A Rose in the Rain
Chapter One
My darlings,
If you have wandered upon this, I have passed on... Perhaps. Or perhaps you are one of the few special mortals who I have selected to read my autobiography. My memoirs, if you will. As you might have already assumed, I am not human. I am not Witch, nor Vampire, nor Lycan, nor Hunter. I am an outcast, a Maveric. We are wiccans, sired by vampires. I, my lovelies, am the humble servant of the oldest, most notorius vampire in the world. My name is Lotus, not always has it been that, I was actually born with the name Murder Durden, and I am the Childe of Jyrki Linnankivi. Though, I'm sure his name you'd recognize is Jyrki 69. Yes, my loves. The Helsinki Vampires are, indeed, actual vampires. You, see, I would tell you how I was sired now, but that would ruin the entire biography, so I'll leave that for later. Instead, I will tell you of my wonderful friend, a girl I have known since we were fresh out our mother's womb.
My best friend, Venge, born Illusion Durden. My cousin, and wiccan by birth. A woman happily betrothed to the man of her dreams, a fellow wiccan, who loved her fiercely... That was, until she was sired. His name? Ville Hermanni Valo. What? A rockstar you say? No, lovely. That man is not the vampire that bit her. Ville Valo is a ruthless demon that could charm the life out of Lucifer himself. He had stalked her for years, waiting until the eve of her wedding to her darling Frank to make his move. He entered her bed chamber as quiet as the mist hovering over the land, and took what he deemed his... Her blood. Having been infatuated with her for nigh a decade, he couldn't just leave her for dead, so he sired her, the blood of the Dark Coven flowing through him, giving her extra strength as she drank, weakly, from him.
You see... This is why we are outcasts. Our strength is magnified tenfold, for the blood of a wiccan mixed with the blood of a pure vampire is near impossible to destroy. That is why there are so few of us. Those of us who are still around are protected by our Coven and those who have sired us. We hide from the world by not hiding from them. We do not exist by existing. We dare not speak of our Sires to the others around us, yet they know who each of us belong to. You see... When a wiccan is sired, the mark of our Sire is left upon our flesh. On the skin below their bite, where the poison of their 'kiss' mixes with the blood of our veins. It's a seal of sorts, and no other vampire is allowed to stake their claim on you, and no Sire can have more than one Childe. That is why we are so unique. We are chosen, out of love, not lust, by our Sires. Our gain is our downfall.
We gain the heart, the love and protection, of a vampire, and we lose our claim to the world. We die in the sight of our families and our Coven. We are sought after, hunted. Like our masters, we are said to not deserve a place on this earth. Lycans, werewolves, are finally at peace and integrated into your world. I'm sure if you gathered your friends, at least three of them would be Lycans. But my race, my--Jyrki's race, we can never exist with you. For we need you. We need your blood, either willingly or forcefully, and we will have it. I know what you must be thinking: "This woman is insane. She expects us to believe that Maverics and Vampires and Lycans actually exist!" Believe me or not, my loves, but we exist. We live amongst you without even the slightest knowledge on your part. You sleep well at night believing that we are all just creatures in horror movies, but we aren't. We were here before man, and we will be here long after.
In parting, I want you to know... If you have stumbled upon this my darling mortal, your life will never be the same. You have been marked by the Lotus, the Dagger, the Ankh, and the Heartagram. Your fate rests in our hands, and you will never know a normal life again.
If you have wandered upon this, I have passed on... Perhaps. Or perhaps you are one of the few special mortals who I have selected to read my autobiography. My memoirs, if you will. As you might have already assumed, I am not human. I am not Witch, nor Vampire, nor Lycan, nor Hunter. I am an outcast, a Maveric. We are wiccans, sired by vampires. I, my lovelies, am the humble servant of the oldest, most notorius vampire in the world. My name is Lotus, not always has it been that, I was actually born with the name Murder Durden, and I am the Childe of Jyrki Linnankivi. Though, I'm sure his name you'd recognize is Jyrki 69. Yes, my loves. The Helsinki Vampires are, indeed, actual vampires. You, see, I would tell you how I was sired now, but that would ruin the entire biography, so I'll leave that for later. Instead, I will tell you of my wonderful friend, a girl I have known since we were fresh out our mother's womb.
My best friend, Venge, born Illusion Durden. My cousin, and wiccan by birth. A woman happily betrothed to the man of her dreams, a fellow wiccan, who loved her fiercely... That was, until she was sired. His name? Ville Hermanni Valo. What? A rockstar you say? No, lovely. That man is not the vampire that bit her. Ville Valo is a ruthless demon that could charm the life out of Lucifer himself. He had stalked her for years, waiting until the eve of her wedding to her darling Frank to make his move. He entered her bed chamber as quiet as the mist hovering over the land, and took what he deemed his... Her blood. Having been infatuated with her for nigh a decade, he couldn't just leave her for dead, so he sired her, the blood of the Dark Coven flowing through him, giving her extra strength as she drank, weakly, from him.
You see... This is why we are outcasts. Our strength is magnified tenfold, for the blood of a wiccan mixed with the blood of a pure vampire is near impossible to destroy. That is why there are so few of us. Those of us who are still around are protected by our Coven and those who have sired us. We hide from the world by not hiding from them. We do not exist by existing. We dare not speak of our Sires to the others around us, yet they know who each of us belong to. You see... When a wiccan is sired, the mark of our Sire is left upon our flesh. On the skin below their bite, where the poison of their 'kiss' mixes with the blood of our veins. It's a seal of sorts, and no other vampire is allowed to stake their claim on you, and no Sire can have more than one Childe. That is why we are so unique. We are chosen, out of love, not lust, by our Sires. Our gain is our downfall.
We gain the heart, the love and protection, of a vampire, and we lose our claim to the world. We die in the sight of our families and our Coven. We are sought after, hunted. Like our masters, we are said to not deserve a place on this earth. Lycans, werewolves, are finally at peace and integrated into your world. I'm sure if you gathered your friends, at least three of them would be Lycans. But my race, my--Jyrki's race, we can never exist with you. For we need you. We need your blood, either willingly or forcefully, and we will have it. I know what you must be thinking: "This woman is insane. She expects us to believe that Maverics and Vampires and Lycans actually exist!" Believe me or not, my loves, but we exist. We live amongst you without even the slightest knowledge on your part. You sleep well at night believing that we are all just creatures in horror movies, but we aren't. We were here before man, and we will be here long after.
In parting, I want you to know... If you have stumbled upon this my darling mortal, your life will never be the same. You have been marked by the Lotus, the Dagger, the Ankh, and the Heartagram. Your fate rests in our hands, and you will never know a normal life again.