Post by Prometheus on Sept 30, 2014 8:25:42 GMT
Prometheus walked back to the car with Diego in silence. They had already discussed what there was to be discussed. The entire evening left Prometheus lost in thought. Vamparism was a strange thing, leaving its victims stuck in their age, to live out a single year again and again until their death. Prometheus was not having second thoughts about who he was... no he considered himself blessed more than most.
He was embraced well into his life. He had grown, he had fucked, he had killed, all before he met his sire. Not every vampire was so fortunate. Many were stuck on the cusp of adulthood. What sort of strange vanity took their sires? Preserving the youth of their childe forever. In a toreador he could understand the obsession with it, but the other clans? It now struck him as tragic.
And some sires were even more eager than that. Embracing children, like the Nosferatu who had fought against them. Forever preserved as a small child. Her mind never to develop. And then her mind was stripped and broken, as the Nosferatu made a habit of doing. Prometheus wondered if she had been fucked as well. The one up in Montreal had not been spared such, were the Camarilla any better?
But in this, he realized that he missed his two daughters. He knew them only when they were young. He vanished with his embrace. And while he checked up on them from time to time, before too long they were grey and dead. It had been so many years ago. Was one of them named Mary? Or was that his wife's name? He couldn't remember anymore.
He had been seeing their faces everywhere of late. Perhaps it was a symptom of his shattered mind, held together now only by force of will and Javier's conditioning. He saw it once on Belinda. It might have thrilled her had she known, but Prometheus had no interest in sharing such a perversion with her yet. He saw it again on Valez in her sadness, and now on Mary as she had clutched the mirror as her life depended upon it.
Teresa.
He never saw the Nosferatu girl, but he could almost imagine her. He should have plucked her image from Mary's mind when he had the chance. The girl had managed to survive the attacks of both Seafairer and Dante. A father would have been proud.
Prometheus was a parasite. He knew that now. He could never have children again. In the pride of his youth, he rebelled against the idea of being a parasite. He was a hunter, he was a killer, he did not feebly suck blood while evading notice. But wasn't the parasite more evolved than the carnivore? It could consume its host and continue on. It was more efficient, it took less risks, and it didn't have to change havens.
That might be an option.
His prey right now was vast. He had not yet found a weakness in it. But he might be able to siphon from it. Was god so vast that he couldn't feel Prometheus's cursed bite?
In the meantime he would gather the children unto him.
He was embraced well into his life. He had grown, he had fucked, he had killed, all before he met his sire. Not every vampire was so fortunate. Many were stuck on the cusp of adulthood. What sort of strange vanity took their sires? Preserving the youth of their childe forever. In a toreador he could understand the obsession with it, but the other clans? It now struck him as tragic.
And some sires were even more eager than that. Embracing children, like the Nosferatu who had fought against them. Forever preserved as a small child. Her mind never to develop. And then her mind was stripped and broken, as the Nosferatu made a habit of doing. Prometheus wondered if she had been fucked as well. The one up in Montreal had not been spared such, were the Camarilla any better?
But in this, he realized that he missed his two daughters. He knew them only when they were young. He vanished with his embrace. And while he checked up on them from time to time, before too long they were grey and dead. It had been so many years ago. Was one of them named Mary? Or was that his wife's name? He couldn't remember anymore.
He had been seeing their faces everywhere of late. Perhaps it was a symptom of his shattered mind, held together now only by force of will and Javier's conditioning. He saw it once on Belinda. It might have thrilled her had she known, but Prometheus had no interest in sharing such a perversion with her yet. He saw it again on Valez in her sadness, and now on Mary as she had clutched the mirror as her life depended upon it.
Teresa.
He never saw the Nosferatu girl, but he could almost imagine her. He should have plucked her image from Mary's mind when he had the chance. The girl had managed to survive the attacks of both Seafairer and Dante. A father would have been proud.
Prometheus was a parasite. He knew that now. He could never have children again. In the pride of his youth, he rebelled against the idea of being a parasite. He was a hunter, he was a killer, he did not feebly suck blood while evading notice. But wasn't the parasite more evolved than the carnivore? It could consume its host and continue on. It was more efficient, it took less risks, and it didn't have to change havens.
That might be an option.
His prey right now was vast. He had not yet found a weakness in it. But he might be able to siphon from it. Was god so vast that he couldn't feel Prometheus's cursed bite?
In the meantime he would gather the children unto him.