Spoilers: This came to me as I was reading IWTV and TVL. AR's characters are present, but Alys, Jean, Remy and a few others come from my own little screwed up mind. Enjoy!

Armand and Louis asked me to write this story. Actually, Armand begged me for my story. I was quite content not to reveal my secrets, to live in mystery and intrigue for the rest of my life. Or, more appropriately, for the rest of eternity. Our dear Daniel changed my mind. He convinced me that my life was as intriguing as anything that I could imagine and create in fiction. Louis, my dear Louis, he changed my heart. I was cursed to live in a black hole of despair and dream the world away until he came brought a light to my darkened life. But that is a bad beginning. I am a storyteller, am I not, and here I am starting at the end of the story. The story I will give you is an epic, rid of all emotion, merely telling the story of my circumstances, as I am too old and the story would be too long if I added those things in. Perhaps I might be encouraged to write a more stable, dramatic story, but I never write about myself in my poetry. So here it is, my dearest Armand, and the light of my darkness, Louis, and to you Daniel, the one who made me write again.

*Chapter 1*

I was born in the mountains of Wales in 1051 Anno Domini. It was there that I met my only true love, my soul. He was fleeing Hastings in 1066 with his mother, Aldith, the Princess of Wales and First Lady of England. Aldith came to live with my mother and I when I was 15 years old. My father had fought with Aldith's former husband, Prince Griffith of Wales before they were both killed by Harold Godwin in the mountains and Aldith, with her three children, were sped away. When they finally returned, Aldith was carrying the Atheling, the true heir to the English throne, but her first son, Llewlyn, caught my eye. He had grown up to be a fine, graceful, strong young man. His dark hair and eyes and bright face hid a serious, scheming demeanor. I handfasted with him after living together. He was 18, I, 17. He called me Moonflower, as my already pale skin that looked like translucent skim milk glowed in the moonlight, harshly offsetting my midnight hair. I was as much a warrior as he was, welding a sword and more importantly, a bow, better than any of his men. Llewlyn, in disregard to his mother's wishes, set about winning Wales back from the Normans. After the birth of our son in 1070, I joined him on the battlefield. Our son Griffith was left with my brother-in-law, Rhodri, so when we were captured and Llewlyn killed, I knew my son would be well taken care of. Llewlyn was felled by William himself, which is some consolation I guess. At least he was killed by a somewhat equal. I was taken to London, and William, in a drunken stupor tried to rape me. He did not succeed, but before the word could get out, his council suggested giving me to his oldest son, Robert, as I would most certainly be considered a threat to his crown and a saint to the Welsh people. So I was sent to the Frankish kingdom. I realize that I just spent time on perhaps the least important part of my life, but it is imperative that I make you understand my circumstances in which I found myself before I became a vampire.

The Parisian court was a lonely place. I spent my days in a room with no friend or foe to confront. I did not know any speaking French, but my reputation as a bard in Wales had reached King Phillip's court, and I was forced to the French ballads that so many of the court loved. Eventually, a courtesan, a widow as she was, befriended me, and through her, the Baroness de Orleans, my lessons in French commenced. I learned to read and write in Parisian French, although nothing felt as graceful and liquid on my tongue as my native Welsh. I was content, but I rebelled against my captors as much as possible. I had tried to escape twice, only to be brought back to the palace once more. I also was considered a great storyteller and bard, so weekly I was asked to sing at court after dinner.
I had been in Paris for eighteen months when I first saw him. My one friend, the Baroness had since died of childbirth, and I was once again alone. The place in court had been carved out for me, and no one would again try to ridicule and berate me as before. As I said, I tried to defy my wardens as much as possible, so on the morning of the grand feast for the King of France, I decided to redden my pale features and look as ugly to the French as possible. Of course, to a Welshmen, I would be prize meat then, but the French so much wanted the delicate features of a woman to stand out by making her as pale as possible.

