• The end. Such a beautiful phrase. This is the end of my story. It seems odd, and yet somehow right, that my beginning is also my end.
    I had a complex, unnatural, and bloody birth. My mother, my mother. She was the most beautiful person I, and many others, had ever seen. Perhaps her beauty was our downfall. Many people loved her. Too many. One was my father. He sired me, then left her, weeping, to die happy, sated, reduced to nothing. I like to think she loved him, somewhere in her cold, untouched heart. Maybe she pitied him. Maybe not. But enough about him. I never knew him, never knew anything about him. I never did.
    Mother’s most potent lover was, well, not exactly human. She was my second mother. They never deigned to tell me her true name. I only knew her as Demane. Mother’s lover. I hated her and everything she stood for. That’s why I got rid of her, for mother and me. I’m getting way ahead of myself.
    She transformed my mother from the naturally beautiful and charismatic person she was into the absolutely gorgeous, intense, demanding person I knew. She transformed her into a vampyre.
    Life had already quickened in my mother’s womb by the time she changed. Somehow, by some grace of the gods, the child which had attached itself to my mother was not damaged in the violent death of her body, or in the equally vile rebirth into an undead existence. Getting virtually no nourishment from its host, the parasitic fetus took an exceedingly sustained amount of time to grow into a child. It lived off of its mother for well over three hundred and twenty years.
    One day, beautiful mother could not stand the thing any more. She had to get rid of it. Demane tore open her belly, ripped into her womb, and stole the child from its warm, wet
    home. The thing was hideous. Neither human nor vampyre, it was an outcast from the start. It fought to return to its prison, and almost succeeded. But the wound created from the violent display of Demane’s power had already healed. It couldn’t get back into the womb. They named the child Nevaeh.
    I’ve always despised my name. Nevaeh. They couldn’t come up with anything more imaginative. Heaven, backwards. The opposite of heaven. Ha ha ha. I get it. You think I’m an evil, disgusting, terrible wretch. I’d bet my entire existence that it was Demane who’d decided on my name. She never wanted to share her precious lover. She was afraid I would steal my mother from her. As if.
    I only ever needed her for her nourishment. She fed my body, not my soul. Thanks to her, I was able to survive in a harsh world in which everyone, human and vampyre, was trying to destroy me. For that, I owe her the world. Its almost sad that I’ll never get to repay her.
    Once I was able to catch food for myself, mother was convinced by Demane to leave me in our former home and never look back. She, like everyone else, didn’t want anything to do with me. She was afraid of me, afraid of what I was, what I meant to her. The only thing that could take mother away from her was me, if I ever wanted her, and she knew it.
    March 14th. They left on a Tuesday. I was a mere 57 years into my lifetime. I had the body of an infant, perhaps seven and a quarter months old. I fed off of small rodents,
    mice and snakes. When mother was with me, she would bring her catch to me and let me eat my fill of whoever it was. I probably grew quicker under her care than I did under my own, but I don’t know for sure. Because my growth rate is so much slower than a normal human’s, I really had nothing to base my findings on.
    That was long ago. It doesn’t matter anymore. When I was approximately 450 years, I had the body of a five year old. For a long time, I had lived on my own, and was dependant on no one. I would attract my prey by looking like a wayward child, lost and all alone. That always got the mothers. When they had life in their womb, or milk in their breast, they were very sweet. They had the sweetest blood that you could ever imagine. It was after a particularly delicious feast upon one of those women that I decided I would like to visit my own mother. And soon.
    I searched and searched for any sign of her passage through this world, but to no avail. Time passed. I grew. Seemingly overnight I aged from an adorable little girl to a pretty young woman. I had the body of a mature fourteen year old, and knew how to use it. My prey began to be boys and men of all shapes and sizes. They weren’t nearly as good as mothers were, but they sufficed.
    Little did I know that men were my mother’s prey of choice, too. And I had stumbled into her territory without realizing it. She soon realized that someone was taking her prey, though, and had to punish the intruder. Again, I believe it was Demane who influenced her decision. I am confident that she knew that it was I who had wandered into my mothers region. For that I am truly sorry. I never meant to just accidentally enter her area of expertise or her favorite feeding grounds. I expected to swoop in and take her by surprise and maybe, just maybe, destroy her reign of terror and her lover in the process. But no. I failed in my pursuit.
    Demane found me first. She told me that if I did not depart immediately, change my prey, and get out of their lives forever, she would personally tear me to shreds, like she should have done when I was birthed. But, unfortunately for her, she didn’t. I replied that I would do no such thing, and that if she did not present me to my mother, I would take her life. Personally. Demane, always thinking that she was perfect, did not take to this suggestion.
    A fight ensued. Demane and I. Me and Demane. It lasted for several hours. At the end, she lay dead, in tatters at my feet. I kicked what was left of her corpse, spat out her blood. She was gross. I never wanted her vampyre blood in me. It was an accident that I swallowed some. Ugh.
