He needed it badly. Every fiber of his being cried out for it. The burning feeling eating away at his insides was far too much for him to bear, and it drove him completely insane. All he could think of was the nourishing red wine flowing over his lips and down his throat, warming the empty black hole were his soul had once been. Simply to think of it drove him deep into a primitive, feral state.

Pale, gray hands clawed at the remains of the rotten coffin lid separating him from the outside world he had so long ago sought to escape. Growls formed deep within his emaciated chest and came to his lips screams of pure, animalistic fervor. He had to have it! He had to drink the crimson elixir and bring life back to his skeletal form!

Vitale’s sole purpose in life was to hunt for that which would satisfy his eternal thirst, but it hadn’t always been so. He had once been an Italian soldier, son to a widowed seamstress, and brother to beautiful, raven haired angel. His baby sister was his life after his father passed away. As man of the house, it was Vitale’s duty to make sure that she was married to a well off young man and that his mother was taken care of as well. He even resigned from his military position in order be there to care for his family.

Soon after his sister’s 14th birthday, Vitale began to take her out on the town and introduce her to those in society who were higher on the social ladder than they, though they were fairly well off themselves. He could tell simply by the way his shy little sister smiled at him, and at the men that began to court her, that she was happy and that would make his mother happy in turn. He would be able to marry her off to a rich noble, and she would be set for the rest of her life.

Finally the perfect husband for his sister presented himself. He was son to a High Lord, a high ranking naval officer, and his best friend. Nero Valcinti had been at Vitale’s side throughout his childhood and was always watching his back. He knew that Nero would take good care of his sister; after all, he treated her as if she were his own sibling.

Throughout her 15th year of life, Nero courted his sister, bringing her flowers daily and buying her jewels like she had never seen. Vitale could see her glow with excitement and blush her modest little blush upon receiving these presents, and, though it was rather uncouth for a lady to do it in that time, she would give Nero a peck on the cheek, blushing even more afterwards.

Nero would take her to the riverside for light picnics during the day on weekends and to the theatre at night, showing her a far better time than her current status allowed. Vitale was sure that Nero would ask for his sister’s hand soon, and this brought a great relief to him. He was forming his own family, having married and had a son with his beautiful wife, and having his sister in capable hands would give him one less thing to worry about.

One night, Nero took his sister out and didn’t come back with her at her appointed curfew. Vitale was worried, pacing and staying up all night despite his wife’s pleas to come to bed. Something was dreadfully wrong for them not to have returned one time.

Finally, Vitale went out in search of his sister and friend. It was dangerous to venture out at such a late hour with the thieves and criminals that lurked about in the shadows, but he was willing to take the risk. He would find them and make those that had hurt them pay dearly.

Vitale searched up and down every street and down every alley, interrogating every vagabond he came across, but they all said the same thing,” Haven’t seen a thing, my lord.”

The morning light was just beginning to peek over the horizon when he found his sister. She was curled up in a fetal position in a dead end alley, her dress torn and bloody. Her face was bruised and pale, and her eyes were swollen from crying.

Upon seeing her brother, she threw her arms around him, murmuring,” He took it, brother! He took it!”

Vitale’s face drained of all color. Nero, his best friend, had raped his sister. It was the ultimate betrayal in every sense.

Without a single word, he lifted his little sister into his arms and took her home. Doctors came and went from his household, confirming what he had assumed in the beginning. She had been raped; her virginity was gone, and she would never be able to have children so long as she lived. It was a major blow to her chances of a good marriage. No man would ever want a woman who could not bear him a son to carry on the family name.

The fire of revenge burned deep within his soul. It was an insult to him and a complete and utter betrayal of his trust for Nero to have done this. His sister was never going to be the same, and he was going to have to live out the rest of his life knowing that he had failed to protect his sister. If he couldn’t even protect his sister, how was he going to protect his wife or any daughters that might come in the future?

A few night later, when his wife, son, and sister were had fallen asleep, he took a sword his own father had used in the military and went out in search of Nero. His blood was boiling as he went to all of Nero’s usual haunts, knowing that heads were going to fly and blood was going to flow once he found him. He would rather it been known that he had blood on his hands trying to defend what was left of his sister’s honor than his family be ridiculed as cowards for doing nothing.

He finally spotted him on the same riverside that he had taken Vitale’s sister to so many sunny afternoons. Nero was unkempt, his once lustrous hair filthy with dirt and his suit stained with blood and grime. It was apparent that he hadn’t been home to change since violating Vitale’s sister, and when his eyes feel upon Vitale and the sword in his hand, he went mad.

As Nero came at him, Vitale could smell the wine and spirits on him. His movements were sluggish despite the mad energy coursing through him and none of the punches he threw found their intended mark. He was so inebriated that his mind was gone.

