very handsome.  Strong, young, and in happier times, his eyes were
probably the color of the day sky.  Though I have forgotten many things, the
color of the day sky is not one of them.
     On a whim, I let him see me.  Almost at once he begins to run towards me,
calling out the name of his loved one . . . and then, he sees me clearly
enough to know I am not she.  He slows his run and the look of disappointment
is clear on his face.  Suddenly, I hate him.
It is all I can do not to take him now.  To sink my fangs into his neck and
draw from him every drop of his precious lifesblood.  And then he is speaking
to me.
     He asks me if I am alright and apologizes that he had confused me with
another.  I start to reply and my voice breaks as I tell him it is alright.  I
have not spoken aloud in years.  He asks me if I would like something warm to
drink, perhaps mistaking my weak voice with a need for help.  All he has
really done is remove the only protection he had from me.  I don't know why,
but I accept his invitation inside.
     He tells me his name is Stevan and tells me to make myself comfortable as
he puts on a kettle of water to make tea.  His home is somewhat disheveled and
the feeling of saddness within it can almost be touched.  Stevan tells me that
he hasn't seen me here before and asks me questions that I answer with simple
lies.  As I sit in this mans home, pretending to be something I am not, my
mind is whirling with questions.  Why am I doing this?  The hunger burns at
me, urging me to take from this human . . . . as if I am not human.  I am not
human.
I can no longer resist and ask him if something is wrong.  He looks at me
with eyes that stir what was once my soul and tells me he has lost his wife. 
Against all better judgement, I ask him to tell me what had happened and the
feeling I had as I rose this evening begins again.  He tells me they had only
been married a month earlier and that he had loved her for years.  As he
speaks, I have already come to know that this man will not be my victim this
night.  I listen to him speak of how she left late from a friends house and
did not come home.  How he went in search of her and found no sign until the
next day when a village boy found her in an alley.  How she was barely alive
and how hard she fought to keep her life.  How she died later that evening. 
That is all I hear for by now I have moved across the room to the door and
have fled into the night.  I had fed in this village recently . . . had fed
upon a woman who fought me as few others did.  Even as the life was drained
from her did her soul struggle to keep the light.  I sail over the ground
filled with emotions that I thought had long ago left me.  I had promised not
to make Stevan my victim and had broken that promise before ever seeing him. 
I move aimlessly over snow covered land, between stark skeletal trees, through
the night until morning.  I sink into the place I hide from the day and wait
for the darkness of sleep.  I wait for the end of Winter.


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