I’ve been so cold. I can never feel warm. Whatever this is, it hurts so bad I can’t stand it. My blood has run cold. My heart pumps sludge colder than snow. It’s a curse. This cold thing that consumes me is a curse. It makes everything cold, so cold.


But there is something. There is something that can help me stay at least a little bit sane. Another. Another’s blood. So hot and rich that it will scorch my mouth and throat afire. That will settle in the pit of my stomach and burn like a bonfire.


It’s always too soon though. That fire that once burned bright slowly extinguishes till I feel nothing but numb and cold. So I become frozen again. This is a curse that makes me so eager to feed. To feel the excruciating burn of blood is what I always long so I never feel cold again in my long life. In millennia I will cease to exist. Finally to die after so much time to live. Eternity is not real. There is no such thing as forever, for what must something be born if it’s not to die?


It will always be a curse. A curse of frigid body and mind. A curse of hopelessness, hunger, and loss. The more I kill the more I crave. My stomach growls for warmth and fullness. My hunger calls for the blood. So as the years pass, and as I grow more into a monster then human, I will die. I’m frightened for what will become of me. A self-less cold-hearted beast, and yet I don’t care. As long as the story ends—this life—I will be glad. For my sins I will go to hell, for only a demon is fit there. Only I am fit there.





At least it will be warm…