Unlike most of her other object, her journal was simple. The cover was made of leather and the color of the bluest sea with a black ribbon secured around it. The ribbon was frayed and old, and each time she touched it, the silk seemed to unravel more. It was the only antique thing about the journal, and she made sure to take as much care of it as she could. It was, after all, the only piece of her mother that she had left. The scent of her hair was faint, but ever since her turning, she had been able to catch more of the strawberry honey than before. Though she still blamed her mother for her weakness, she missed her as any daughter would.
Her journal, if ever sought out, wouldn't be easily found. It wasn't because she hid it, but because she could never recall where she put it. It usually ended up lost in her research papers or tucked behind her bed where it liked to fall.
Once opened, her elegant script became clear from the very first page as she claimed ownership to the words written within.
Property Of:
Charisma Anne St. Claire
Below was a simple picture, the edges worn and faded, clearly well handled. The hair of the blonde was smudged, and the words beneath it read 'Kristiana St. Claire'.
Entry One
The light is fading in this dark heart of mine...
Everything is different. Everything that I once thought I knew has turned out the be a lie. What else lurks in the shadows? What other story that I believed to be a myth exists? Perhaps I should had not been so hasty in my desire to write Professor King off as insane. There has to have been some truth to his psychotic ramblings. After all, it was after his class that I was attacked, was it not? He had tried to warn me that night, though I refused to listen.
What sane person would?
Now, I realize everything is different. I am different. I no longer seem to think for myself. My body is not my own. Instead, it belongs to the hunger. The insatiable hunger that twists in my stomach and claws at my throat. I fear that the cravings will never end. One is not enough, and I find myself feasting on two or three a night. Humans.
Innocent men and women, the Beast does not discriminate. As long as it is fed, it is satisfied.
I worry, though. I was told they would not remember, but I believe they do. I believe they remember - I believe they have seen - and that is why they die. I have become a killer.
I cannot explain this feeling inside of me.
It only emerges when he is around, like a twisting in my gut and an ache in my chest. It is most uncomfortable, if I am to be honest. I do not think he is doing anything on purpose. I do not think he would hurt me in such a way. He has always taken care of me, and yet, I know he is the cause. It is only when I am near him or he looks my way, and then it fades when he is gone.
Perhaps it has something to do with him as my sibling. We are not bound by blood, but we do share a common link through Velveteen. Maybe I should ask around.
It does not matter. I still enjoy his company nonetheless.
It is a strange feeling, a notion that the one you trust above all else lives an entirely different life from you. Yes, we were turned from the same vein, but we are not the same. He is an old soul, one that cherishes stories of ancient antiques. I am the one that cannot sit still for too long. I must explore. I do not care much for the past - my entirety is on the future. I want to learn more, go into the depths of the ocean that have yet to be reached. I have found myself longing more and more for the taste of salt on my tongue and the feel of the waves against my skin. I have a new theory I must try, as well. As a human, I was never able to explore the deepest, undiscovered parts of the ocean. It has always been a mystery to us. As a vampire - a creature that is so hidden, so rare and unique - would this be different? Could my body sustain any damage that the ocean's depths may cast my way? I am not certain, but I have a feeling there is one man that would know the answer.
Professor King.
He is the Advanced Occult professor for HRU. I have been attending his classes since before my demise, and he has never let me down. At first, it was something I would never find myself willing to learn. Much like Fable, he depends on stories to satisfy his thirst for knowledge, but I can see it in the way that he teaches - he believes in every word that he says. I started paying more attention after I was turned, much to his confusion. It is amusing to see the flicker of surprise on his face when I actually pipe up instead of doodle mindlessly in my notebook. I do not understand why, though. It is not as if I failed to maintain the highest marks in his class from the moment I settled in. Perhaps he thought I had cheated this entire time.
Either way, I am quite certain he will know the answer to my inquiry, or perhaps know which direction to point me in. I will have to be careful in my wording, however. I do not wish to reveal who - or what - I am.
I do not have much longer to write, though my thoughts are a jumbled mess. Perhaps I will be this up later.