I started out early, walking the path of a garden until about midday when I turned down a dirt passage that led through the forest. The route in which I took was not guarded at all, and so I was able to shed the awful satin gown the servants had dressed me in. I even took my shoes off, relishing in the dusty road and cool plants that fell beneath my feet. I hiked up my shift so my bare legs were exposed (a sign of a poor or indiscrete woman in those days) and walked down the path. I passed several caves, all dark and musty smelling, all shallow. Except one. As I passed it, I didn't feel the eyes that had suddenly opened to flash at me before closing instantly as I walked passed. I walked on forever, letting the sun splash on me, waiting for the heat that would tell me that the skin was burning. I finally came to the end of the path, a small church lurking in front of me, disintegrating and old, as if the priest had been gone for a hundred years. The bell struck for early vespers then, and I knew that I had wandered for far too long. The palace guards would come looking for me in another hour or two, slamming down the dusty trail paying no respect to the creatures that lived there. The sun was starting to set, but the feast would not begin for another couple of hours for me. I was never present at the formal part of the festivities, as some still believed that I could rally the Welshmen and destroy France. I ran down the path, my shift blowing in the wind and never quite covering everything at once. Then suddenly, halfway back to where I had left my shoes and gown, I saw the eyes. In the cave that must have gone deep within the hill, I saw the whites of the eyes, which for a moment, seemed to blaze and become luminescent. The dark of the pupil stood out, but the rest of the face was not there. At first I thought it was some wretched animal, but there was something there, an understanding that no other creature but a human could posses. I looked directly at the creature, and the eyes disappeared. In an involuntary instinct, I held out my hand as if in a welcoming gesture or a sign to take mine and come with me. The eyes appeared again, and I could see turmoil in them. I heard the bells of the palace chapel then, and knew that I had to rip myself away from this find. It was then that I noticed I was only wearing a light linen shift, that my features were standing out in the evening sun. My cheeks reddened and I ran off down the path, managing to throw my gown on and make it back to the castle before I was missed. My first encounter with, as I was to later learn, a vampire, was over.


When I had managed to return from my quarters, I was greeted by women who were disgusted at my disheveled look. My rebellion to burn my skin had been a failure. I was soon given a quick bath and a velvet gown of dark crimson to wear. However, since I would never give the French the satisfaction of wearing a gown of the only color that my Llewlyn loved on me, I chose the dark blue crushed velvet gown with gold trim. I never said that the French ever gave me the clothing of the peasants. I was considered an honored guest, and a good entertainer. I was ready for the feast. I sang to the drunken masses of nobles after they had finished their plates. But before then, I was usually ordered to sit at the table with the other honored guests. There was a different man at the table that night. Across from me sat a man, very pale, in clothing that looked as if they had not seen the light of day for years. They were slightly outdated, but no one would really notice unless they were up on the current fashion of the Italian court. His clothes also had a dingy look to them, almost grimy. His dark brown hair was disheveled and barely tied back, and his face looked somewhat placid, but the eyes I knew. I had seen those eyes in the cave earlier in the afternoon. The turmoil was still in them, but he hid it very well. Before I caught myself staring, he looked at me, and his face had seemed to soften. I noticed that he did not eat the food on his plate, and he watched me out of the corner of his eye all night. It was his eyes that I found in the audience when I sung, and it was his influence over the king that night to allow me to sing one of my native ballads. When I sang perhaps Llewlyn's favorite, just for the mysterious man, everyone in the hall cheered and asked for one more. I do not believe they ever heard a Welsh ballad before. The mysterious man had given me the greatest gift of all and I did not even know his name.

