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Life is said to be the best teacher. It teaches you right from wrong through the choices and decisions made by those who have gone before you. But history is easily forgotten, twisted and repeated.
If history were a person, she’d be a repetitive bitch.
Our youth is supposed to be the most enjoyable and memorable time in our lives; the teen spirit. Yet on the flip side of that coin, those same years throw lessons at you and in order to survive you’ll need to learn them.
But I've been alive for almost two hundred years and I’ve yet to learn the lessons regarding the heart.
Now, I’m not talking about familial love. That I have in plenty when it comes to my sisters. No, I’m talking about a life partner, your other half, your right hand. Your ride or die…
But that type of love is so frail. In my opinion, at least.
It’s capricious and slippery, easily swayed with a misconstrued look or dismissive gesture. At the snap of the fingers, a simple word can cut or bruise it. In the short span of a second your true love can go from loyal to disloyal. Weakened by the temptation of curvy figures or the sultry smile of another.
I’ve seen the roaming eyes of thosetrue loves… hugging one while lusting over another. Fuck that pain.
That’s why I’ve never considered learning such lessons. I don’t need the love of a man; I don’t need anyone’s love but my sisters. So, as I sit here and watch these humans cry and mourn over heartbreak, self-induced I might add, I scoff at the notion. It’s the same thing every time. The cycle history refuses to give up.
History would also be a vain hag, showing her old face any chance she gets.
Monotonous and oh so annoying.
“You’re leaving me? Please, you can’t go. I love you.” My lips move in sync with the crying adulterous husband as I eye my black fingernails. Jeez, I really need to repaint them.
“You‘re nothing but a cheating liar, Steven!” I continue my lip sync as the heavily pregnant woman snatches her keys and walks out the front door, slamming it on the groveling asshole.
Honestly, I’ve seen the same story many times over, I can probably act it out too.
You see, Steven here is a womanizer. Normally, I have no qualms with someone doing their own thing, be it promiscuity or celibacy, I really don’t care. To each their own, right? But when it comes to marriage and making vows before witnesses? That’s where a line should be drawn and obliged.
Steven made a promise to love and cherish his wife, not every hole on the block. He should have the decency to keep the promise he made or man up and break off the marriage. Instead, he fouled her womb with an offspring who will most likely continue a shit cycle.
I may not have a romantic bone in my immortal body but in my humble opinion, only selfish people fool around with the heart. Sneaking around and piling up the lies will eventually bite you in the ass.
But what do I know, right? I’ve never fallen in love. Don’t plan to either.
I wait in my cloaked shadows as Steven calms down from his insincere crying fit. My shadows are invisible to the human eye but if a mortal were to get too close to me while I’m cloaked, he would feel a cold spot. While my kind is cloaked we are untouchable by humans but we can touch them and all their worldly possessions.
It’s quite the tool we have in our arsenal.
So here I am lounging in the living room that’s for display only, with my Demonia Trinity boots propped up on his ugly modern glass coffee table. Too bad he doesn’t see my dark red painted lips pulled into a wide smile as I watch his meaningless tears fall down his cheeks.
I’m not a ghost if that’s what you’re thinking. No, I’m a creature that has been inaccurately described by authors and movie makers since Vlad Dracula, who by the way was just a crazed man who knew how to kill a foe with finesse.
I’m a Vocem Sanguinis, aBlood Crow.
We’re like the Vampires people once believed in, only much better. You see, the stories of blood drinkers date as far back as the seventeenth century but as time went on, the stories got twisted a bit. Like the bat stories. Yes, we can shapeshift, fully or partially, but we're not limited to bats only. As long as we've drunk it's blood at least once, we shift into any creature but our true familiars are crows, not bats.
I’m not too sure why that is, I think it’s because of the curse the witches placed upon my human ancestors. It was made with the blood of crows. Whatever the case may be, we’re bigger than your average crow, us females have a wingspan of six feet and the men have one of around eight feet in length.
So yeah, most of the folklores got us wrong but in each tale there’s one fact that is true. For example, we can come out during the day but because of our sensitive eyes we prefer the moon to the sun. We can survive off of human food--but personally, I prefer a humanasmy food. We can be wounded and spells can be cast to hold us in captivity for eternity but the only thing that can kill us is hellfire. We can also walk amongst you humans but we choose not to because the supernaturalworld vibrates at a different frequency than the human world. This means that in the human world, every super looks clearer, sharper. It’s like an SD movie compared to an HD movie; the difference is obvious and it causes unnecessary attention.
Steven draws my attention from the obnoxiously artsy furniture when he stands from his place at the table and walks over to the mini bar in the back of the dining room.
Ah, liquor.
Steven’s best friend when he’s feeling particularly sorry for himself. I watch as he drinks tumbler after tumbler of the amber liquid. I know his limits better than he does and he’s passed the point of no return.
How do I know this? When I’m not pulling a hit with my sisters I like to people-watch. Being a bounty hunter for the supernatural world is not as time consuming as one might think. We don’t sleep so we have hours in spades and being immortal gives us years and years of time to fill. I got bored one night, so I decided to take a stroll through this neighborhood, looking for a fun snack when I saw Stevie over here, sweet talking a woman on the phone. I had decided I’d leave him alone since he was obviously loved and in love. I stood there watching his pulse race with the sweet sentiments coming from the woman on the phone when another woman came out the front door. Steven's loud heartbeat skipped and stuttered as he hung up the phone quickly.