Nero threw punch after punch until he fell to his face right in front of Vitale. The alcohol in his system just wouldn’t allow him to get back up, though he did manage to turn and lay on his back. His eyes finally found Vitale’s and widened in absolute horror.

“I trusted you, Nero. You were like a brother to me, and my sister loved you. How could you do that to her?!” Vitale cried, angry tears streaming down his face.

Nero’s only response was a drunken gurgle.

Vitale shook his head and lifted his sword to strike. Nero wasn’t going to live, but he wasn’t going to die without suffering as his sister had.

“For killing my sister’s honor,” he hissed, stabbing Nero in the genitals. His scream ripped through the night, causing several lights to come on from houses across the river.

“For killing her chances at a happy life of motherhood,” he growled as he stabbed him in the stomach. Nero’s second scream was more a gurgle, blood coming up as he tried to let his pain be know.

Vitale paused before his last strike, looking at Nero with utter disgust. “For killing our friendship!” he roared, bringing the sword down on Nero’s heart with both hands on the hilt.

Nero’s blood flew into Vitale’s face with the force of the blow, but he wasn’t dead quite yet. Gurgling, Nero grabbed a hold of Vitale’s ankle and dragged himself to his knees. Anger and hatred blazed in his eyes as well as a hint of sadness.

Looking Vitale dead in the eye, he gurgled,” May you be damned for eternity and cursed with guilt for life for I did not lay a finger upon her. I was forced to watch as she was violated, and even now her screams resonate in my mind. I only ever wished to protect her, as a husband and lover.”

Nero collapsed, the sound of his body hitting the ground ringing in Vitale’s ears. He had made a grievous mistake, killing his best friend because he had been to rash and pig-headed to ask his sister to describe her assailant. Nero had simply been trying to drink away his regret at failing to protect his fiancée.

Whistles sounded around Vitale. Those who had heard the commotion of Nero and Vitale’s struggle had informed the police and now they had come to investigate. Two officers restrained Vitale while a third went to check Nero, who was face down. Upon turning over the corpse, the officer went pale and fainted.

No crime as gruesome as this had ever been committed against a noble of Nero’s stature. If Vitale had been any lower of the social ladder than he was, he would have immediately been sent to the noose. He was “lucky” though. After a short trial, in which every gruesome detail of Nero’s murder was retold by witnesses, the judge sentenced him to life in a prison on the tip of Italy.

Vitale could see his wife’s horrified expression as she held there son to her chest, and he didn’t even want to look at his sister. No doubt she thought him an absolute monster for killing her beloved. She would never forgive him in a million years.

That very night, he was sent on his way to prison. His shackles clinked together as the guards forced him into the back of the little carriage that was to carry him to his fate. They cursed at him and spat at him, degrading him in every fashion. They even took a couple of shots at his family to humiliate him further.

The worse was yet to come.

Upon reaching his new “home”, Vitale was introduced to the warden, a rough looking man with a perpetual sneer of his face. He spit into Vitale’s face, trying to provoke him, but Vitale remain still, not wanting to make his imprisonment any worse than it already was. When the warden didn’t get any reaction out of him that way, he took a small brand from the fire behind his desk with a crescent shaped piece metal on the end and approached Vitale.

“Do you see this?” the warden asked, turning it over the fire to keep it hot.

“If I didn’t,” Vitale retorted,” I would be blind wouldn’t I?”

The warden’s hand clinched so tight on the brand his knuckles turned white. “We use this to punish those who do not obey EVERY rule of this prison!” he hissed, turning on Vitale suddenly and pressing it to his skin just under his left eye,” Rule number one: never speak unless you are given permission!”

Vitale fell to his knees, his scream reverberating throughout the halls of the jails. The chains binding his hands and feet together prevented him from covering his face in an attempt to soothe the horrible burning. All he could do rock back and forth, his back on the floor.

The warden reheated the brand, smiling sadistically at the screams of agony coming from his victim. “We also have a special welcome for murderers as well, my friend,” he cooed, pressing the brand back to Vitale’s skin. Twenty three times the warden reheated and pressed the brand into Vitale’s skin. Twenty three times Vitale screamed in pure agony.

Finally the warden left the room, and guards dragged him to his feet. His body was too weak from trying to cope with the pain coursing through his veins; as a result, he couldn’t walk fast enough to keep up with the guards. They dragged him to his cell by his feet.

Lucky for him, the burns did not become infected. Prisoners were allowed to bathe once a week, and a few hours he was locked up, he was take to a room with single tub and allowed to wash off. The cold water he was given soothed the painful sores, and the meager piece of soap helped to clean them.