After my entertainment, the hired musicians played, and everyone danced. I was immediately picked to dance with the King's son, then a baron, and another lord, before the mysterious man with the pale features was to be my partner. There had been whisperings that he was a courtesan, a country man who was vile and indiscreet for those city dwellers, that no one had set eyes on him for years, that he had gone crazy and was living in the wilderness. As the dance begun, we were swept into the movements, like some otherworldliness had enveloped the two of us. We said nothing, only looked in each other's eyes, and somehow there was understanding. I knew exactly what he was saying, without his lips moving! The next thing I knew, we were walking on the battlements of the palace. It was there that I learned his name, Jean-Baptist de Sain, Marquis de San Guilliere, a small province in the South of France. His words were heavy with an accent I did not recognize, and he walked almost with difficulty, as if he had not used his legs in many years. He looked to be the age of 25, but his demeanor said he was older, though how that could be, I had no idea. We spent more time together as the weeks went on, him teaching me the ways of the world, I teaching him how to fit back into the world he painted. It was he who eventually asked the King for my life. Robert had been in Normandy, and never came to see his prize. The king granted Jean his request and that night we rode to his holdings in the South of France. I had learned that he was a vampire by that time, so I kept watch during most of the day, and he talked with me until I finally fell asleep in the carriage at night. He had revealed to me that he owed me a debt, as it was I would had brought him out of the wilderness and wild living, and therefore would never take my life. He would however, make me a vampire when the time was right. That time came in the Spring of 1072. I was 21 years of age, still possessing the beauty of my youth, and the delicate features of Welsh. My hair was cut slightly past the midway point of my back, and I was to exercise regularly to build strength. My loneliness had gone, and I was encouraged to write: poetry, stories, and songs filled the books I was given. I even learned Latin and Castillian. The preparations took a month, and I was finally brought over to the dark in the month that would be call April. In a small little castle in the south of France, in the year of our Lord 1072, I, Alys ap Madog was given the gift of the vampire. I will not go into detail in how the proceedings went but to only say this: the feelings I experienced were so tremendous, the sensations I discovered so wonderful, that for hundreds of years, if I was ever lost on something to write about, I had only to think of that fateful night. I am taking too much time for my story, so I will skip ahead to the important events of my life.

Fifty years after I was given the dark gift, my master declared that I was ready to be on my own, to leave his tutelage and discover the world and its pleasures for myself. He had taught me the ways of vampires, many of the same rules of the coven, but always reinstating in me the value of living with humans, to learn from them. He revealed to me his life story. Jean was given the gift of the vampire while a slave in the Eastern Roman Empire before the collapse of the West. He was originally from Gaul, and as soon as he was a vampire, he returned home with his new freedom. When I had found him in the forest outside of Paris, he had been living there for four years, wild with a madness no one could describe. He had taken a mortal lover, with the eventual intention of making her a vampire. She unfortunately died before that could happen, and not by his hands. There was another vampire who took revenge upon Jean, killing the lover for revenge and punishment. Jean went mad, and lived a life of confusion in the forest before I came and brought him back to a sense of well being. Almost. His eyes still betrayed a mind of wildness and turmoil. There were times that I did not know who he was, and sometimes he would scare the servants by shouting names and speaking tongues they did not understand, running through the halls and destroying paintings and tapestries. At the end of my tutelage, he told me all that had happened before asking me to order the servants to build a bonfire during the day, but not to light it until I came out. I was to light the fire, make sure that it was a fiery inferno, to make the flames lick the very heavens. The fire was roaring when he finally emerged, and he carried a sword, which he put into my hands. He gently kissed my lips, telling me that everything would be all right, that he had left a gift in his chambers, that the world would change for me, that I was strong enough to face anything. He then gave me the order to have his body, what was left of it, hacked to pieces and placed back into the fire once again. He explained to me that he wanted to leave, that his longing for death was great and that every vampire would feel it eventually. His last lesson. He said he did not want to wander the Earth, that he would rather go glorious and on his own terms. He must have seen the horror in my eyes and felt the increase fear, for he kissed me again, reassuring me that I would be taken care of. He suddenly kissed my forehead and said goodbye. Then in one swift move, he jumped into the fire, staying there for a long time. I could hear his anguished screams mixed with laughter, until the fire died down and I could see the body, what was left of it, burnt and unmoving. As he had asked, I took the sword and hacked the remnants to pieces, throwing them back into the fire, until everything was consumed to ashes. I do not think that I remember the feelings that were going through my head at that time, so horrible they were. I do remember that the emotion was so great, it was as if I was a human once again. The fire took all night, and just before dawn I left the bonfire with the orders to keep it going through the morning, but to let it die out so the ashes would be cool by nightfall. The next night when I woke, I did not dress fully, but went out into the night in a linen shift and no shoes. The servants had been sent away, and after I fed, I went and collected the ashes, taking them up onto the mountaintop. There I said a pagan prayer, giving my master to the four winds and spreading his ashes to the rest of the world. Jean-Baptist de Sain, Marquis de San Guilliere was gone.

