Path of the Vampire forum

Beverly StClaire sat quietly. She was in the last row of the empty cathedral, head bowed, the wooden beads of a non-descript rosary one by one slipping through her fingers. The silence was complete within the arch roofed sanctuary. So quiet it seemed to the woman as though she could hear the small rivulets of blood tracing trails down her thighs slowly drying. Her voluptuous body was hidden deep within the folds of a coarse woven habit. The bite of the cilice had been a constant companion for the last eighteen years. Slowly her mind slid back through the years. Tracing how her life had become what it now was, all for a kiss.

Eighteen years. Eighteen years ago, it had all begun. Eighteen years ago her friend Natalie had been over, studying for an exam. They had been at it for hours, and it was time for Natalie to head home. They had been tired, and had had a few sips from the small bottle of Stolichnaya Natalie had slipped from her parents liquor cabinet. Beverly had stood to give her friend a hug as she left, a thank you for helping her with the test preparation. They had both turned their heads the same way as they hugged, an accident to be sure, but when their lips touched, a spark jumped. Not as in static electricity, but as in a prairie fire that raced through all her synapses, heat pooling in places it never had before. As her arms had slipped around her friend's waist drawing her nearer, the door to her bedroom had swung open, her father framed in the opening.

He had not said a word, just stood there as they quickly disentangled, blood rushing to bring a pleasant red hue to cheeks and throats. Natalie had given a small nervous laugh as she turned to follow Beverly's father down the stairs and out to his car. Beverly dropped to her bed, one hand lightly touching her lips as the other slowly slid over the front of her shirt feeling the pebbled buds beneath it, straining to be touched. Her mind raced, between fear of what would happen when her father got home, and the tingling that still lingered from where Natalie's soft lips has pressed against her own, and the trail of fire that had ignited as her friends tongue had traced the outline of her accepting mouth. Beverly had never felt anything like it before. It had been heaven, three minutes of heaven as Natalie had explored her mouth.

Beverly slowly released the rosary with one hand, almost of its own will her hand had slid down her thigh, pausing over the cilice, then pressing down on it, penance for remembering, penance for enjoying. Beverly had never seen Natalie again. Had never taken the test. Had never seen any of her friends again. She had stayed in her room that night torn between the memory of the kiss, and the look on her father’s face. Her father had never been one to ‘spare the rod’. More than once as she was growing up, she had felt the sting of his belt on her thighs and buttocks, and she knew that she was not too old yet in his eyes….. It had been years since she had last been ordered to bend over and raise her skirt, but the look of disgust in his eyes had been easy to read, too easy. She glanced at her armoire, wishing that there was a pair of jeans in it that she could slip into, but both her parents insisted that women, Godly women, did not dress as men, so her wardrobe consisted of skirts and dresses, and nothing that was shorter than mid calf.

When her father had come home that night, he had not said a word. He had come immediately up the stairs and looked in on her, but then had shut the door and gone to his office. Although Beverly could not hear anything he was saying, she could tell by the indistinct murmuring that he had been on the phone most of the night. Call after call. He had still been talking in his office when the young brunette had finally drifted off to sleep, a smile on her face as one hand slid quietly under the covers moving stealthily lower till it came to rest over her core, gently massaging to the images of Natalie that danced in her head.

Morning had come with a bang, literally. Her door had flown open hitting the wall, as he father stepped into her room, “Up. Get dressed. You have an appointment. We leave in fifteen minutes.” An appointment? What was he talking about? Beverly slid from beneath the covers as her dazed mind tried to focus. She shut the door against her brothers’ prying eyes before slipping out of the ankle length cotton nightie, and opening her top drawer. No fancy lingerie, no colors at all. Plain white briefs, black socks, and two white cotton bras. Functional , nothing that was not functional, nothing fun, nothing colorful. Quickly she slid into her under garments making a mental note she would need to talk to her mother soon. She was only seventeen, but already the C-cups of her plain bras were struggling to contain what had started developing when she was twelve. A pale blue long sleeve shirt buttoned to the neck and calf length black woolen skirt completed her ensemble. She hurriedly dragged a brush through her dark tangled locks, then rushed for the stairs. She had no idea what was going on, but she knew she did not want to upset her father anymore.