    Covered in Demane’s blood, I searched the streets for any sign of her. Mother. She was there, somewhere. I had to have faith.
    It took me nearly a month to find her. She hadn’t even noticed that Demane was gone, for she had gone so mad in her pursuit of as much prey as she could feed upon that not
    even the absence of her lover crossed her mind. Silly cow. I lost all respect for my mother the moment I realized how much her mind had eroded, for in my youth, she always knew. If I had done something wrong, she knew. She knew when Demane was sad, she was painfully aware if either of her girls were gone. I almost pitied her.
    I informed her that her precious Demane was gone, and that I had destroyed her. She was furious when she learned that I enjoyed killing her lover. And oh, what fun I had turning her to dust. They were, both of them, all too used to getting their way and not being opposed. They were rusty. I would never have been able to kill them if they weren’t comfortable in their surroundings. That was the true beginning of my story.
    After I made my mark on the world, I rested. For how long, I don’t know. I was vaguely aware of humans walking near my resting place, talking, gossiping. For several years after the glorious battle between I and the woman who’s name I shall never again speak or write there were stories. People knew that something had happened, something that was so horrible that the town was never the same. There were legends explaining why the walls of certain buildings were permanently stained red. None of them, however, ever touched on the truth. Some stories were quite humorous. I was tired though. I eventually tuned them all out and stayed in blissful darkness and eternal silence.
    When next I awoke, it was to find that no person who had been alive in the cataclysm (for that was what it was now called in the minds of the humans. Ha.) was still alive. Not even the children who had just started to stir in their mothers wombs. Now, the aging people were the grandchildren, and great-grandchildren of the youth in that time. I looked in a mirror to see my reflection. I looked considerably older than when I had last seen myself. But still young. Perhaps 21, 22. With amazing cleavage spilling out in my too small dress which had went out of style a century and a half before. And I was hungry.
    I entered the human upper world. People stared as I walked by, covered in filth and in a tattered old gown. I knew the first thing I must do though, even before I fed, was to clothe myself in garb that was fashionable for the time. Then I could disguise myself among the humans and take my time in selecting my first meal in centuries.
    There was a shop full of clothing barely a mile from my hiding spot. It was easy to go in, observe what the other women of my seeming age wore, and steal the same things. Before I dressed in my new clothing however, I needed to wash off the dirt and dust and old dried blood. Eww. I hadn’t even realized that her blood was still on me when I lied down. But I knew now. And I hurried even faster to find a stream to wash in.
    When I was finally clean (I scrubbed myself for a week. Nothing seemed to get the blood off of me. Eww again.), I tried on the new clothes. And laughed. They were ridiculous. A top made out of a thin material that wasn’t long enough to reach my belly button, and had strings across the shoulders for sleeves. It clung to my body so tightly that every curve and bump was outlined. But it would be good for attracting men. Then I pulled on the skirt. It barely covered my bottom! Utterly ridiculous. Females in this age apparently wanted to be brutally raped and murdered. And don’t get me started on
    the undergarments. They were lacy little things. The brassier
    was see through and did not help with support and had lace that poked up out of my shirt. And the bottoms. They had a triangle of lace connected by ribbons that ran around my waist and through my backside. It was very uncomfortable.
    I tried to wear the shoes that I found. But they had spikes for a heels that were a full five inches long. And they were held on my feet by ribbons as well. I decided after a few tries walking upon them that I would rather go around in my bare feet.
    I was ready to re-enter the town. For 13 days I searched for the perfect person to feast upon. I wanted a perfect male who was no younger than 20, and no older than 24. This was decided after the 32nd man to approach me drooling. None of the other females got that kind of attention. So I figured that I was the perfect female, and that I needed the perfect male. Kind of conceited of me really.
    He was tall. Six foot one, a good match to my own five foot five. And almost opposite to me in coloring. He had curly blonde hair, bright blue-green eyes the color of the sea, and skin the color of caramel, while I had long hair that was so dark a red it was almost black, fresh pine needle colored eyes, and skin so fair it was ivory. He had no blemishes, was finely muscled without being too much so, and had perfect white teeth. Not to mention he smelled delicious.
    Once I had found my man, I stalked him. I had to commit the perfect feeding for the perfect man. It was only right. Every day and every night I was no more than five steps behind him. For seven days I waited for the perfect moment, ever thirsting for his fragrant life-blood.
    And then, suddenly the moment was upon us. He had wandered over to the nearby beach to swim. It was chill
    outside, in mid-November, so we were the only ones out
    there. He stripped down until his bare body was bathed in the rosy light of sunset. He was a beautiful god in that moment. Almost I wanted to keep him with me forever and ever instead of feasting, but the thirst was insistent. Once he dove into the water, I stripped off my own clothing and slipped in after him. Under the water I swam until I found his legs.