Chapter 2

When I recovered my own senses and finally went in to my master's chambers, I found that he had left his holdings and all of his riches in my hands. He had left me sweet letters, those of the most tender nature. What they had written in their pages I cannot tell you, for that is the one thing I keep of my master. Perhaps one day I might disclose the content of the letters, but that day is not today.

The select servants, who knew about what my master had done, and what I had done, kept silent and lived the rest of their lives in comfort. Everyone else was told the master had died of an illness. I proceeded to write and to learn more, and traveling the world, I discovered more about myself and the Earth I had inherited. I will skip ahead to the Renaissance, as the nights that followed into the years were nothing of importance to the wandering eye of my reader. Merely memories of words and illumination.

I knew that there were other vampires in the world, as my Jean had told me, but he was an outcast of sorts so he did not associate with them. In fact, as I found from his correspondence that was open to me now, he was offered by many covens to join, but he refused. He believed the only way to survive was to take on a bit of humanity. Out of spite and an outcast myself, as I had helped to send my master into the fire and therefore killing another vampire, though it was more of an assisted suicide than anything, I traveled among the mortals. Still, the vampires I did meet were sympathetic, yet did not include me in their world. They repeatedly said that it was not my fault for helping my master, and some even asked me to join their numbers. I had my own rituals, so I could not consciously join them. So I lived among those I killed. This situation was satisfying to me. I did not desire the company of the covens, nor did I want to join their group and have my actions restricted as they had been when I was a mortal. It has been this idea of prisoner in a friendly atmosphere that has kept me from doing many things other vampires have urged me to do. I made a vow on my master's ashes that I would never be a slave to anyone again. The covens, in my view at the time, were the very epitome of slavery. To blindly follow and never question, to chant and dance in a flurry and never really think about what it is you are doing. I was enjoying my freedom. I never published anything until the Renaissance when the opportunity finally presented itself. Although I did have to write under a pen name, and the estate that I was given by my master had to be given, by law, to a male heir, so began the legacy of Alysdair Macdogal.

As I have stated before, it was during the Renaissance that the next major event of my life took place. Before I go on, I must tell you that the Renaissance I am talking about was the Italian Renaissance, a time when Italy was advanced and the rest of the world was slowly becoming solidified. Even France had not enjoyed its great reign of the Valois dynasty yet. The years following 1300 were advantageous to Italy, but not to the rest of Europe.

I was some three hundred years old when I first saw him. Dark hair and dark eyes, his smooth olive complexion immediately creating a rise in myself that I had never felt since my master's death. We met at a party for some merchant, and I was introduced as the Marquise de San Guilliere. In the light of a thousand candles he was more beautiful than ever. The salon talk was a buzzing hum as he and I described the wonders we had seen, as well as those we desired to discover. I stalked him for several days after that night, just to see him again. Remy Salinalio was a publisher, and had just acquired the printing press from some German. Oh the ache in my heart was intense when I learned of this. I went to my dear publisher, and found that he could not take his mind from the night we had first met, and had hoped that the two of us would meet again. I had to describe that I wanted to be published, to have my work collected in a book, to be distributed all over the world. My dearest Remy, he obliged, for a large sum of money, of course. I think he was shocked that a "Welsh" Marquise could write, and even more shocked to find that the work I presented to him was rather good. Our relationship was started. I must admit, that eventually, I could not resist him any longer, and the love was absolutely beyond compare. And he submitted, without resistance and knowledge of what the copulation would mean. He was made a vampire in 1459, in my small rooms in Venice, Italy. Ah, Venice, the city of love, of desire, and of new beginnings. Remy embraced the dark like fire upon a dry field. He could not contain his astonishment upon the rediscovering of the world, and I commenced in his training. It took several years, and for a many years more, the two of us were unseperatable. I had found a new companion to share the world in, and we saw those places we had discussed a desire in seeing that first night. Eventually, my darling had to leave. I knew that it must happen. He had found a coven that embraced him, and our love and friendship was becoming stale by the day. After you have lived with someone for a long time, then the sight of them is sickening, and time apart is required. Remy's new coven master did not kill Remy for being made by myself, and in fact, he too forgave me of my "sin." I had no desire to join and have everything of mine be looked upon, so I left my little Remy. The parting anguished me for sometime. I kissed him, and told him that all I had to offer was his already, there was nothing left to teach. "Be happy, my love, and if I may live forever, remember me always." My last words to him for some time. Obviously, as he is still my publisher in these times of political correctness and science worship.


