Love: for runechronicles
Love is a fallacy. A tool that is used against those foolish enough to still believe in it among our kind. A vampire is truly incapable of the emotion, either experiencing or creating it. The closest that we can achieve is a perversion of it. A cheap facsimile that is not yet perfected. Too heavy on the obsession, desperation. In our hands, it is something purely destructive.
Oh, some of us say that we love. It may be apparent in our behavior. Some may even believe the act themselves. But in the end, that's all there is left. An ACT. The doting acolytes joined together in the worship of their mother, then sharing their nightly distractions. The painfully polite Invictus prince pens sonnets and shares sweet words and kisses with his current sweetheart gutter-slut after a chance encounter. (Well, at least that was distracting...)
The mortal whose infatuation grows with every drop of vital liquid, every pressing of the mind and stolen secret. Initially confident in himself, if a touch shy around women. Now completely subsumed by the one he made the mistake of approaching. Poor man. I like to imagine that he had a lover before. That he may have been capable of sharing that purity of emotion. That it now kills her to see him so changed.
I like to imagine that. Because at least then it means SOMETHING.
Oh, some of us say that we love. It may be apparent in our behavior. Some may even believe the act themselves. But in the end, that's all there is left. An ACT. The doting acolytes joined together in the worship of their mother, then sharing their nightly distractions. The painfully polite Invictus prince pens sonnets and shares sweet words and kisses with his current sweetheart gutter-slut after a chance encounter. (Well, at least that was distracting...)
The mortal whose infatuation grows with every drop of vital liquid, every pressing of the mind and stolen secret. Initially confident in himself, if a touch shy around women. Now completely subsumed by the one he made the mistake of approaching. Poor man. I like to imagine that he had a lover before. That he may have been capable of sharing that purity of emotion. That it now kills her to see him so changed.
I like to imagine that. Because at least then it means SOMETHING.