A lone tear slid down the cheek of the nun as she sat quietly reflecting. Impulsively her left hand squeezed again, fresh blood bubbling from the reopened punctures. She did not wear the simple cilice that many wore to irritate the skin and remind them of their sins. Her’s had been made special for her, eighteen long years ago. The spikes had been sharpened to pierce, not irritate. There was no simple buckle to fasten them. Instead, a cam device drew one half an inch out of whatever length the buckle was set. insuring that the teeth would dig deep, reminding her. Reminding her that she was an abomination. An abomination doing penance. For eighteen years she had worn them, twenty three hours a day. She had not had a key to the cam, and the buckle could not be released once the cam had been set. Eighteen years of her blood had soaked into the leather bands that locked the two cilice in place. Her tormentors had known their job, and done it well. Each day when they were removed, then replaced, the steel bands had been in a different spot. Sometimes higher, where her thigh was larger and the teeth would dig deeper, sometimes slightly lower. All depending on any perceived sin of hers the day before. Never in the same place though, every day was a fresh set of holes, while the day before’s scabbed over, the week before’s scabs fell off, and the month before’s scarred. From the middle of her thigh, right up to the crease of their junction to her core, she was a mass of scars. Ring up on ring of holes punctured daily for eighteen years had left not even one quarter of an inch square, of smooth unblemished skin. Releasing her thigh both hands once more slid over the smooth worn beads as she asked forgiveness for the thoughts that ran through her head as she thought of the nun that had held the key to the cilice, and the prioress that had instructed her in her deeds. They were the only two that knew, the only two that had ever seen what was left of her once smooth alabaster thighs.

Her mother and brothers had been conspicuously absent when she got downstairs, no boisterous noise, no smells of breakfast cooking, nothing, as if they weren’t even in the house. Just a plate with two pieces of toast, and a glass of juice on the counter. Hurriedly she ate the toast and had just finished washing it down with the juice when her father stepped into the kitchen. “What is this about father? What appointment?” Her father silently shook his head and took her wrist leading her out to the carport. A look of sadness, followed by regret, and… failure? crossed the man’s countenance as he finally spoke, “Get in, we have a long drive.” Backing out of the driveway, he smoothly and efficiently worked his way to the interstate, and settled into a silent mile eating pace, not talking, not looking at her, just staring straight ahead. For her sake, her mind wandered, first wondering where they were going, why this sudden 'appointment'. Where the rest of her family had gone this morning. All these thoughts troubled her, but she could find no answers in her musings. As time passed and no end was in sight that she knew of her thoughts began to wander. She thought of school and the test she had studied so hard for, and now was missing. She hoped the school would let her take it when she got back, for she did not wish for her grades to suffer. Thoughts of the test, lead to thoughts on the study session, which naturally led to thoughts of Natalie.

Natalie had been her friend since third grade, they had just ‘clicked’ together like two peas in a pod, as the saying went. They had been nigh on to inseparable as the years went by and they passed through the grades up into high school. Natalie had been her buffer against the other children as they grew. Beverly’s strict upbringing and conservative attire, had often brought ridicule upon her from the other children, but Natalie had been there to stand up for her, and when necessary, she had even gone to blows, protecting her friend from the bullying. Natalie was always there for her. Always. A small smile crossed her lips as she remembered the day in seventh grade. Their first gym class of the year. They had been changing in the locker room to play volleyball, when Natalie had let out a small laugh and said “Hey Busty, come ‘ere’’ Beverly had developed over the summer, developed in force. The nickname had stuck, though in all honesty, year after year, grade after grade, Beverly was by far the most developed of her classmates. Beverly wondered what had happened last night when her father had taken Natalie home. Had they spoken? Her father had said nothing when he got back, just looked at her, then on the phone. She wondered when she would see Natalie again, she could find out then. Her hand tightened slightly on her thigh at the thought. She wondered if Natalie would kiss her again.

Beverly snapped back to the present, her musings forgotten as she heard a slight noise breaking the silence. A man was sitting a few pews away. The nun shook her head at herself, she had been so absorbed, so lost in the past, she had not even heard the man enter. He sat quietly, but focused, his eyes locked on the statue of the virgin Mary, as if he was trying to see inside it, to understand something. She thought to ask if he needed assistance, but decided to give the man time to ponder on his own. If he had questions, she was right here. Closing her eyes again, she slipped back through the years to the car once more.