I returned to Venice, partly in vain to recapture the feelings I had first had in the city, and partly out of some desire to go back. I had felt a call as it were, to return. It was then that I met Marius. The wispy white hair, the beautiful face that looked at me with all the concentration he had in his body. He had followed me in Venice before, never revealing himself to me, and when I had taken Remy as a lover, he ceased the nightly stalk. Eventually I met him at an opening of a church where his frescos decorated the tiny chapel. I was looking at them, losing myself in the breathless landscapes and Christian motifs when he came up behind me.

"Beautiful, are they not?" He spoke in perfect Welsh! And in my great astonishment, I answered him in my native tongue, "Yes, breathtaking."

There started our friendship. We talked for hours upon end, though the two of us never became lovers. That was not to be for several reasons. First, we were not compatible. Second, Marius was more a teacher of the old ways to me, many of which I already had known from my Jean, though I could not put a name to them. Thirdly, Marius desire for me was merely professional. He wanted to paint me. After awhile, after he had taught me many things about myself, it was time for me to go. I had a need to leave again. I first had to go to my native Wales, for my children were calling me again. But I also wanted to see the ancient world, the one that Marius had described. I must admit that Remy and I had traveled to India and China, we had discovered the orient, but we had never gone to Egypt, to Africa. I so wanted to see them, and my reading took me to the ancient texts of the Egyptians and the few accounts of the Arabs on their Moorish cousins. Before I left Italy again, though, Marius painted me. And in a parting gift to my old friend, I told him where he might find one that looked as if he had been chiseled from marble from heaven. I had never seen the boy in person, but I had dreams about him, where he was being held, and the thought that he was a slave had enraged me. I could not retrieve him myself, so I told Marius. That is when he first knew, at least from my lips, that I dreamed true. Although, in my opinion, he was just biding his time for the day when I told him from my own mouth what my powers encompassed. He had already had an inkling. I told him where to find the boy on the stairs of the small hallway where I stayed the night he told me that the long vigil of posing for him was done. He was not finished with the painting, but all it needed was a background, and my face had been sketched into his mind, that I could go. I was most relieved, for my people in Wales were most urgent in their last letter for me to return. We parted on the stairwell, and he almost looked as if he was Romeo in the soon to come Shakespearean play "Romeo and Juliet." We parted, knowing that we would see each other again. Of course, I had heard the stories that Marius was dead, killed by the Roman Coven, but the last words of "Until we meet again, my dear Alys," never lost their truth. (I had had many connections with the vampires of the underground, and I counted myself lucky that I had left Italy when I did, for I might be one of those who had been burned as well.)


