. . . .I was born to parents both of Italian blood, and though something in my appearance still speaks of this, and I am now and always have been perfectly fluent in the native tongue, I regret to say I have barely set foot upon Italian ground.
. . . .My mother and father were married in the splendour of Venice, yet at the death of my father's uncle, and the handsome sum of money my father acquired from this, they together migrated to England, where my mother was soon with child.
. . . .I was born within the beauty that is England, and christened Nathaniel Cortléderla. My childhood was a initially happy one and I wanted for nothing, though I was barely a year old when my mother fell fatally ill, and neither doctors nor medication of the highest calibre could appease the failing of her weakened body.
. . . .She passed away painlessly in her sleep as I approached 18 months, and my devastated father found only yet more pain in the sight of me, for I always had my mother's eyes.
. . . .I was talented in the field of literature, and complimented endlessly by my tutors upon my works of poetry, and even once the beginnings of a novel. Yet my father was blind to my endless efforts to draw upon his affection, and deaf to the messages within that which I wrote.
. . . .As I came upon my 18th birthday, which in those days classed me as a fully grown man within my own right, my father had become a stranger to me. I saw less and less of him, for he would rarely meet me at dinner, nor converse with my as I had seen the parents of my close friends do.
. . . .Now I must stress this clearly, else I lead you astray: I was not a deprived child. There was nothing in the way of books, clothing or any other category of a young man's needs which I was denied, yet it was only the knowledge of my father's affection and love for me which I wanted, yet could never acquire. I do not doubt that he did love me, but perhaps somewhere in his heart of hearts blamed me for my mother's death. Despite my knowledge that it was in no way my fault, the notion never seemed quite so strange to me as perchance it will to you.
. . . .The years passed in stony silence, yet with my intellect as it consequently was, I found it less than an arduous task to work my way and acquire a pleasing some of money with which to keep myself not only clothed and fed, but with surplus supplies of both paper and writing utensils.
. . . .My father remained ever after a widower, and strangely enough, I had not yet a house of my own, nor wife with which to coax some joy from my father. I was not for want of lady friends, and one pleasant girl by the name of Maria commented that my "ruggedly chiselled good looks", for so she put it, were to be my downfall. She is yet to be proven right.
. . . .I had not yet found in all my travels a woman to please me well enough, that I could possibly consider dedicating my whole life to, nor she to me.
. . . .A great sadness had fallen upon me, and sense of inane being, and I took to spending my nights within the filthy taverns upon the outskirts of the town, basking in the affections of the wenches who threw themselves upon me, and the adoring eyes of those who looked up to my freshly acquired gambling skills. It was then, and is now, a filthy habit, and one indeed which tends to go hand in hand with drink.
. . . .It was upon one such night, after a particular and unfamiliar losing streak, as I wandered and stumbled home over the harsh cobble streets, that She found me in my destitution.
. . . .My memories of this night have become clouded over the years, yet even had you asked me upon the following morning of the events, I would not have been able to tell you the exact details.
. . . .Most vividly to I remember green velvet. An uncanny recollection of the fabric of Her gown. She stepped from the shadows with a grace most ethereal, Her form so small it could be thought of as that of a teenager, yet Her eyes so old, so knowledgeable, that I believe I stopped and shamelessly stared in an awe I still feel today.
. . . .It was in fact those eyes themselves which truly captured my heart. They shone in a glittering emerald which seemed to snare the moonlight, and cast tender shadows over Her porcelain, doll-like visage. Her silken locks were gentle curls of flame red and auburn, reminding me ironically of the glorious colours of sunrise.
. . . .I recall Her reaching out a tiny hand to me, and as I took it I felt not only the marble coolness of Her ivory flesh, but also a shock that pulsed through me like some electric current, leaving my mind in a sickening whirl, more frightening than the worst of alcohol reels I had ever encountered.
. . . .I remember her appeasing my fear in tones of soft seduction, Her voice seeming always to verge upon a purr, the shadows bending to Her will. She took me into her arms and I obliged with not the faintest hesitation, and though I had so many pounds in weight upon her, and at least a foot if not more in height, there was no doubt that evening as to who was comforting whom.