Beverly’s father had finally drawn up before a huge wrought iron gate set into stone walls that had to be at least twelve feet high. As she looked around in wonder at the size and scope of the fence and gate her father spoke quietly into a small speaker. Beverly couldn't hear his words, but the gates slowly swung open and he drove inside. She looked around again now in awe of the manicured landscaping that surrounded what looked to be a small castle. She had never seen nor heard of such a place in this part of ontario before, but it was obvious from the ivy covered walls, it had been here a long time. The car finally pulled to a stop in front of the main doors and her father got out, gesturing to her to do the same. Her mind reeled, search for answers, but she could not think of why she had been brought here, or who she was to see, this mysterious appointment. Entering the building she noticed a few women walking about silently, dressed as nuns. Was this a convent? She looked up to her father’s eyes, fear filling hers, what was going on, “Father? Where are we? What is this place?” The sight of the women silently moving about, in their bleak habits was sending shivers down her back. Why was she here?

Her father took her hand, leading her down a hall and into a room with a small sign reading ‘Prioress’. Leading her inside, he directed her to a seat before turning to the wizened old lady sitting behind a neatly order desk. “This is the abomination I sired, save her soul if you can.” Turning, he walked from the room shutting the door firmly behind him.” Beverly sat shocked, her eyes wide, mouth open, as her father’s words soaked in. The old woman closed her eyes, her lips moving silently. Beverly watched for a moment still in shock as the old nun appeared to be praying for her, then left to her feet and rushed to the door. Yanking the door open she slid to a stop. Her father was no where in sight, and four rather large, habit covered women stood shoulder to shoulder, blocking any escape from the office. The cry of “Father…..” died on her lips as the nuns took her gently but firmly by the arms, and led her deeper within the stone castle.

Reflexively Beverly’s hand clenched at the memory, driving the sharpened barbs of the cilice deep into her thigh, wrenching her back to the present with a muffled exclamation at the sudden pain. She could feel fresh blood trickling down her thigh as she looked at the man from beneath the edges of her black veil. His gaze upon the statue of the Blessed Mother had not changed, and a touch of unease slipped down her spine as she watched his focused stare.

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--


Beverly: Beverly carefully straightened the apron of her habit, then tucked a few loose strands of hair into the cowl of her veil, before slowly turning to the man sitting by himself , "Is there something i could help you with sir? Do you have a question?" She had only been out of the convent for three days now, she had not seen a man in seventeen years, till just two days ago. She was unsure of proper etiquette so remained seated with her eyes slightly lower than his.

Roderic: There was nothing significant that drew my attention to the 'Mother Mary,' or whatever they referred to her as in this place. Some, or most called her blessed, but I was a skeptic on that front. A woman, a nun, approaches me and asks a couple questions. "Depends. Is talking to you going to give me the same answers as talking to whoever runs this joint?" I take my eyes off the large piece of stone and look in the nun's direction.

Beverly: Beverly paused as the man answered, his manner was brusque, almost rude, but it was her duty try as best she could to please, to help, and to answer. Her hands came together fingers intertwined and folded. The sleeves of her habit slid down concealing them. Lifting her eyes to meet those of the man, she wondered again what had drawn him here, to the cathedral. "If the question is one in which i have knowledge of the answer, I am sure that the answers would be of the same vein." As she spoke the word, she felt a drop of semi coagulated blood slowly slipping down her thigh. She had no fear of making a mess, it always dried before her knee, earlier if it was absorbed by her underskirt.

Roderic: I'm not sure about her answer, but at least she's honest and willing to give it an honest attempt. I look around, because I'm sure we're the only one in the immediate area, but I smell blood. Fresh blood. Human too. I know the difference because I've tasted human blood. I've tasted a lot of animal blood as well. Then, there was the vampire blood too. None of them are the same. "I've been wondering about souls. And the real story on them." I say, moving my eyes back to the nun. "What's your name? I was taught at two never to talk to strangers." I wanted to know who it was I was talking to. For my own safety.

Beverly: The mans eyes were glancing about, almost furtively, as tho searching for something, but she had neither heard nor seen any, other than him, and had not even heard him. Listening to his questions, the thirty four year old nun decided it would be best to answer them in reverse order. She paused as she considered his last statement about talking to strangers. It was the statement of a child, not an adult. "Mine name is Sister StClaire." She chose the formal naming, till she could tell more about where this was headed, "What is it you wish to know about souls?"

Roderic: Sister St.Claire. I didn't know how nuns got the names they got, but it all sounded fake to me. An alias of sorts, but I wasn't here to try and understand the inner workings of their world. "Someone told me everyone or everything has a soul. I think that's a pretty big claim, don't you?"

