The Italian's Final Farewell (non-described nudity warning)
Posted: 10 Jul 2012, 05:00
This is the LAST piece of Amelia that will ever be seen. Nudity does have a factor here, though it is minor. Amelia was just too different for me to write.
Amelia had taken extra care with her recording. It was to be left on the pillows of the bed she had slept in so often in Phoenix's apartment, the red one in the north-ward corner of the side room. Her treasured Thumper plush would sit beside it, up for grabs for anyone interested.
The microphone still had a lipstick smudge, a last physical trace of the red-haired native of Venice that Phoenix had turned in what now seemed a moment of rash choice.
This is the last you will ever hear of the Italian Telepath of Venice, Amelia Caroline Saretto.
I became a vampire on November third, two-thousand-and-eleven. My sire, a fellow redhead named Phoenix, killed me with her car. I left a dent, and managed to stain my best wool coat.
I know that there is no love lost in this, for I was never one to socialize. I apologize, first and foremost, to River and the others of Veritas et Libertas. I began befriending some of you across the web, and now I desert you.
Phoenix, I am sorry that I ruined your automobile's front bumper.
Don't cry for me. Death was never something I would return from intact; I knew this when I was a child. The lady of that forsaken world will take me to her heart and I shall remain there forever, for I have returned that which seemed lost to her forever.
Should you wish to find my ashen remains, look to the rooftops of my native Venice. There, you will find four steel stakes, four sets of manacles, and, possibly, a gag. I will let the sun finish me; the gag is to prevent the mortals of my beloved city from panicking and removing me. If the sun does not finish me, I will jump, for I take no weapons with me.
Farewell. I may see you one of these days again in the land of eternal peace, but I honestly hope that I do not. Except for that bastardo Caine. Insulting a native of Italy for speaking her native tongue...a sad excuse for a male.
Amelia had laid everything out perfectly, including a note that said, "Play the recording for River, please. I will miss her."
Now, it was near dawn on the first day of her burning torture. She had strapped herself to a rooftop on the eastern edge of the city, wearing an outfit that blended with the architecture, her hair bound in a braid under her back and hidden with a hat. Nothing to call suspicion to her. The gag was in place...and the sun was rising.
As she expected, she knew an irrational urge to attempt breaking the manacles that bound her as the sun's rays touched her. She wanted to scream, to be let free. It was the human instinct in her that desired life.
Her rational mind kept her thrashing to a minimum, and eventually she fell asleep under the sun's burning touch.
Day two. The night had mostly healed her burns, but she had lost the clothes to her first day of burning. She was now a glaringly white, nude body chained to the rooftop.
She could only hope no one saw her.
Thankfully, the gag had survived. As the sun rose, she again contained her thrashing with the rational thought that she was doing what was destined. If the driver of the car had been anyone but a vampire, she would have died on that street.
After a while, she lost track of how many days she had burned. She knew only that her throat and skin burned intensely when she tried to move. The darkness was velvet on her stinging skin.
The sun's fire had burned her so severely that, though it hurt, she could ease her hands through the manacles around her wrists. She did so, and unclasped the manacles from her burning ankles, and removed the gag.
"Today, I release my soul to soar home to the goddess I love, Lady Death. She will take me home this night."
She walked to the edge of the building, closed her eyes, and dove. She felt her neck snap. And then, blackness. Blissful oblivion.
As the body of the Venetian vampire telepath quickly decomposed to ash, a hawk rose from the rooftop she had lain upon and soared into the brightening Eastern sky as though he were the courier of her soul.
Amelia had taken extra care with her recording. It was to be left on the pillows of the bed she had slept in so often in Phoenix's apartment, the red one in the north-ward corner of the side room. Her treasured Thumper plush would sit beside it, up for grabs for anyone interested.
The microphone still had a lipstick smudge, a last physical trace of the red-haired native of Venice that Phoenix had turned in what now seemed a moment of rash choice.
This is the last you will ever hear of the Italian Telepath of Venice, Amelia Caroline Saretto.
I became a vampire on November third, two-thousand-and-eleven. My sire, a fellow redhead named Phoenix, killed me with her car. I left a dent, and managed to stain my best wool coat.
I know that there is no love lost in this, for I was never one to socialize. I apologize, first and foremost, to River and the others of Veritas et Libertas. I began befriending some of you across the web, and now I desert you.
Phoenix, I am sorry that I ruined your automobile's front bumper.
Don't cry for me. Death was never something I would return from intact; I knew this when I was a child. The lady of that forsaken world will take me to her heart and I shall remain there forever, for I have returned that which seemed lost to her forever.
Should you wish to find my ashen remains, look to the rooftops of my native Venice. There, you will find four steel stakes, four sets of manacles, and, possibly, a gag. I will let the sun finish me; the gag is to prevent the mortals of my beloved city from panicking and removing me. If the sun does not finish me, I will jump, for I take no weapons with me.
Farewell. I may see you one of these days again in the land of eternal peace, but I honestly hope that I do not. Except for that bastardo Caine. Insulting a native of Italy for speaking her native tongue...a sad excuse for a male.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Amelia had laid everything out perfectly, including a note that said, "Play the recording for River, please. I will miss her."
Now, it was near dawn on the first day of her burning torture. She had strapped herself to a rooftop on the eastern edge of the city, wearing an outfit that blended with the architecture, her hair bound in a braid under her back and hidden with a hat. Nothing to call suspicion to her. The gag was in place...and the sun was rising.
As she expected, she knew an irrational urge to attempt breaking the manacles that bound her as the sun's rays touched her. She wanted to scream, to be let free. It was the human instinct in her that desired life.
Her rational mind kept her thrashing to a minimum, and eventually she fell asleep under the sun's burning touch.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Day two. The night had mostly healed her burns, but she had lost the clothes to her first day of burning. She was now a glaringly white, nude body chained to the rooftop.
She could only hope no one saw her.
Thankfully, the gag had survived. As the sun rose, she again contained her thrashing with the rational thought that she was doing what was destined. If the driver of the car had been anyone but a vampire, she would have died on that street.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
After a while, she lost track of how many days she had burned. She knew only that her throat and skin burned intensely when she tried to move. The darkness was velvet on her stinging skin.
The sun's fire had burned her so severely that, though it hurt, she could ease her hands through the manacles around her wrists. She did so, and unclasped the manacles from her burning ankles, and removed the gag.
"Today, I release my soul to soar home to the goddess I love, Lady Death. She will take me home this night."
She walked to the edge of the building, closed her eyes, and dove. She felt her neck snap. And then, blackness. Blissful oblivion.
As the body of the Venetian vampire telepath quickly decomposed to ash, a hawk rose from the rooftop she had lain upon and soared into the brightening Eastern sky as though he were the courier of her soul.