    I ran my hands up and down his legs, on his feet, closed in around his member, his buttocks, his amazingly structured stomach. I felt his pulse quicken as my head rose above the water and I started licking him. His arms, his hands, his back, his nipples. I sucked on his tongue, bit his ears, pulled him into me, making love in the most intimate manner. I felt it each time he climaxed. I kept his passions running for hours, until the moon and all the stars had already begun to set.
    He body finally tired itself out and couldn’t raise its member just as the sun’s first rays of light pierced our private world. We had drifted until all land was a mere memory left behind us. He looked at me, his eyes pleading for more, his body resisting my various advances. He coughed. ‘Who are you,’ he asked. I just smiled and told him I was his last lover.
    He invited me when I came closer. My mouth closed in on his wrist. His pulse had started to calm down, but when I lightly nipped the blood vessel which lived there, his heart began to race again. I sucked. And sucked. His reaction was delayed. It took a full twenty seconds for him to begin to fight.
    When he did, I pulled his head to my breast, held it there while I bit his neck. He clawed. I was making it hurt on purpose, to sweeten the life-blood that was entering my mouth. I snapped a finger, a leg, his backbone like matchsticks while he fought for his life. Laughing, I pushed his broken body away from me before he died. He looked lovingly in my eyes. One last thing was said.
    “I forgive you.”
    Anger pulsed through my body with every unnatural tug my heart made to get his blood through my veins. He forgave me. After I took everything he had, left his body bruised and broken, and with his last breath he forgave me. What kind of human would do that? No other victim in my entire existence said one word to me after I was done, but died with a look of hatred upon their face. He must have been a saint, to die with love in his eyes and to forgive me. If I weren’t already going to hell (that is, if hell existed), than this would be the deed to put me there.
    It was not fair for him to curse me so. Feeling somehow ashamed of myself, I swam back to the shore. I, who had never felt guilt or anything close to compassion for another being, was ashamed! How dare he.
    Love. That’s what it was. I had loved him in my own way as he felt his ecstasy, as I felt mine later. It was as I came upon the land and started to pull on the flimsy clothing that I realized that I had felt ecstasy before his blood became mine. As old as I was, my body was still virginal when I came upon him. And the sweet pain as he pierced my maidenhead was the start of the love I felt for him.
    I knew then that never should I have killed him, or made love to him, or even marked him as my target. That was a mistake I would be paying for each second of each minute of every day. Forever I would wait for sweet death to come upon me just so I could escape from the pain of not being with the only one I had ever loved, and the knowledge that I had taken him out of the world. Stupid me.
    Several hours after I had left the place, I laid down to take another long rest. But my face was wet. I reached up, looked at my fingers. They were covered in pink liquid. Blood and tears. I was crying. Crying was new to me. Crying felt good. And so, crying, I went into my sleep, far from any human habitation, hopefully to never wake again.
    Dimly, I became aware of some one, or some thing, tugging at me, pulling my feet, dragging me through what had been a forest when I laid down. Looking around, I saw that I was surrounded by logs, which were about to be shredded by what someone nearby was thinking was called a wood chipper.
    Quickly, I jumped up and ran out of that place. But not fast enough, for as I ran away, I heard the startled gasps of five men. Let them wonder, I thought to myself. None of them will ever tell what they have seen, and none will admit they’d seen a log turn into a woman and run away, even to themselves.
    After running for a quarter of an hour, I stopped. For I had noticed something. My body was different. It ran oddly, and there was weight where none should be. Curious, I looked down, and saw my belly.
    There was something wrong. It had always been flat, somewhat concave before. But now, it was swollen so that it stuck out nearly a foot past my breasts. Those were larger as well. Slowly, the truth dawned upon me. I was only half vampyre. The other half was human. My eggs, and womb,
    were apparently part of the latter half. Nine months pregnant,
    or so my body looked and felt, I had awaken. Soon, I would bear a child that was half me and half my love. A three quarter human. Tears fell from my eyes once more. I was happy this time.
    Two months later
    When will my child be born? How long have I slept? I cannot wait until I hold my baby upon my breast. Will I be able to nurse him? Is blood, or milk, what she will desire? Will it be a baby boy or girl?! I am impatient!
    Pacing back and forth through the trees she asked herself the questions that she had been unable to answer since she had awaken. Her belly hadn’t grown in size. Nothing had happened, except that occasionally the child would kick her inside and cause her belly to shake. She decided to go into a nearby town to find out when it was. How many years had passed since he died. And, since her clothes had long since dissolved in the ground, to attain more clothing.
    Naked, she ran through the trees, and naked she entered the town. Immediately, an elderly woman saw her. She hurried over to me and threw her shawl across my shoulders.