Beverly: "That person may very well believe that everyone and everything has a soul. Some such as Jainists, and Hindi believe that all living creatures have a soul. Others, and worldwide it these people account for a large part of the population believe that all things have a soul, including rocks rivers and dirt. This is called animism." She paused for a moment to let her words soak in before continuing. "We," a small sweep of her hand included the interior of the cathedral, "we believe that while it is possible that as Thomas Aquinas said, that all living things may have a soul, the soul of a human is different, in that it will transcend death." Watching once more to see if he was understanding, she waited to see if he required more clarification. Beverly's feet shuffled slightly as she moved her legs to a more comfortable position, the persistent bite of the cilice always in the back of her mind, reminding her why she was who she was, and where she was.

Roderic: "All living things?" I repeat because it seems this woman is going to spout off the same stuff Skylar believes. And that's annoying. "So things, all living things, could have a soul, but only a human soul is so special that it 'transcends?' " I want to make sure I'm understanding this right, because I do plan on telling Skylar if she's wrong.

Beverly: For a moment Beverly's eyes studied the pattern of the floor between them, as she carefully chose her words. "You sound as if you have a belief, or someone has told you theirs, and you are looking for either confirmation, or confrontation. In that I am not sure if can help you. You see, one of the biggest variables in the debate over who and what has a soul, is, 'What is a soul' Many state a belief that they hold as true, which while differing from another’s beliefs, might actually be the same, as the two persons hold differing ideas of what a 'soul' is."

Roderic: I listen to the woman and nod my head. I agree with that train of thought. If I don’t know what a soul actually is, then I can’t debate who or what has a soul. And I honestly don’t know. Is a soul housed in someone, throughout their whole body? Stored some place special or safe? What makes a soul? Can souls be good and bad? Though the idea of good and bad are labeled by society, but by who, again, wasn’t clear. “Your opinion of what a soul is. Specifically.” I say, though it was meant more as a question, as I lean back in the pew, my eyes moving away from the woman and from the Mary, to focus on other aspects inside the church. Other details.

Beverly: Beverly listened carefully, from aspects of his speech patterns she was sure he was the kind that wanted short concise answers and she tried to please. “I believe that the soul is life. It is what makes us what we are, separate from the physical, it animates the physical, and when God calls us home, the soul goes, the body stays, to rot in the earth back into the dirt it was before we became.”

Roderic: I wasn’t overly pleased with that answer. It sounded like ********. I needed more information to come to a solid conclusion. “What does it look like? Does it weigh anything? Your soul is your conscious then? Or are those two different things? If they are, how do they manage to stay separated and how can one tell if it’s your soul leading you, or your conscience?” I look back at her then, genuinely interested in her insight.

Beverly: It is said if you weigh a person before and after death, they are two different weights, and therefore a soul exists, and has weight, as for conscience, that is different. Conscience tell you the difference between right and wrong, your soul, is your lifeforce. That which is called home when your time comes.


Roderic: I will have to research her claims. I can’t take what someone says at complete face value, especially if they might be biased. Wasn’t it her job to sell people on the idea of a soul existing? I was interested in the research none the less. Life force. Wasn’t that an interesting way of putting things. What if something didn’t have a life force? Like, say, a vampire? Then they probably didn’t have a soul, did they? I don’t really care about the conscious bit; how it steers someone towards the right or wrong choices in their life. I don’t judge what people do. Or care what they do, as long as they don’t interfere with my life and the things I want to do. “And say, something doesn’t have a life force. What then?” I ask, my eyes returning to the statue. “Would you say consider someone in a vegetative state to have a life force?” It’s not the same thing as being a vampire, but it’s the best I could think of, which could be the same thing in a roundabout way. The person is dead, but alive because of machines. Vampires were dead.

Beverly: The nun thought silently for a moment considering the situation proposed by the young man, then instead of answering countered with a question of her own. “What is your real question. What is it that you want to know, the basis for all these hypotheticals?”

Roderic: She didn’t want to talk hypotheticals. I could appreciate that. I hated them too. “Ever heard of vampires? Would you group them in with having a soul?” She might think that another hypothetical, I guess we would see.