. . . .And then she kissed me.
. . . .There is, from that point, a void of time within my recollections, as though a wave of shadows had settled themselves upon my memories and refused to be moved, thus denying me ever truly remembering the remainder of that night.
. . . .What next I can gather of that evening, or by then it may have been morning, was awaking within the darkness of what I later learned to be Her chambers, her slight form curled up at my side. A definite aching throbbed within my limbs, and my head seemed to spin in that whirl I had become accustomed to, so unlike the drunken daze to which I had become little of a stranger. As I moistened my dry lips, my tongue brushed against unfamiliar structures within my mouth, which, upon gentle probing of the tongue were the slender and needle-like structures of my eye teeth.
. . . .I gasped and sat bolt upright, only to choke upon the air I did not strictly need. She stirred by my side, and kneeled carefully next to me, placing a tiny hand upon my cheek. And then She smiled.
. . . .A wave of peace washed over me; one I have not since felt, bar only the times within Her company.
. . . .As I grew it became my sole desire to please the man, and to make him proud in the only way I could be sure of doing so. I took to my school books like a child possessed, and by my 14th year, my knowledge was that of a child 3, even 4 years my major.
. . . .Her name was Corrida, and She became my angel. I have since learnt that the bond from sire to chylde is often one of similar strength, yet as I was Her first I believe She loved me then just as I had lost my heart to Her.
Gladly would I go into the years we consequently spent together, the days of the Haven and the years before all seemed to shatter… but so many years is not an easy thing to recount.
. . . .For little time was I known as Nathaniel, for such was not only a name, but a memory of a man I had once been, and believed myself to no longer resemble. I stood at the same, uncannily tall 6'4'' that I always had, yet my flesh was now of alabaster marble, pleasing to the eye and smooth to the touch. My locks, once a soft chocolate-brown had darkened to waves of raven silk, which I let fall loose in smooth curtains about my eyes, now onyx of both pupil and iris. I began to dress in colours more apt for my nocturnal disposition, and in more recent days the protection of my sable over-coat has become a true favourite of mine. My pleasing looks were a true asset to my cause, for my way is now and always has been that of tender seduction, rather than brutal and savage demand.
. . . .As I left the man I had once been further and further behind, my birth given name was lost within the sands of time, and the most natural way in which I took to the discipline of celerity led Corrida to laughingly address me as such.
. . . .Selaerity.
. . . .It was a name that took root, and one I bare to this very day.
. . . .She attempted upon many occasions throughout the years that followed, to enlighten me to the truth of our already designated fate. She wished me to learn of the prophecies, to read the scriptures and understand in manner which only such learning could yield, yet I remained head-strong and reluctant to return to my previous ways of studies, as it served only to remind me of my childhood days, and consequently my father.
. . . .I had never before raised my voice to her, but upon one unfortunate night our tempers somehow clashed, and in a furious rage I said so many things I instantly regretted.
. . . .I can only assume she awoke to find me gone, as in more recent years we had never spoken of the occasion once reconciled. I fled from her in shame…
. . . .It is only in the very recent years that we have been reunited. One night I came across a small tavern, and instantly felt the strength of Her presence within the room, however, she seemed somewhat weaker for the sake of blood abstention. We were reunited, wide eyed and incredulous as love struck teenagers upon a first meeting.
. . . .I bathed my senses in the glory of her sweet blood for the first time in so many, many years, and she in turn drew of my own. Her blood sang through my veins and left me feeling more joyful than I had ever been, save only for the night of our meeting. Once again we were together, and for a short time I was truly elated.
. . . .Throughout the years in which we had been parted, I had struggled to come to terms with my new life, or unlife as it truly was. When I say this, I do not mean the sudden lightness of my limbs, nor the stillness of my heart, or even the novel ability to view equally clearly whether I stood in darkness or candle light.
