Magdalena - A Vampire's Lament

Allowing someone to think you’re dead is a positive thrill, especially if you hated him or her in the first place. But if you loved them, as you always tend to do with potential victims, it hurts beyond compare to that of any thinkable physical pain.

I speak of my Magdalena: a delicate, rare dark beauty from my motherland. With skin the color of finely spun caramel and thick deep chocolate curls. Her brown eyes so dark, they were almost black. And yes indeed, I loved her.

Magdalena and I met one night as she sat upon the narrow boardwalk, fishing in the moonlight, wearing only her petticoat and bloomers, her feet bare and hanging freely over the pounding breakers far below us.

I smiled at her, tight-lipped, for I intended to drink from her Italian vein. I was in the light of mood for that particular vintage; though I did not feed often in Italy for fear that I might be killing a distant cousin of my family.

I sat beside her then, my eyes scanning the depths of the sea beneath us.

Magdalena laid her pole to the side, hoping I would speak, for she was very frightened of me at that moment; her heart beat quickly, like a little cornered rabbit’s.

But I did not speak. No. I turned my head to look at her and licked my lips before I kissed her forehead. I could see the immediate softening of her expression. That’s what happens when you’ve the face of an angel; too innocent for evil deeds. But this one was different.

“Speak to me, I beg of you,” she said softly, looking past me.

I probed her thoughts gently and did not see my face regarded with love as I did most. She had no picture of me in her mind, only this overwhelming darkness. Her mother, her father, nothing.

I realized that she was sightless.

She raised her delicate hands and spread her slender fingers, searching for me there, and I graciously leaned forward, allowing her to touch my features. Slowly, little dots of data began to filter into her mind of my appearance, and I could clearly see that she knew that I was beautiful.

“Are you real?” She asked me in a soft voice; her fingers probed my silken lips, seeking my teeth.

I turned my head away from her, not wanting her to find the deadly lupine fangs.

“I am real Magdalena. Real enough.”

Her small mouth fell open at the sound of my voice, and she began to pray to her god that her prayers had been answered. I knew them well enough, and that was why I wanted to take her.

But as I spoke to her, I could clearly see that her wish for death was only a façade. She wanted love. Love I could not give her.

Her soft hands found my manhood, struggling to maintain demeanor underneath my breeches. I gasped and bit my lip, drawing blood. I had not expected her to touch me so intently.

“Please signore, touch me there.”

So urgent and skilled were her fingers at unlacing me that I was astonished to discover she was still a virgin.

How had she discerned me to be a man so far away? I asked her.

“Your footsteps were too heavy to be a woman’s.”

“And how did you get out here, lovely one?”

She smiled, and her eyes closed.

“My brothers bring me out here to fish. I enjoy it."
Her touch became more insistent; demanding.
"They will return for me soon.”

I knew what she wanted, but I played the part of the fool.

“Why would you touch a stranger there, Magdalena?”

She never asked me how I knew her name. She opened her sightless eyes and from my point of view, appeared to be stargazing. But there were no stars in her sky. I smiled. I could give her those stars, if only for a moment.

“Lean forward, little one,” I asked of her. She did .

Slowly I touched her face, stroked her cheek and pressed my thumbs against her eyes. She cried out in surprise.

“What are these things you show me?"
She rose her hands up to feel for my face again.
"Are you an angel?”

I laughed, a little too hard. Angel I was not.

“Something not quite as grand. But here I show you the stars.”

“The stars? These beautiful things are the stars?” Her voice cracked in her euphoria. I knew I had done the right thing.

“Yes. The source of all life everywhere.”

She fell against me, knocking me back as she continued to unlace my breeches. I tried to stop her, but my efforts of resistance were not strong-willed. Her little hands snaked down inside my breeches to touch me directly, starting a desperate flame that I knew could not end well…

“Magdalena…you mustn’t.”

Every mortal woman I had bedded, had died. I killed them. I did not wish to do the same to her. I backed away from her, hurting her feelings.

“Is it wrong to think as I do?” She asked me, her eyes closed, but there were tears sliding from beneath her dark lashes…

“No, little one.”

“Then allow me to please you.”

I allowed her to touch me then, threading my fingers through her wild mane of dark curls, inhaling her cinnamon scent. Magdalena. A spirited beauty.

“What is your name, signore?”

I hesitated for a moment. I’d been so thoughtless.

“My name is...it doesn't matter”

“You are a beautiful man, I can tell. But you are cold, and I know that you aren’t like me…”

She kissed me then, silencing us both.

I did not want this treatment; I wanted to do the pleasing, but her insistence paid off. I soon relaxed, enjoying the sensation.

“Are all men this large, signore?”

I laid my hands over hers, staying them.

“No, little one, they are not,” I sighed, gently prying her away from me.

“I know that the sex goes somewhere,” she said, child-like in her manner, even though she was a woman already of perhaps twenty years or more.

“You have not laid with another man,” I said, “And furthermore, your cycle has not yet begun.”

Her eyes clouded suddenly. I could see the pain in her eyes. Slowly, she revealed to me her center, only it was mutilated. I narrowed my eyes, and looked in hers, even though she couldn’t see me.

“Who did this to you, Magdalena?”

“When it was discovered I could not see, they took out the child-bearing part of me, so I could not spread my plague.”

Now I understood why she was a virgin. Her people thought her blindness contagious.

I pressed her thighs apart wider, and her soft gasping soon deepened into womanly moans of desire. She reached for me. She wanted me to lay with her.

I slid into her, deep, until I was hilted, nearly seizing up at the incredibly tight muscles that surrounded me, gripping me with a ferocity as I had never known before. I resisted the urge to ravage her, as I do all mortal bed-partners.

My blond hair surrounded us like a wild net as I made Magdalena my own, her tawny skin shimmering in the moonlight.

“Magda,” I asked her softly, just before I sank my teeth into her neck, as was my duty as a blood drinker to do...

Would you die now? That you know what you do now?

My thoughts transmitted directly to her mortal mind, even as I drained her of her blood, taking her life in careful draughts.

“No,” she said softly at first, but it was soon replaced by a more definitive ‘No!’ followed by a firm push as I climaxed inside her, bringing her to, and casting her over, a climatic tidal wave of emotion and sensations.

As soon as it were through, I backed away from her groping hands, knowing that I’d done a terrible, terrible thing.

I’d allowed her to know my fatal bite and live. But I could not kill her. She had the will to live. So I did the only thing I could do for my mortal mistress. I took her hand and allowed her to touch my face again, as if to tell me goodbye.

A wave came, and I was ready. I clung to her grip, but knew that if I clung too hard to her, I would certainly kill her in the water. She would drown. My fingers slipped.

“Don't--”

My last view of her was her sightless brown eyes, and her delicate hands reaching out, as the great wave took me under.