Beverly: Beverly turned to fully face the man, a questioning look on her face, the puzzlement in her eyes. “I believe the question is more ‘do you believe in vampires’ everyone has read a book, or seen a film.” Silently she pondered the question, before a decisive nod. “If they exist, they live, so yes, they have souls to animate them”

Roderic: I think we’re getting off topic. Or at least off her code. Her belief. To say that if something existed and lived, they had a soul circled back to what other religions believed. Not this one. Religion couldn’t be proven in my mind. There was a lot of he said, she said, he believes, she believes. Still, I had an idea in my head, because this woman was adamant on agreeing with Skylar when I knew she was wrong. I stood, slowly and grabbed the pew in front of me. My eyes met the statue again as I thought about carrying out a study. Research. If she knew we had souls and was killed and came back as this, the woman would know if she still had one. Or didn’t have one the second she became a vampire. That, to me, would be the only solid proof. “One hundred and twenty seconds.” I say, quietly before I look at the woman. “Thank you, sister. Your sacrifice will prove to be interesting and insightful.” I don’t expand on that idea. I move, as if to move past the woman, but I’m not done here. I bring a boot up to the seat of the pew I was just on, yank out a small blade and then bring it up at a forty five degree angle or so. At the nun’s neck. There’s little resistance as it caresses her flesh, and the scent of blood fills the air and stains the collar around her neck. “Less than two minutes. Then you’ll see. We’ll see.” I bring the blade to the sleeve of my coat and wipe it off as my foot finds the floor again.

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--



Beverly: Beverly could tell from the look on the young mans face that her words had not settled his question, and her mind wandered slightly trying to grasp what he was trying to say. As he focused on the statue, she lost focus, slipping into her mind and the years of teaching she had both received and given. Startling as she heard his voice again, she turned a puzzled face towards him, “one hundred twenty seconds?” she queried as he suddenly burst into movement. Her eyes sprang wide as she tried but failed to follow his movements. Suddenly he stopped moving, and she tried to turn to him. Odd, the candles seemed dimmer. The nun tried to raise her hand to the small sting she had felt on her slender throat, but her arm refused the commands of her brain. A cloyingly sweet copper scent filled her nostrils as her knees start to bend. There is a wetness now, and as her knees strike the slate floor she realizes that the bindings she uses to contain her bountiful breasts are soaking wet. The last random thought that crosses her mind as the the blackness closes in, is to wonder how a virgin can lactate.

Roderic: She falls and I wait. I count to forty in my head before I move. I want to make sure that I’m not interrupting the entire process and slowing the blood from flowing out by touching her. “Eighty seconds now.” I tell her before I’m at her side. “In eighty seconds you will die. In about forty seconds a lot of your major organs will start shutting down and not long after that you will start to choke on your own blood.” I say this in a matter of fact way. Because it is a fact. “Everything should start to feel heavy. Your limbs, down to your eyelids. Even breathing, something that is so natural and not even thought about.” I bend down, still counting in my head. I now have just over half a minute left. “We exist. Vampires. And you. You are now one of my studies.” I grab at the material of my coat with the hand that still holds the blade, drag it across my wrist and force it to the lips of the nun.

Beverly: There is darkness. All is black. Before her a prick of the purest white appears. Not like a light shining towards her, but as if it were a growing whites sphere in a room of black. She feels herself slowly moving forwards, not walking, a bodiless floating. As she moves nearer, floating on an invisible current, the sphere grows. It is like a portal, beyond she can see blue skies and a shining sun, though no light radiates outward. Her essence slows gradually, stopping just short of the sphere. A smile graces her lips as she reaches forward with one hand. As her hand nears it she begins to pull back, suddenly drifting away from it, although she keeps her eyes fixed upon it. It, the promise she had been taught. she had come so close. Drifting away faster a mewling cry escapes her. Her father had been right, and the nuns had failed. She was an abomination, and there was no room for an abomination in Paradise. Resolutely she turned to face where she was going, knowing inside that hell had always been her destination. At least her life of misery was over, and now she could begin the eternity of punishment promised her in the Book. All for one kiss.

Roderic: I can only hope (hope being a strong word) that she has had enough of my blood coursing through her. Otherwise, there would be no study and this would be for nothing. I have had a few failures in the course of my time as a vampire. All of which were handled and discarded of properly. None returned. Those that failed to take the opportunity presented to them. Which was for the best. I grab the nun, eyes on the statue still before I salute the ***** with a single finger and head out of the church. Dead weight was noticeable when I was a human. Now? It didn’t bother me in the slightest. As I walk down the stairs of the church, I tug the shadows on the streets towards me and encompass us both in them, making sure to avoid people as we head towards my cave. Nix can deal with the intruder in my opinion. I own the bottom floor anyways.