    “My dear, what has happened to you,” she exclaimed as she grabbed my arm and started dragging me towards what I could only assume was her home. “You’re covered in scratches, and look how pregnant you are! It is far too cold for you to be outside in nothing but your birthday suit. You’ll
    catch your death! And then who would care for the child, hmm? You must come in and warm up. I have some clothes you can wear, and then we will go and see what else we can do for you.”
    Finally she stopped talking as she scrubbed my body off with a sponge and warm water. Soon I was wearing an old long dress which was infinitely more sensible than my last outfit. She had made me lie down on her sofa and had a bowl of soup in her hand, trying to make me eat. I don’t know if it was my love for him (oh, that hurts my heart. I never even learned his name. How sad.) or some hidden compassion that I always had, but never expressed, that made me eat the soup. I couldn’t bear to hurt her.
    “Excuse me, but can you tell me the date?” After I finished eating I asked her this question. Her answer was four years, seven months, and 15 days after the conception. Quickly I calculated. It was taking approximately six times the normal rate for this child grow. Night had fallen by that time. I told the woman I would like to sleep, and see a doctor in the morning.
    In the morning, she took me to the hospital. I met the doctor who would be examining me. I wove a series of lies that came down to the fact that I didn’t know when I was due and would like to learn what the sex of my child was. In due time, I was laying in an examination room with jelly on my stomach and I could see a picture of my baby. I had to hold my tears in.
    The doctor tried to make me stay in the hospital, because he deduced that my child was overdue by a day. Which told me that I was overdue by six days, and I had to get outside of town before I gave birth. He also told me that I was having a baby girl.
    When I had convinced both the doctor and the woman that I needed to be alone to think my thoughts, I made my escape. Jumping out the window wasn’t my favorite way of exiting a building, especially with extra weight, but it was my only means of exit. I stopped about a mile into the woods and lay down, for as I had ran, I felt a contraction pull at me.
    Smiling the entire time, my labor pains lasted for a week. My daughter was almost there, and the joy overrode the pain. Finally, my body expelled the beautiful little thing. And she was beautiful beyond all belief.
    My hair sprouted from her head. My features showed in her mouth, her nose, her cheeks. But her skin was caramel, not fair. And she had his eyes. Those beautiful sea colored eyes. She was conceived in a sea, her father lived off the sea, and I knew then that she, also, must live off of the sea. I let out all the tears I had been holding in since I learned I was having a girl. She watched me with eyes that were solemn beyond her age.
    I only stopped when, at last, she started to cry herself. Three days had passed, and she had been patient enough to let me cry first. But she was hungry. Quickly, I tore off the dress and held her to my breast. Her gums closed in on my n****e. And, miraculously, she drank. I could feel the pull of milk as she sucked it from my full breast. When the left breast was emptied of its burden, my daughter closed her eyes, and drifted off to sleep.
    I inspected my n****e. Squeezed it. Slightly pink milk came forth from it. Bloody milk. I would be able to feed my child after all. Looking down at her slumbering face, I began to weep anew. I knew what her name was in that instant.
    I lay Eve Pandora down on the grass. We had been traveling for a week, headed toward the sea. Not the sea that my love’s lost body lay in, but the one on the opposite side of the land. It was mid July and the heat was getting to her. Since Eve was mostly human, she needed to cool down regularly. Mostly, I had been dipping her in ponds along the way, but there were none near today.
    No, today I had to leave her behind, and go into the house we had stumbled upon. It was inhabited, of this I was sure, and even had a baby within that was about my daughter’s age. I could get her clothing.
    Being silent, I snuck into the nursery through the open window. The other baby was asleep in his crib. I was careful not to wake him as I took the white clothing in his drawer. Then I left the room, and made my way downstairs to the kitchen. His mother was there though. So I decided to go another way. I went outside, hid the clothes I had took, knocked on the door.
    Mother opened the door, was surprised. I begged her for some clothing and something cold, and told her I would be on my way soon. The woman ran upstairs and soon returned with one of her own dresses. It was pale pink, and
    had the silly straps-for-sleeves. But it went down to slightly below my knees, and the undergarments were more sensible than the last I had worn.
    We entered her kitchen. In her freezer, she had all kinds of frozen popsicles. I begged several off her, and thanked her. Then I left without saying another word, four popsicles in my hands. I grabbed the baby clothes I left outside, and rejoined my darling baby girl.
    “Happy birthday, Evie!!!!”
    It was Eve’s fifteenth birthday. But she looked only two and a half. And she acted it too. She laughed and squealed as she tore the paper off the presents I gave her. “Mommmmmmeeeee!” she screamed in joy as she saw the baby doll in its stroller. I was glad she liked it. I loved her when she was like this. And yet I couldn’t wait until she had the mind of at least a thirteen year old. I couldn’t really talk to her until then. But I still had sixty years to go before she would understand.