[SleepingDragon]: 268.Lucas of Mortia
The night is hot when you are one of cold blood. Its hours are filled with the fiery passions of victims, both willing and not, and the compulsion of the never ending blood lust.
And there is fear. There is fear of the dwindling hours before daybreak when dawn must find you hidden away. Fear that this night will pass without the coppery taste of blood upon your lips, and the need of the same quenched. There is fear of the wooden stake and those that hunt you with them, ever in pursuit because like you, they covet.
There is conflict. When passion flares up hot under your lips, do you save and savor to feast again on the same victim another night? Or do you share your perilous gift with her, that she may walk the hours of the night alongside you, taming your lonely existence, yet competing with you for food and sustenance?
And there is the never-ending fear of both meeting your end and never finding it, for so it is to be immortal. While hunted, you must flee from instinct, but the long and tiresome years weigh heavy upon you. You wish sometime for finality. Though you never give up, you sometimes wish fate would intervene.
So now it is upon you, my love, my gift. Do I give you now my neck and let you taste the nectar of my eternal soul? Or do you again give me yours, that I might survive the night to meet you once again in the shadows of the night? Do we walk the same path from here, or again take separate roads? You must decide.