Those two were with my character "Lillith"... this one I actually played a man my first attempt, it was harder than I thought!




Immortality has the grace of granting one freedom from the shackles of time. Yet even for a creature that defies all things rational including nature itself, finds that waiting for something, anything, becoming an unbearable burden.
He sat in his study, in absolute silence; his thoughts obsessed with that which he has craved with a searing passion for, what seemed an eternity, a craving paralleling his unending need for that crimson silken liquid he draws from when his lips lock to an unsuspecting mortal in the dark of night as he haunts the streets he holds within the pale grasp of his fatally clawed fist. His gaunt marbled face framed by hair as dark as his undead soul, trimmed to just above his shoulders, with a few locks hinting at a slight curl. The only mark mortality left on his appearance being the strands of gray hair close to his temples, those very temples that felt the cold touch of his fingertips as he massaged them absentmindedly. His gaze mesmerized by the flames dancing as if in rapturous ecstasy as the logs grant them freedom, yet his mind compelled to focus on the journey that lay ahead. Within the depths of his blackened orbs, the reflective images of the dancing flames enhanced the eeriness of his menacing features. Outside the trees, on the periphery of the forest, suffered at the hands of an unforgiving wind, howling like the lonesome cry of a wolf, causing branches to bend and twist to its command. Pregnant clouds, heavy and black foretelling the storm brewing as if being stirred in a witch’s cauldron covered the sky. The climate seemed to echo his ominous intentions, or perhaps all of nature revolted against the imminent doom that would befall the two captive women being shipped towards this place which held nothing but death. But they would bring life again to that which he had searched endless lifetimes for, a love that knew the man he was and never will be again. He, the embodiment of death sought life to grant him that passion once more, to hold within his cold embrace that which he loved when the flush upon his cheeks was not the gift of another’s blood, but of mortality. And thus in silence he sat, waiting.