London, England 1813


The moon shown brightly on this winter’s eve, blankets of white illuminating the land, a heavenly glow of an angel’s paradise. Stars shining brilliantly, dancing in this crisp, clear night as chill winds blew clouds of icy smoke from the frozen earth. The lone echo of horse’s hooves shattering the silence, rhythmic pounding o heartbeats, vibrating the bitter air. The haunting orchestra of its’ era, bouncing, waving through your senses. The endless moan of metal wheels turning, grinding, assaulting the creamy, pale cobblestones. Babies cry out into the darkness of their cribs, mothers stumble to hush them, sooth them back to peaceful slumber. The constant wane of breaths taken in and pushed out for all living; numb to their own bodies withering, dieing all around them as they slumber in their beds. The ever-constant rush of their blood, flowing through their beating hearts.
Life is created and life fades away, a fact of existence, all are born to die, and the fear of many. Tonight’s symphony of death and decay is sung in melodies of friction with raspy lungs, air desperately drawn in, never reaching destination; Blood rising to the surface as they contract and spasm, filling the tongue with the thick, warm salt of their own fading life-force. The instrument, taunt   with pain, a flame will burn out this night. The agony from each strangled breath becoming too much to bear. Torture, like daggers dancing down his throat, his chest. Lightning bolts of misery cover his quivering torso, blood choking him as he weakly, but stubbornly gasps for any breath that can be caught.  A man of merely twenty-three, Draven lay in his bed of French silks, sticky with perspiration, trembling in terror. His raven kissed hair lying in stringy feathers across his sweat stained pillow, his pallor having lost all lively glow in these final hours. Velvet lips, so full and soft, strained in tight lines across his face, refusing to show any fear or discomfort. His blue eyes blank of any emotion as he chokes back what sounds might rise upon his tongue.  
Memories come now to accompany him in his passing time, visions of his youth flashing before his eyes, reminding him of what he forsaken all those ages ago. A child of six years, ebony strands of satin curled around his rosen cheek, eyes of frozen oceans, laughing in joy at the sight of a mother’s angelic face. Whispered echoes on the dark marbled floor as he rushes towards her, arms open wide, a smile more bright than the midday sun.
“Mommy! Mommy? Mommy? Mommy?!” He cries out in a gleefully, soft voice of church bells chiming the midnight hour. His rushed breath leaving him in wisps, like the fluttering of angel’s wings. Her eyes fall upon him in distaste, struggling to free herself from the confines of his arms around her waist. The happiness in his eyes failing to warm her frozen and withered heart, as she wrenches him away, swiftly striking him across the face before turning her back upon her fallen son; the sway of her silken and velvet skirts wafting through still air as she storms away in fury, leaving a confused child in her wake. The icy oceans of his eyes beginning to melt into little rivers of blue over his burning cheek, before he remembers that his mother hates crying children.

Another childhood lost and abandoned to please a strict, undeserving, but loved mother. A lifetime spent trying constantly to win her affections, never disobeying her word, attending to her every desire, ever trying to ensure her satisfaction. Taken every lesson taught and committing to memory every flaw to amend. Growing to young adulthood, she took his body in her bed, to ease the need of which she had no husband to go to. Many nights he spent with her in his arms as she slept, only then seeing a smile on her lips. Now in his twentieth year he sits by her side, never leaving her, as she grows cold and ashen day by day, holding her hand and comforting her as death approaches.
Her gray, cold eyes fall upon him once again, much like when he was a small child and he tried to hug her for the first time, in disdain as the breath catches in her throat, and her dry purple lips part in haste.
“Be gone with you, evil spawn of Lucifer!” She shrieks, “ You are no child of mine. Was mere ill fate that I brought one such as you into this world. A child who never leaves me, a leach, a parasite insistent on sucking away what little strength I have left in my body; Giving you life has weakened me! See now what your existence has brought me?! Don’t you see? You have brought about my early end! May the demons pull you back down into the bowels of hell from which you came, for you have murdered me!” She screams.
His eyes fall empty upon her face as he slowly lets her hand slip from his grasp, standing. Never in his life had he been able to deny her any wish, he was truly bound to her heart and soul, she was mother, and ‘Mother knows always best’.
“I’ll send for your tea Madam.” He whispers as he closes her bedroom door behind him, making his way from her sight.

