This is a story I wrote some time ago, and I have been searching for for the last month. I came up with this after seeing some vampire movie. Don't ask, you wouldn't believe me if I told you. Anyway, it was meant to be an expeiment with first person present. hey, we all have to try something new.
The three young people cringed back from me terrified. I hold the young girl's throat in my claws. This prospect halts them. At any sign of approach, I will rip this whining girl's throat out.
"Leave!" I snarl through grey bloodless lips.
"Not without Rosemary!' answers one of them.
Rosemary, eh? Well, when I am done, she will be no one. I feel her terror and I am happy for it. We continue to stand looking eye to eye. Rosemary tries to unclutch my claws from her neck, but I hold fast with little effort.
She stops clawing me. Suddenly, her hands become smooth and relaxed. I feel those warm soft fingers at my clutching hand. Ever so lighly those fingers travel my hand. What is it doing? What are these actions causing? My grip loosens as the flood of relief washes away the pain of existence in that hand, as if healing waters have been given to it. Her other hand joins the first. She rubs my fingers with her warm caress. Slowly, she undoes her neck from my hand. The action leaves me paralyzed. The warm stroking hand prevents me from doing any action. She folds her hands over my grey cold bloodless hand. The pain and cold are disappearing. none of this has ever happened before. i choke back a cry. None of this has happened before. her soft warm lips touch my cold rough hand, as she backs away to freedom. Do I dare move?
When she leaves my vision, I cannot look up to watch their flight. That weakened afflicted hand now remains suspended and relaxed. What has happened? What spell did she weave for this glorious effect? I still stare at the warmed hand. It has never felt this way before. How could this happen?
My slave touches me. I can feel the ragged black clothes on my body. I look at him. I have no voice. The throbbing pain returns slowly to my body.
"They have escaped, my lord."
"Let them go," I reply, regaining control, "If they return whilst I rest, kill them."
He bows and prepares to leave. "Wait," I say.
I hold out that hand. "Is there something different there?"
The dead eyes scan the surface. He looks up at me. "No, my lord. Why?"
It feels different. I want to say. It feels not as if each bone has been crushed to dust. It feels healed. I do not respond to his question."
"If the girl I threaten returns, do not harm her. Come wake me then."
I smile at the prospect of looking upon her again. I return to my place for slumber dreamily. What would happen if she makes it pass my daykeeper and to my place of rest? What would happen if those fingers touch my cheeks? My hand travels to my cheek in that thought. My face is wet. I look again at that hand. It happened so quickly--so unexpected. That hand touches my cheek, then my eyelid. Some of the pain seeps away in the flow of tears.
I wake with a start. I sit bolt upright. A cold overcomes my body. the fingers of that untouched hand touches the other hand. It is still warm and doesn't ache. I take to my feet and run up the stairs to the ground level. My slave lays sprawled out in the main room. He is true dead. I kneel beside him to find the shot wounds.
I place his body in a peaceful position and stand. I turn to see my four assailants. Rosemary stands before them. I look at teh hand again. A smile comes to me. She approaches and stands about 10 feet ahead of her colleagues. I pause and look at her. My feet stutter a movement. Her bright eyes invite my approach. her warm bright eyes care. I know she cares. I look at that hand again. She cares. Are her arm opened for my approach? If her hand stroking my hand did this much, how much would an embrace bring? We are in touching distance. That blessed hand reaches out trembling to my face. She is confused. I see it. I sense it. I smile wider. My face aches with this unusual expression. My face feels warm with the tears. I choke a bit and reach out to touch her. She pulls away. I hear their voices call her, but I don't understand them. I draw closer to her. She knows my desire. I fall to my knees to fall below her height verily. She approaches. My eyes wander not from her. I remain frozen until at last my eyes close. I wait and wait for the relief of the pain that I know will come. The seconds draw out. I am impatient for her soft hands, as a soft whimper escapes me. Silence. Alone.
PAIN! I choke. I jerk with the stab wound. Deeper she shoves the object. my eyes flick open to see her hard face. I feel the blood in my mouth. It tastes of ash. My blessed hand lays sprawled on the floor away from my wound. I cannot move it. I haven't the strength. My life force seeps away. Where is she? Do I want to hurt her? No. She didn't do it. One of her friends stabbed me and pushed her hand to deepen it. She wouldn't hurt me. I try to plea for her to sit and rub my shoulder or stroke my cheek, but I am too weak. A slight groan escapes me. Darkness. I die. This is the end.