Introduction

Written by Logan

I, Logan Meyer, write this in my own hand. It began on one of those night when Darien and I were alone, and Dante was keeping to himself as usual. He comes and goes with the night, and hides from all other humans. He used to be an angel, but he fell from grace. Although he is no longer a celestial being, he has retained some of the supernatural powers he possessed before his fall. His fall from grace was not complete, and left him in a limbo here on earth between heaven and hell. Every time I look at him, I see the pain of his tragic love written all over his face, marring his once immortally angelic expression.

The wind outside was cold and fierce, but I was sprawled comfortably on the crimson carpet in front of the black marble hearth in the parlor of our mansion, with a cigarette in my mouth, staring at the sparkling chandeliers and gilded mirrors reflected the orange firelight. Heavy velvet curtains shut out the unpleasant weather to create a warm and cheerful atmosphere. Darien sat comfortably in a red velvet arm chair with his arms on the armrests like a king. He looked aflame with his red hair in the firelight and he flashed me a secret smile when he caught my gaze on him. He was an artist in every way, yet his beauty was his masterpiece. As I looked at him I recalled the first time we met. When I found him he was playing his music on the streets of San Francisco with an empty guitar case next to him. He insisted that he’d make a living off of him music, yet there was no money in the case. I filled it up, then I took him home with me and fed him. That his how our friendship began.

As I was lost in my memories, Darien pressed his fingers together and looked over at me in mocked contemplation.

“Reminiscing?” He asked me knowingly. I nodded.

“I was thinking of the first time we met, and I remember the ridiculously out of tune violin that you insisted would make you a rich man.”

Darien laughed at this. “Thanks to you and Dante, I have a much better guitar now. My playing does not sound as ghastly as it used to, does it?”

“No, Darien, it sounds great.” I said honestly. “Play me something.” I suggested.

“I like the piano best, so I will play that for you.” Darien said as he crossed the room to the grand piano I’d bought for him. I spoiled him, and made our whole home into a sanctuary for his art.

“What would you to hear?” He sat himself down gracefully and removed his gloves so he could play.

“Play me something of yours.”

Darien began the interlude to one of his compositions, a vampiric ballad. I softly sang the lyrics to myself. The song had eight verses, but I stopped singing after the third. Darien did not seem to noticed and continued playing. I’d turned my attention to the portrait that hung on the wall over the piano. It was another one of Darien’s works of art, but the only reason I had it framed hung in this place of honor was because Darien loved it best out of all his works. Personally, I hated it.

Only a few weeks after we met, Darien insisted that was the source of his artistic inspiration and begged me to sit for him so he could do my portrait. I consented, like I usually do every time Darien asked me for something. I loathed the vanity of getting my own portrait done, but Darien thought it was a novel ideal so I was content to humor him. But there was something about the portrait that disturbed me deeply.

Darien’s voice interrupted my thoughts about the painting and I jumped as I realized he’d stopped playing and was watching me study it.

“You should write a book about it.” he suggested.

“About what?” I said carefully.

“Write about what happened to us. I know you are thinking of it by the way you’re looking at your portrait. It would make a wonderful story, yet no one will believe it. And that is the true beauty of it.” He laughed.

“Me? Write a story? You are the artist. Write it yourself.”

“I want to read it in your own words.” Darien said. And Darien has but to ask, and it is given to him. That is why I find myself writing this story. I will tell it all as it really happened. to tell this story, I’ll compile it from my notes, interviews with certain characters, my diary entries and personal memories, and my letters. This is dedicated to my best beloved, Darien Wolfbane.