May 5th, 1923: Manhattan New York
The air was warm but the streets were cold. I had been cautious and wary but, what later would come to be known as "the roaring twenties," had enchanted Cyrilla and she was the bell of the ball at every ball. Walled up in our high rise castle in the heart of the city was not her idea of living our eternity but I knew that living only exposed us to those who knew who we were.
After many years of working my way up to advisor to Prince Vidal of New Orleans I had left my position after the debacle in Greece and become somewhat of a shut in. Cyrilla projected visions of extravagant parties in Long Island mansions and I could only find myself scanning the faces that she saw for suspicious characters mixed in the crowd. She never was far from hired goons who waited on her like secret service agents to the president but still, I saw the others: ever watching, waiting and these were the type of patient assailants who could wait an eternity as they had no timeline to complete some prophesied struggle for power.
Removing myself from a seat of respectability had only fueled their resolve even though I had anticipated it vindicating me from a spot light of the kindred world. On the positive side, the world was wealthy and people were fat. It was not the time of hiding for those not being hunted. It had never been easier to have the luxury of not having to kill. I could only feed on vampire blood for my level of power, but the readily available supply of any kind of blood overflowed and we were well taken care of.
I could sense the impending doom of mankind, though. Not even through a vision of the future or anything like that but 300 years will give you somewhat of a skepticism towards good times lasting forever. It amused me that with mankind's opiate being banned they were still as jovial as ever. I saw a great many at, what the kind referred to as "speakeasy's," face down in a puddle of their own filth and yet they were happy.
As motor cars replaced horses, Cyrilla became enchanted with long rides to nowhere and the fast paced world of parties without me by her side. It pushed me away from her so one night, as we stood out on the balcony, she looked at me and said, "I can't keep on doing this?"
"Doing what, my love?" I said.
"Ha! You don't even see what's going on, do you? You're so wrapped up in some fear of the kindred that you are completely incapable of seeing the destruction of our wild lifestyle we've lived for over a hundred years."
"I've seen it Cyrilla but you have become childish in your age. Do you forget your place in our kind? Do you forget Greece?"
"Spare me!" She said, "What cowards hide from fear of death: I call them mortal."
The next day, I took a ride with her in a motor car that was relatively simple to go out and simply purchase. Fear had overtaken me after such a sudden halt of so many years of frivolity but going faster than any man had gone over land save those in these metal carriages, re-invigorated me. With such life back in my cold bones, I decided to go out to the kindred speakeasy later that night.
We got there around eight and Cyrilla had already begun snacking, in some back room, on a gorgeous, young socialite; the likes of which I never could have charmed like she did. The difference was after feasting, many of her victims would end up wandering the street estranged from anything that remotely looked like what she wanted them to fear. That, or they could be seen in mental hospitals. How delightfully evil she was and in such dark times, it was my only source of solace to the problems of her would be captors.
As I had gotten a 20 something year old kindred to fall completely for me; they fall so quickly when they're young, I brought her into a back room and began to feed on her. through her blood I saw a young life of this century. I saw poor beginnings and a drive for power; hard work and dedication to live the complete life of a human, a lengthy struggle to the top only to be turned by a covetous master who took her life, took her hard earnings and gave her a new one as a slave to him. Fear not for merciful death has come to take you, child. Within her last drop of blood, I got a glimpse of her master's blood mixed with hers to turn her and I saw Cyrilla.
"Who was he?" I screamed at her, removing my fangs and shaking her like a juice box, but she was already dead.
I burst in the room where Cyrilla had her dinner and found her dripping with blood and the pieces of a corpse strewn about with jagged edges.
"You're angry, darling," I said.
"Shut your mouth!" She screamed. "That fowl was thinking of my face as if he'd been trained to think of it. He thought of hundeds of faces of people I've called friend over a thousand years. Such insolence can only be the work of an old one."
"He was an old one and you took him apart with such ease?"
"He was a slave! No more than your trollop. Yes I saw her. You always pick such sleaze."
Her face was that of rage but her heart wreaked of sadness and offense. It was as if these people were offending her personally by diving into her life; violating her past. As I picked her up off the floor and brought her to the club showers, we bathed together and fed off each other. Our bond growing tighter as our forms literally meshed to one in every way.
The blood of infidels circled the drain and we trusted no one except the one in front of us, who had been inside of us.
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