Suddenly Draven was left alone again, the harsh reality of his life brought back into his sights. He is left only with memories, such cruelty to take his paradise away; He recalls the evening his mother died with sharp clarity now, it was a warm, humid night, most unlike this one to be sure; He smiles to himself bitterly, he had always hoped he would die on the anniversary of her passing. The night she died has always been a constant in his mind, the weather had been most peculiar for that time of year, she slipped out of his life, taking away the only light left in his soul, the only purity to the darkness that had swallowed him; Like grains of sand through his fingers. Autumn had passed his fury all over his world, no green was left to the lands of his youth, all dark and barren, devoid of life and warmth, everything lie in shades of burgundy, mahogany, and amber. The trees were left bare, their leaves having fell away ages ago, the wind turning chilly, for the winter that was closing her arms around them slowly. He remembered the way the light fell on the brook he use to swim in as a child, it looked like a river of blood flowing through their mystic lands, staining, and tainting the pure countryside that his mother once found joy in; It seemed that the earth was dieing with her. Suiting he found it to be, pending his mother’s condition at the time, none had the right to outshine his mother’s beauty in her final moments, she was fading away right before his eyes.
His mind goes black, like the flash of thunder on a darkened and empty sky during the storm, as he feels as if his heart has been gripped in the talons of a vulture; No thoughts or memories can penetrate this intensity of such assaults upon his body, struggling harder and harder still for the life giving air around him; Each attempt becoming more and more useless. He can feel the strength of his limbs slowly flowing from his body, out of his pours with the sweat. Draven’s had been the only thing his mother had prided herself on, he was not weak like his father, he was powerful in his rippling muscles, and could take any abuse that was given to him. He chokes as blood rises into his throat, like the water from the fount, making it impossible for breath to come through; His torso becoming so ridged and tight he feared he would split open, pouring forth his being in it’s entirety. The nails on his hands reaching to claw at the tender flesh over his adam’s apple, determined to cut it like a fruit on a hot summer’s day; No one would hears his screams, not even in death. A wave of sickness comes over him, consuming his being, temporarily blocking out all else, bile threatening to rise as everything he sees begins to fade slowly into black. Everything growing dim as he tries once again to focus, knowing very well that he is about to slip from the hands of this earth. But if everything was so dark, then why were his eyes being blinded and trying to force themselves shut, as if they couldn’t bear to see anymore. With a great feat of will, Draven’s eyes remain open and slowly begin to focus yet again, he refuses to close his eyes; He wanted to face his last rights of leaving this plane of existence. But if he had breath left in his body, as he felt everything closing in on him, it would have been stolen right from his lips; For nothing had prepared him for what he was seeing. Right over his bed was a great, brilliant light; A pathway to heaven, growing in size and strength as the seconds passed. Such a beautiful light it was, it had the fairness of which could have competed his mother’s, truly no words could describe such color or brilliance, of that which he was seeing. The divine wonder was not meant for his eyes to behold, no one so unworthy as he could ever dane to see such a sight. Such arrays of hues, none of which he could name, how could you place something so trite as a name upon such a higher form, such blasphemy was the mere thought to, all words were honestly lost to his feeble mind.
Alas, such tranquility was not to last within his soul, how could he even allow himself to believe such a thing was possible; For within his glorious celestial manifestation he caught sight of something that sent numbing chills over his heart. Within this heavenly embodiment he observed a wisp of black smoke, spinning like a vortex and moving towards him in ever gaining speed; Tainting the divine purity of what he was seeing in his end, such an evil it was. Draven tried so hard to will his mortal shell to move, but all motion had left him along with his strength, such fear was finally gripping him. He was truly helpless to this darkness, what ever it may be, never in his life had he known such dread as this emotion that was now sweeping over him; He could feel it throughout every shred of his being as the cool winds began to rush over and around his body. So his mother had been right, he truly was returning to hell, Draven smiled slightly in the comfort of knowing he was finally able to grant her last request, a sense of peace came over him in that knowledge.
He closes his eyes with the joy of knowing that if she was watching she would be smiling and urge him on to his destiny, to fulfill her command, for he was truly an obedient son, he was granting her every wish, even in death. Nothing, devoid of all feeling, paying no mind that he was no longer breathing; What difference did it make, there was no use fighting it, his time had finally come. Never had he known such comfort or acceptance. Perhaps death was actually a release, not a thing of doom, but in fact a blessing you could look forward to; Funny, it was so unlike what his mother said, but that was excusable, how was she to know what comes after, all she could was guess. Draven was no longer aware of his bed, or the bitter wind that had pushed his windows open, coming in to defile his chamber. For the great dark abyss was slithering it’s way to his face, caressing his clammy cheek, like the tender hands of death, seducing and moving within his nose; It made it’s way throughout his flaccid body, sinking into his internal frame, loving him with a passion to equal the intensity of fire as it reshaped him, healed him, flowing to his every corner, bringing him to a higher state of being.

