Forgotten Fledgling (Interlude with Armand) written by my dear friend Mlle. Cinzia It began with a dream, which has long been forgotten. I only knew that at once, the colors became so vivid, so frightfully beautiful, that I must awaken or die. As chance would have it, I did both that night. I awoke with a foreign name on my lips... Amadeo. A sweet taste of cherished heaven in the very syllables. He didn't seem to hear me say it, and neither of us wondered how I knew. There were no questions--not in that perfect moment. Those would come later, when there would be no one to answer them. For a moment I thought him a remnant of my dream...a ghost, a statue, with marble skin and features hewn by a master carver. An angel boy, missing only the wings. How could I have known that if he'd had wings, they would have been black? The only sign of life was in his eyes, great, dark pools of mystery, the spring woods at midnight. Those eyes touched me as surely as any pair of hands ever had, and they seared me to the core with adoration I could scarcely believe and could not dare to deny. Love at first sight, I thought, for I loved him immediately and completely. I shivered, and his lips bent to a smile. I knew it, then, that he had been sent to answer my prayers. He knew what I wanted. He would give me everything. I felt one fleeting moment of fear that I might do something, say something to spoil this moment and lose it all before he set it in my hands...but of him, I was never afraid. He sank into the bed beside me as if he belonged there. Perhaps he did. I had been saving that space for too long. He moved as the rightful owner...and I gave him that complete power over me. I wanted him. I would not resist, but rather welcome him in perfect honesty. I opened my mouth, but he placed a finger over my lips. No time for words... I lay still, trying to accept. How easy it is to long for something, how difficult to possess it. Hidden laughter in his throat, as if he knew my inner struggle, as if he had seen it all before. I couldn't think of that, of the others before me and the ones who would follow. Jealousy didn't belong to this night, to this union. The room was dusty and hot, and his hands on my skin were a cool balm, soothing away my violent passions. He bared my flesh so easily, so naturally that I hardly noticed. I dared to touch him, to lay my hands on his white chest, burrowing below the cloth of his shirt, and he allowed me this indulgence. Oh, I knew that Death would be beautiful, but would I have believed it walked in silken skin and fine auburn hair that fell in boyish locks over fathomless eyes? Do you love me? My heart, the merciless pounding the only movement of my flesh not utterly controlled by him. I knew he felt it, knew he cherished each beat and took it into himself even as his lips found my throat. I turned my head, encouraging him. Yes, yes, drink me. Take away this pain. Let it end. Yes, I love you. But I could not tell him so, even with my compliance. He knew he gave me what I wanted, that doing so would bring about his own necessary satisfaction, but did he know that I did, I could give him what he needed? I had not the means to prove my love, to make him believe. The sting of pain at my throat made me smile. He'd gone out of his way to make the sensation merely a brief unpleasance, but I embraced the feeling. I heard him swallow, and my body shuddered with sighs of mortal ecstasy...the little death to precede the real thing. His tender stroking, his gentle murmurs of assurance even as he drained me still made it all the more intense. And then, the brief tension in his limbs as his flesh shifted from cold to hot told me of his own ecstasy. I felt a moment of searing pride as darkness whispered in my ear that it was time to go. I had given him everything, and willingly. But then... Do you love me? I opened my eyes. How could I leave him if he didn't know? My parted lips couldn't force the words, but I saw the agony in his face. It was more than enough--it was what I had prayed for, this death, and yet he insisted upon giving me more. The slightest flick of a thumbnail brought a line of blood welling up from the skin of his chest just below the nipple, now blushing pink rather than marble white. It was my blood, I thought with some amazement. His arms encircled me, for I could not have moved, and he drew my head to his breast. Had I any strength, I would have laughed. Did he want me to drink? No, it was my place to submit, and his to lead me...not this... Yet if it was what he wanted, how could I refuse? The taste of blood in my mouth for the first time was completely intoxicating. I became eager, earnest. It was like swallowing thunder and lightning. I knew at once the desire to have all of someone, the desire to take his soul into myself. And behind it all came the first question: why? Why was he giving me this taste? I wanted death, and this was not death at all. This was life. Love, I thought in a great moment of clarity, was about life--not about death after all. Yes, I do love you. I will love you forever. But how can I prove it to you? And then there was no thought at all, only feeling. The sheets beneath us seemed too damp, writhing like snakes with our thrashing. The air was thick and hot, but it felt unbearably good on my cold, cold skin. His hands came down upon me again, soothing, calming, and I felt his amusement, opened my eyes to that devastating smile, and this time it seemed finally to touch his eyes. I tried to speak again, but he silenced me again, whispering that we should just lie quiet for a time, that the night was still young, that there was so much more to come. With his words, exhaustion poured through my limbs, and I knew he was right. I had to rest...despite my growing hunger. What came over me was not sleep, for I never knew true sleep again after that night. A fitful haze of slumber instead came upon me, and in its sticky web I waited for him to bring me back into myself. It seemed forever and yet scarcely a moment before those fangs found my throat again. How pleasant was his drinking, and never for a moment did I think of what had come to pass. It took me years to realize that he did not know, either. Do you love me? I heard the parting whisper and I tried to call out, tried to stop him from leaving me. Had I but been able to form the words, would he have turned back? Amadeo had come to give me the death I longed for, but left instead a child behind. I had wanted one perfect night of love, and then easeful death--or so I thought. But once I had tasted love, I knew I could not let it go. The taste of his blood given me in passion, meant only to revive me long enough to bring the pleasure of death to completion, had instead bestowed upon me the Dark Gift. By the time I knew what had passed, by the time I realized that I had become a vampire, the accidental spawn of an angel from Hell, Amadeo was gone. Yet...I had eternity in which to find him...didn't I? And find him I must, for I had a question that would drive me to madness until it was answered. Do you love me? [end]