. . . .What I refer to is in fact the mastering of the disciplines, bestowed upon me through the Degenerái bloodline. The arts of Celerity, Obtenerbration and Dominance.
. . . .I am proud to say that such a task was a thing I managed rather sufficiently to say I was without the guidance of my Sire. Perhaps, somewhere in the darkest recesses of my mind, I had reverted once more to the state of the young school boy, Nathaniel, studying madly so as to please come the future.
. . . .My happiness was somewhat short-lived, for Corrida had much news for me, and not all of it was tender upon my ears.
. . . .During my years alone I had expected her to have re-embraced, for such is the need of many Sire's parted from their chylde. As predicted, she had indeed done so, yet not once, not twice, but in fact three times over.
. . . .I cannot be directly sure of the chronology, yet from what I gather the order was thus.
. . . .The girl's name was China. The sister I never met. Upon the occasional night where my fancy is taken to walk beside the river, I paint the picture of her face within my mind. I imagine her to be a creature of unmatchable beauty, of slight form and mystical grace. If you question now why it is that I do not merely seek her out, then let me lay your troublesome thoughts to rest with the simple fact. China is dead. I know not how, for I have seen the pain stir within Corrida's eyes to the mere mention of the girl's name, and thus I do not enquire further.
. . . .The next was a man introduced to me by the name of Forevermoon. I see no reason to lie to you, as I have come this far in perfect honesty, so I shall simply be frank in my thoughts.. I was most surprised at Corrida's choice. I met with the man shortly after the reunion of Corrida and myself, and took an instant and inexplicable dislike to him. Initially, I even questioned my own senses, believing him not to be my own brother for he moved past Corrida with the barest of nods. A nod reserved in most cases for pleasant strangers or casual acquaintances.
. . . .Perhaps what stunned and shocked me most was the pang of jealousy I felt within his presence. After all this time I believe I still looked upon Corrida as a lover, and the mere idea that this excuse of a Caintite had taken my place as such stirred within me a rage so violent that I became known to exit rooms strictly upon his arrival.
. . . .We see little of each other, and I do not for one moment doubt that to be a good thing. I continue to be moved upon the disrespect he shows, thus, Degenerái or not, he is no brother of mine.
. . . .Then came Mr. Christopher Antres.
. . . .In all honesty, my initial feelings toward Chris were a void of apathy, though in more recent days we have become close to a point one could almost call affectionate.
. . . .I said almost.
. . . .He grows stronger via his tutelage awarded by both myself and Corrida, and looks upon her, I believe, as a mother. I sense within him the potential to be strong.
. . . .Stronger, perhaps, than even myself. Though such complimentary words bestowed on ears so comparatively young can serve only to bring dire repercussions.
. . . .Which brings me to the inevitable question. Have I any childer of my own? No.. I have not. Indeed throughout the years I have searched with a practised eye for one who pleases me well enough to be given the dark gift, and welcomed into my family. I recall a similar sentiment when, in my boyhood, I searched for a wife to please my father. Somewhere, that perfect One awaits. This I do not doubt; yet if I am indeed false in my expectations, then may I spend eternity alone, save I settle for second best.
. . . .Now.. pray tell.. as I have divulged my life story upon your eager ears, how now do you see me? Do I appear to you as a monster, or an angel? And if by some chance we were to meet within the nights that followed, would you fall into my arms, or flee into the arms of the night?
. . . .Such is my story.. and may it now be laid to rest.
. . . .Until then, I shall wait for you behind each corner in the shadowy caress of evening, and when upon time you awake from you sleep at the midnight hour, your flesh bathed in cold sweat sheen, your limbs a tremble with the terrible foreboding of death's sweet kiss.. know that I remain near by. Out of sight, yet not of mind.
. . . .Waiting for you to share with me..
. . . ... the eternity that awaits.
)(Readers Note:This story was written by the player of §elærity §ævius...*I love him so...*
his character is the first of Corrida's Progeny...having there be only four...You most likely won't see much written of him, less it's broken thoughts, of Corrida's writings...)(
