When he finally returned, my face expressed no surprise. I had never stopped expecting him, though my heart had hardened against him. He entered the room soundlessly, to find me immersed in tepid water, Lord of the Dead appropriately in hand. Never uttering a word, he knelt beside the tub and ran his hand through the water. Raised inches above my body, the water dropped from his finger tips to run slowly down my shoulder, my breast, my back. As I met his gaze, his hand went to my throat. I knew with the slightest effort he could force me under and hold me there, ending my entire existence in a matter of minutes.
I looked into his eyes and willed him to do it. I'd been begging, praying for death for months. And this would be a most poetic way of answering my prayers, if only he had the courage to do so. He looked deep into my eyes, searching. For goodness? Truth? Redemption? Hope? He would find none of those things.
In an instant his eyes changed and I, willing to accept death, was startled as he raised my face towards him. With his kiss he was seizing my soul. And I surrendered it to him. After, he held my face in his hands a second longer, then rose and walked out the door.
My life was never the same. Nor did I ever see
him again. 'Tis a pity, for he still has my soul. But in a paradoxical way,
he did answer my prayer. For now I too am among the Living Dead.
-an original short story by Laurie
George's Place
Vive La France!
Vampyres
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