The Dark World: A Malkavian Prospective
Chrysania Marie Monroe
While gliding down the broken streets, Olivia finally gazed up from the concrete of New Orleans partly leaving her thoughts. There it was still standing. The house simply was not trusting. It was in a sense, guarding its self with the bliss that one day the salvation of restoration would present itself. Nails stuck out sickly as rotten teeth and beams shed its exterior from termite infested wood. Looking close enough to breathe the stench of abandonment, Olivia found dust on silver antique doorknob frightened of falling out of the socket for the lack of being touched, yet no longer pure like a virgin the same as Olivia. But, virgin she would remain and there lay her true inner child, a child seeking her teacher, for she was one of the damned.
Even the yard had been left to nature’s course. The lawn had over grown and lost in it was a graveyard of children’s toys. The black iron gate still standing tall was being taken over by browning vines and bleeding petals. Olivia wondered if too much life of anything was detrimental. All she had wanted was to understand truth…truth she later found, was a curse.
Calmly, she pushed the door of what used to be a bohemian palace and saw the destruction of it after only two hundred years of being un-kept. She remembered the reason she had been there the first time. She had been an entertainer, part of a traveling show who had taken her in when she left to find more. Floating from place to place till she was sixteen, this man let them into his great home and took special interest in Olivia. Only at night did they perform and only at night did he come out. He would drink dark wine, only wine and she would join him for seven nights. Each night she became unwillingly yet yearningly closer to him, longing for his words of truth and beauty. His words offering zealous passion she had only read of from poets.
As Olivia eased each step walking up the grand stair case in fear of falling through the tender wood, water began to leak in through the cracks of the walls crumbling as those of an ancient statue. The parts of her and the house used to be one, just one masterpiece of natural creation now left to become their own salvation and create their own salvation. This idea tore her apart almost as much as it haunted her mind when the demons of her nightmares would came to life.
Gliding down the hall, the only door was open was the one she had been lead to before by the man who had feed her wine that tasted like a home she had never had. Once in the master bedroom as she had before, the beautiful man finally touched her face as Olivia did now knowing he was near with the same cursed cold hands. She followed her steps from before when he had led her to the bed of feather pillows and expensive sheets. After he had blown out the last of the candles only one light showed, that of the blood red moon.
And she saw him! As he was before as she sat on the bed grasping in her hands the sheets not torn and full of dust out of excitement or fear. He reached his hand out as before. Last time she had accepted it and he had kissed her, promising her she would see the honest beauty of truth without really real death. He kissed her neck as if sucking the life force out of her. And as she let herself go, a penetration of her soul began and her visions of life were lost in an abyss of misguided enlightenment and an honest nightmare of bliss was formed.
When she finally lost all of her breathe and came to, she found herself in another man’s arms not quite cradling but caring. He was chilled much like the man before, but his skin was as black as the dilated pupil of his eyes. And his eyes were not of man, not of one man. She saw him for what he was with this curse and could not describe the horror of it, the beauty of him as he was in nature, but by no means forgetting her lover’s disappearance. Desmond was the black man’s name. He could sense her uncontrollable confusion, confiding he would not hurt her, because she was the victim of a wrong; that her “lover” had not asked to do what he had done as most of those types don’t. Desmond picked up the violin she had been using earlier and said her soul was safe around him. He waited till she was older to explain what he meant by that and what he did for a ‘living’.
The arm currently stretched out to her, although she couldn’t tell if she was still partially asleep, was inching back as Desmond walked almost abruptly intruding on what Olivia and the man she fell in love with two centuries ago were having. As Desmond stepped behind the man longing for Olivia’s company, the man disappeared into Desmond. Olivia’s emotions began to flood down her cheek in tears of blood.
She had promised Desmond that night to never look for the house, to never come back to it with a blood bond. But after all this time playing cats cradle with barbwire and making puppets out of small animals no longer pulsing, she couldn’t handle the nightmares. Not anymore. Even showing others, enlightening them with her curse didn’t help.
Dragging her toes solemnly towards the window passed Desmond, Olivia ceased her feet feeling his large hand against her fragile arm. Looking straight at him, “I understand the beauty of it.” She continued to crawl out the window facing the rising sun, “I am the moth”. Olivia made her way to the top of the house while Desmond made it to the basement out of the suns damage to rest.
Once the sun had receded, Desmond came out from his morning in the cellar and made his way to the roof. Grey ash now lay where Olivia had stood just hours ago. Desmond biting his entire bottom lip till it bleed out scooped up her remains and sucked what he could of it in. Infatuated with her taste in hopes of keeping what was left of her soul, he opened his eyes, his pupil a little bit darker.