Sunday, July 21, 2013

THE VAMPIRINA KNOWN AS THE LADY EUDORA STEMS FROM ANCIENT ETRUSCAN ROOTS... 7/22/13

She looked alabaster in the moonlight. Some vampires are that way. The magic settles differently on each of us. And her calm, balanced grace recalled the ladies of Olympia.  Her rich, brown hair was artfully arranged, high up off her neck... a mass of loose curls. Whether she had help, or did it herself, I did not know. But who am I kidding? Vampires always have help. A tiny night bird lit upon her wrist. She gently stroked its velvety back... pondered things for a moment and spoke. 

Welcome to the land of the dead - she said..... And she referred not to life-eaters, but to the mortals that surround them....... Make no human friends, for they will die. Their lives are but sparks dancing on the wind. The radiance fades so soon. They are like toys to me now. I see them. I smile. I talk politely and kill them in the nicest possible way. Sometimes I don't kill them. Yet they still die. Three weeks... Three decades. What does it matter? They walk with Persephone and Hades. Their brief time in the sun but an overture to dirges yet to come...... Am I troubling you? - she said..... I shook my head. She smiled. Not a great, beaming smile, but rather a small and knowing one. 

Then she told me of her youth in Etruria (modern Tuscany), almost eight hundred years ago. And how a vampire found her one day as she tidied the family crypt. At first she thought him the resurrected corpse of her uncle. It was dark in there, providing shelter from the sun. Certain vampires, in primitive places and long gone times liked crypts.... I do not, nor does Eudora. And she laughed a little, when she told me how he took her... right then and there... 'A mid-day snack' - he called her. 

She asked me of my nativity and I told her about Iberia and Galicia and my tribe up by the coast. For the first time, I missed them and thought about the children I'd never have. Eudora sensed my pain and kissed me. We embraced on the cool, damp grass. And then we spoke again. 

But there was always the hint of sadness about her. She'd seen cities crumble and cultures die. Night-folk live in an ever changing world. Oh, the on-going cavalcade may seem slow to you. But to her it seemed like the hippodrome (term for Roman race tracks) and the horses never stopped. 

Am I the first to speak to you about such things? Probably not. In truth, I do not entirely understand them myself. I am so newly made. But if I am 'fortunate,' cultures will die before my eyes too.

Remember, I speak to you from your past. And the complexity of my condition still baffles me....

(the channeling stops... wilkravitz stops typing and eats some potato chips...)

til next time...
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