So this was to be Draven’s hell, all around him is his mother, her very essence permitting his senses; Her hands running over his flesh in ecstasy as he gives her every pleasure of the flesh, concurring her body; Then those same passionate hands moving roughly over him in anger, punishing him, correcting his mistakes; Reminding him of what he lost and shall never have again. Truly he would sacrifice anything for her to be back in his arms, to give her everything, to fulfill her every desire once again as he had always done. Now the torment of her warm center wrapped around his manhood clinching tightly, stroking hot, begging for release, had come to haunt him. He could hear the distant echo of her voice, like heavens choir, moaning, crying out in satisfaction; Everything is so right in this moment, life should always be this way. The sting of her nails clawing over the taunt flesh of his back as he arches for another thrust, her feather soft lips at his lips, sweat pouring over her, her body blushing as it drew close to climax. Then once again the bliss of her striking him for committing such a sin before the eyes of god, could be felt; Shoving him out of her bed, kicking and screaming; Blow after blow, fire consuming her eyes. How she would tell him he was such a putrid, vile creature, how dare he try to taint one of god’s children; But it was only bittersweet, for this sight was slowly fading out of his senses, beginning to feel himself again, and the windows were open. Breath has once again found his lungs, no struggle involved, such pleasure it was. The air tasted so delicious, like the ripe berries from his fields in late summer, how they would stain his lips crimson. What a shock it was to find flavor in the air he breathed, why did it remind him of warm and sultry spices. N worries could penetrate him at this moment, why did he bother to try and be concerned. All he cared to do was lay upon his bed for this moment, eyes closed, he had truly taken his health for granted in his younger years, he never thought it could have been taken away; Now he could see it for what it really was, a treasure. Draven had never felt so alive, his every sense magnified, never was he able to feel everything so distinctly.
Slowly he rose to a sitting position, he was wise enough to know better than to be so daring as to jump out of bed, as he slowly opened his eyes for the first time since he had seen the light. What a shock that lay before him this time, everything so clear, so bright, yet there was no candle or lamp lit in this room; Every detail was so distinct, so vivid, painfully, it was as if he was seeing everything for the first time. He stood swiftly, gracefully, like a cat as he moved towards a mirror. Draven’s skin, it is still so white, like fine porcelain, yet his eyes seem to glow within the darkness around him; his mother had always said his were the eyes of evil. No flaws could be found upon him, his hair has become like silk, flowing like the waves in an ocean. His nails, like crystal they are so clear and glittering. He smirks slightly at these noticeable changes, chuckling in light humor, for the flaws that his mother so hated, to be gone; Barely noticing as his throat becomes hot, dry, and tight. He has become so thirsty, no amount of water could quench him, this was almost unbearable. Quickly brushed from his mind by the sound of someone approaching, he could smell the aroma of her skin; His chambermaid, such a fair and delectable thing she was indeed, such a ripe specimen.

She walks in slowly, shivering from the sudden rush of cold, as she quickly makes her way to shut the windows, such a chill would not be good for her Master’s condition. She locks them before turning to change her Lord Draven’s bed linens for him; But she cries out in shock to find his bed empty, swiftly she scans the room for him. She is soon startled out of her wits to find he was right behind her, the sheets falling from her arms.

“My Lord, you gave me quite the fright of my life. Why are you out of bed?” She asks with an unsure, trembling voice as he walks towards her, like an animal fiercely stalking its’ prey, he circles her.
“I suddenly find myself feeling quite well, I assure you; And I apologies for startling you so.” He smiles as he pulls her close, basking in her warmth; The scent of her blood filling his attention, listening to the soft, yet strong lullaby of her heat beat through her breast. Lowering his lips slowly to her shoulder, Draven begins to place gentle kisses over her flesh, moving so unawares to her pulse, swirling his tongue over her skin tasting her. His hands moving of their own accord over her trembling body, over the curve of her bottom, and the swell of her breasts.
“Lord Draven?” She whimpers in protest, but that voice so soft and tender, full of concern has become trapped in her bosom as his fangs pierce the sweet flesh of her neck, pain so overwhelming, yet so intensely pleasurable, she can find no words.
Draven moans in ecstasy as her blood flows freely into his mouth, the tender taste, so intoxicating, washing over his tongue and invading his body. He begins to feel so eloped with her, as if they were becoming one, quenching his thirst, causing his senses to sour high with the clouds, filling him with life and warmth. But it wasn’t long until she grew sour, giving him such fury that he pushed her away, to where she fell on the floor, as he violently whipped his lips with a scowl. She was dead, and yet he knew of no such satisfaction in his life, as he stood there looming over her.