Beverly: Slowly the darkness fades from black, to the darkness of night. Feeling returns to her body though dizziness persists. Dizziness and thirst. An undying, unquenchable thirst. Although she makes no movement she can feel her body flopping, and smell…. Copper? Her eyes snap open to the smell, the wonderful coppery scent of blood. Her hearing seems sharper, able to hear the scurrying of rats. Smells are sharper as well. She realizes the scent of blood comes from her. What did he do, where had she gone, and where was he taking her? All these thoughts passed her mind as she opened her eyes wider. “Thirsty” croaked out from parched lips.

Roderic: She says something, but I ignore her until I put her on the ground. I attempt to be as gentle as possible, but something goes awry and she’s on the ground a few seconds before I anticipated. I don’t carry people around all the time. Well, not those who are alive or come back to life, so the fact she woke up sooner than I anticipated must have thrown me off. She was only, maybe at tops two feet from the ground before I release her. I nod my head, grab her wrist and give her a couple pints of blood. I could have given her a couple more, but she needed to learn. And she would in time. “That should help. A little.” I tell her before I step back, my hold from her wrist gone. “You are awake.” I sound a little pleased with this statement. Because I am. “How do you feel?” I would get to the soul question in time.

Beverly: The journey stops as she speaks and the man lower her to the ground, at first gently then just releasing her. The dark silken hair covered inside her veil does little to less the impact of her skull and the macadam, but she feels no pain at the impact. “Whe-ere?... Wha… What happened?” The words slowly and quietly slipped from her lips. The tip of a soft pliant tongue slipped between her dry cracked lips. How had she become so dry and desiccated. Once more she tried to reach for the itching spot on her throat, and once more she was too weak to raise her hand. Words were spoken she did not understand, as she felt fingers on her wrist, then a slow cleansing warmth spread through her as her thirst miraculously sated itself.

Roderic: “My cave.” I tell her with a casual shrug of my shoulders. “You died and now you’re-” I pause to think for the correct word. “Reanimated. As a vampire.” I start to circle the woman as I keep on talking. “You are part of my studies. Along with my other things. You belong to me. You are one of mine.” I find the wall with a shoulder and stare at her. “The thirst you are feeling? Only blood will subside it. We will need to go hunting or buy you packs.” I don’t go in to the third option as that is apparently a no-no in our society, but rules were meant to be broken. I wasn’t part of the flock.

Beverly: Beverly lay quietly on the floor her mind racing as she tried to assimilate all he had said. She had died? She remembered the blackness, the light, and the yearning, but it had all been torn away. She had been ripped back to this reality. Reanimated. Vampire. Her eyes tried to follow him as he circled her, almost as if she was some sort of exhibit. She couldn't believe the things she was hearing, but something had definitely changed, she had never felt this way before. Never felt a thirst like this before. Slowly she shook her head, it had to be some sort of joke. Carefully she forced herself into a sitting position, making sure that the dignity of her habit was preserved. Slowly she lifted her hand, pressing it to the alabaster toned skin of her neck. Suddenly the memories came flooding back as her finger traced the edges of the fast healing slice, “

Roderic: I pushed off the wall and crossed my arms. “I already told you. You are a vampire.” I know she’s not dumb, even if I don’t believe most the stuff she told me about. “I wanted to know. If you still felt your soul. Since you are alive and exist as a vampire.” It was as simple as that for me. “Is it still there?” I crouch down on the ground so we are at eye level. I want to see if I can see it in her eyes. Her soul, or lack there of.

Beverly: She stared back into the eyes of the man who had killed her in cold blood. If she was to believe what he said, he had killed her, and turned her into a vampire, solely to see if vampire have souls. A tear slipped slowly down her cheek as she closed her eyes and bowed her head. Once more the clicking of the rosary drifted from her hands as she raised her plea to a higher power.

Roderic: She was doing that thing. That women do. Crying. Over something so trivial. I reapproach the situation because I can’t stand crying women. They are irrational. This is one of those times I have to say something nice and be nice. Nix would make me. Or tell me that. I groan, face palm and think of what to say. “I did make you a vampire for that initial reason.” I admit. I said it and I can’t take it back. “But you are one of my things. I like my things. And take care of them. I freed you from that archaic ******** back there. In the church.” I will find out later if she has a soul or not. Tonight, was not the night. Because she was being emotional. Women. I don’t think I’ve actually said anything nice. About her. I think harder. “What is that?” I point to her rosary. I’ve seen them before, but never caught the name of what it was or its purpose. “It’s cool.” I still don’t think that’s nice. What would Nix say? Something sickenly sweet that would make me want to stab my ears so I didn’t have to hear it. “I enjoyed listening to your insights earlier. About the soul.” There. I’m pretty sure that was nice.