The darkness — it embraces like a lover and comforts like a mother; neither of which have I had for quite some time. Sometimes I dream of the time before — before the darkness became my world. I dream of the warm glowing sun, only to awaken to the cold silvery moon. Yet with each passing year, each passing decade, the memory dims a little more. I fear the day that it is gone completely and only the true night remains; then — then will I know that there is no hope, no escape from this cold loneliness that haunts me. But such is the fate of my kind: to dwell in darkness; never to feel a true loving embrace; and to find warmth only in the pulsing veins of another. Such is the fate of a vampire.

Vampire . . . a word that grips the hearts of mortals with fear . . . a word that conjures up visions of bloodlust and death . . . a word synonymous with evil. But if following your nature is evil, then we should all be condemned as such; for just as mortals prey on animals for their nourishment, so we vampires must nourish ourselves on the blood of mortals. Do you feel remorse for the beast that you just had for dinner? Probably not; although I have heard of mortals that forgo the flesh of animals, thinking it cruel. Perhaps they are wiser than the rest of us; but who really knows?

I won't deny that I have taken the lives of countless humans in order to survive, but I will confess that I felt a small measure of remorse for each one — for I was once a mere mortal myself. But to see me now, you would never guess it; for my appearance has changed much since I last walked under the sun. I have also gained incredible strength and speed; the power to control other beings with my mind and will; and many other talents that have set me so far apart from the lesser mortal that I was. But have I been cursed or blessed? I have never been able to answer that question honestly. At times I feel blessed: when I am traveling through the rushing night on dark wings, or during the almost erotic intoxication of feeding. Yet at other times, I feel cursed beyond all measure: when I am confined to my dark casket during the day; when I am being hunted; when I am in the frenzied grip of hunger; but mostly, when I am alone. It is the loneliness that claws at my immortal soul that makes me wish that I was not what I am. For what creature could bear the burden of being so utterly alone for centuries on end?

We vampires are usually solitary creatures — we like to live apart from one another; but that is not to say that we are each other's enemies — far from it. With our numbers dwindling, we cannot afford to war amongst ourselves. But we do not usually seek comfort in one another — at least not the kind of comfort that a man would seek in a woman, the kind of comfort that eases the pain of a lonely heart. Ah, so now you see what it is that I miss about my mortal life. You may laugh, but even immortals long for the sweet rapture of the most intimate of embraces.

Yes, I will admit to being a so-called romantic; for I am still young enough by the standards of my kind to be allowed such foolishness, and that is what it is — foolishness. For what woman would willing take one such as I? What woman would risk falling victim to my baser instincts? Even I don't truly believe that such a thing could happen, but sometimes it is nice to dream. But the loneliness . . . sometimes I feel it so deeply that I fear I might weep from it.

There are times when I brood over the empty thing that is my heart and I wonder what my life would have been like had I not been changed. Would I have found a woman to love me? Would I have been happy? Would I have had a family? But I try not to dwell too long on such things, for I know they would truly drive me mad. I am what I am; and I cannot change that anymore than the proverbial leopard can change its spots. I can only try to carry on and survive as best I can. But what I wouldn't give for just a small piece of that dream . . . just a small piece.

Do not mistake my words, for I have had my share of mortal women — for it is one of the pleasures of the hunt. It is the one gift that I have to offer my victims while I hold them in my thrall and drain away their life's blood. I can give them one last memory of an erotic pleasure beyond anything they have ever imagined — dying while in the throes of ecstasy. But for all that I feed off of emotions, as well as blood; still, there is a hollow place inside of me that cries out to be filled. Yet as pleasant as the physical joining can be, I find myself longing for something more, something deeper, something . . . real.

Sometimes it is almost as if I can hear my cold, dead heart as it cries out into the darkness — as it cries out for the warm, loving caress of another. But its call goes unanswered, and I the emptiness like a long, slow ache in my chest; but of course, it is nothing but nonsense. For it is only my imagination and desire that make it seem so real — but it hurts nonetheless.

I'm sure you know by now what it is that I am speaking of, even though I have managed to steer clear of the word thus far — love. L-o-v-e . . . such a small, simple looking word. But as is usually the case with most things, looks can be deceiving and simple never is. Love. Is that what I truly long for? Is that what haunts me while I rest during the daylight hours? Love. Such emotions are an anathema to my kind — we exist only to hunt and feed the hunger. We have no need — indeed, no use — for such emotions; and yet, I find myself longing for it just the same. Perhaps I have gone mad — I'm sure that there are many among my brothers and sisters of the night who would think so. But if that is case, then I want nothing more than to sink into that madness and let it carry me away.

Why? Why do I torment myself with these thoughts? Damn it all — I am immortal! I am Vampire — the most powerful of all beings on the earth. I am so far beyond humans, and yet I long for and covet something as useless as love. Useless . . . do I really believe that? But what could love offer one such me? Already it has caused me pain and distress, and that is just in the wanting of it. I cannot even begin to imagine the horror of actually finding and experiencing it. No, I want nothing to do with love — nothing at all.

But . . . but what if I found love without looking for it? What if I found it by accident? I suppose that such a thing could happen — for who knows what fate has in store for each of us. But once found, would I push it away or run from it? Would I embrace it and let it sweep me up? Or would I let it overwhelm and smother me? If only I knew . . . if only I could read the future. But even then, would I really want to know?

Oh, by the darkness — I must stop this! I must not let this become an obsession. Love is something for mortals — a sweet dream to give comfort in their short, tormented lives. But what about the long lonely life of a vampire; do we not deserve to know such comfort too? Do we not need it just as much? If only I could know for sure, if only if I could touch it — just once. Would I know true happiness then?

Love! Ha! I hate it! I hate it . . . and yet, I long for it; like the sweet taste of blood, I long for it with everything that I am. But like the touch of the sun, will it torment and burn me? Or will it caress and hold me like the cool, soothing darkness? There are so many questions that I cannot answer, so many thoughts swirling around in my head. If only I knew for sure — if only I were brave enough to find out. If only . . . if only I truly believed that such a thing could ever be possible.