I am the human shadow drifting in and out of the greater darkness, always careful to shield myself from prying eyes, I pursue my chosen sup with a predator's ferocity.
She is young, I see, and smile to myself as she rounds the corner quickly and glances over her shoulder, fearful of whatever lurks in the darkness. Smart thinking, my sweet, were it anyone other than I pursuing you.
I move swiftly over the rooftops, the patter of my feet that I am so keenly aware of is too low to reach her human ears below. I near her, then jump off the building and land behind her.
"Ah, my sweet...." I whisper into her luscious ear, then dart away, leaving her solitary.
She turns quickly, but not quickly enough to see my form that has already disappeared into the shadows.
"What are you?" she asks, her voice quavering with fear.
Slowly stepping out of my shroud, I reveal myself to her.
"Oh, please, God, no...." she pleads, as if her God will help her now. Despite this, I am moved to pity her poor human body, her mind that will never even near its capacity.
I draw near to her, whispering a soft chant to her, which my mother sang to me as a child. She visibly relaxes from this. I caress her warm, soft, human body and then brush her hair from her flawless neck, all the while using my own mind to flood images of joy and happiness through her darkened mind, to make the pain more bearable. It was the least I could do for one so beautiful.
Right before I break her glowing flesh, she whispers, "Thank you."
This is too much, I cannot stand this human, yet I feel amazingly attracted to her every motion, her lithe body. I mustn't do it. I have promised them. To hell with them, I think, and bite powerfully and roughly into her sweet tissue. We sink to the sullied floor of the alley locked in a twisted embrace, like lovers. It's true; I love her, even now.
When her heart begins to mumble, growing faint with approaching death, I pull back and bite into my own, dead wrist, drawing a vast amount of blood. Cradling her neck as I begin again chanting softly into her ear, I pour her transformed blood into her delicate mouth, and bid her to drink.
She nearly coughs at first, but then her reflexes bid her to suck and drink in her own salvation.
It is moments like these make my affliction almost enjoyable.
As she begins to dip into my own life force, I push her head away from my wrist gently, lower her to the ground, pausing to get out my handkerchief and wipe the spilt blood from my wrist. I lick my lips, suddenly feeling my unsatisfied, unsated, hunger. Damn my altruism.
She cringes from her aches, looking up at me, reaching up and slipping her hand into my own. I look over at her and realize that she is dying. Oh, I have forgotten the ecstasy of dying, it happened so long ago.
The loss of mortality is abhorrent to many humans, and I see why. What this experience looks like is a violent, nauseating illness suddenly taking its victims into anguish and oblivion. Whereas, when already experienced, first of all it is blurred and undefined to memory, years later, but most importantly, what you can remembers is that it actually makes you feel as if your soul was floating five feet above you body, ex stasis... Maybe it is, I haven't thought to experiment.
After nearly an hour of dying, she wipes her mouth, then gets up and walks to me, wiping the grime from the alley off her cotton clothes. Those clothes will not do for what she has become.
"What am I, what have you done?" she inquires with a hopeful voice.
"My love, I have given you life."