Chapter 3

The next few years took me first to the shores of Wales, and then to the continent of Africa. I explored the Middle East, Egypt, and even went into the interior of Africa. I was alone, except for the few mortal companions that followed me, but eventually they managed to leave me. I did not know how fond I had grown of them until they were gone, and I felt their loss acutely. It was after their loss that I found myself back in England. I secretly existed there, although, you could always count me as the Welsh representative, who lobbied Queen Elizabeth for my native peoples. I managed to live for quite some time when I saw him. I had first gone to London, to see the changes there, and immediately found a new friend. Christopher Marlowe was perhaps the most beautiful, sublime writer I had seen in a long time. I met him at the opening of one of his plays, and I nearly fell in love with him. He and I became quick friends, exchanging ideas and stories. We would sit in tavern, him drinking ale, me merely holding the cup, talking well into the night and following morning. He never suspected who I was, but I must say that the conversations we had about death and life, good and evil, filled the play The History of Doctor Faustus. Unfortunately, our friendship was not to last long. On the night that I was going to reveal to him what I truly was and claim him as a lover before bringing him over to the dark, he was viciously taken from this world. In a tavern brawl, my dearest, beautiful Kit was taken from me. The despair I felt led me to destroy the notes I had been working on for a play. But a dream led me to rewrite them again, as Kit came to me and urged me to continue. The play was never finished, and is somewhere locked up in a dusty old book in England now, never seeing the light of day. My broken heart left me in a whirl: I never knew what was happening around me, and I almost lost my footing in this world. I went back to my Wales, where upon arriving, I found my little rabble of mortals in a frenzy to see me. They had become my followers in the old religion, and with the advent of Protestantism in England and its territories, they could worship in secret freedom. So I taught them the old ways of the paganism that I had learned from my mother, the laws of the goddess, the myths of Britannia and Brigid, of faeries and elves, and most importantly, the moon and all the wonders it could open up. With the lack of a mortal leader they turned to me, never knowing I was a fiend of the dark. There were only six of them, and they loved me so that I could not leave them when I saw them grow old. The little colony grew, and it was as if the myths of Avalon were true and relived. I indulged my need for companionship. I saw my friends grow old, and I at last stopped writing completely. Since the death of Kit Marlowe, I had not written anything except poor poetry of the despairing heart. The pain of seeing them die was too great and all the pain and despair I had felt in the past for those I had met and loved overwhelmed me. I had been plagued with dreams of the past, reliving the pain I had felt. I sat in my little room, leaving only to feed, and sometimes, not even then, coming back and staring at the moon. I think I cursed the moon, and the visions it had sent me, for the sadness it had caused. My visions had been nothing but pain, for the past and future, and I could not tell the inheritors of the new little religion that I no longer felt for them anymore. I went underground in 1658, and did not emerge from my small crypt until 1723.


Chapter 4

In the early 1700s I woke again, feeling the need to feed, feeling the need to feel alive again. My priestesses did not know who I was: none of them had laid eyes on me before. The pain was acute again, and I hadn't written, even though my beautiful Kit had come to me in my dreams, urging me to write again, telling me that to ease my pain was simple, that all I need to do was write. I could not accept that while I still slept. Other visions came, those of my mortal husband Llewlyn, of Jean, of Remy, even of Marius. I saw happiness, but I also saw the pain. I relived the day that Llewlyn was killed, I felt the heat of Jean's fire, I saw Remy walk away. With Marius I did not have any stressful times, so I just relived the painting. One dream began to reoccur. I saw Paris again, I saw the streets, the changes that had been made. I saw more vampires, members of my own kind. But when I woke again, not wanting to live my life in a box, as Kit began to put it, something had begun to change in me. The strength I had gained in the losses suddenly grew, and I was starting to write once more. The visions I began to receive again were not ones of the past, but of a happy future. In fact, one of those visions had brought me such hope, that I could not be depressed anymore. And though I never admitted this to Armand, I knew that his letter was coming. The thought of a new life with other vampires gave me hope. I would not have to endure another generation of death in the small little group that had formed around the pagan standing stones. And my writings grew stronger by the day when the anticipated letter from the Parisian Coven and the new Theatre des Vampyre finally came. I was born once more.]

Before I had left Wales again, I was visited by another vision of the future. But this one was not of pain or suffering, but of a new change. The world would shed this coat of scientific wonderment and return to the philosophy, music and writing of emotion and chaos. It could not be true! I could not contain my excitement for Paris anymore. But I had to wait until the girl I had seen in a vision would finally come, and when she did, I had to train her so that she could control the gifts of Brigid. But I did this with such happiness, that the nights seemed to fly by. All I told my beauties was that I was required to leave for a pilgrimage, and they left it at that, my little ones. I did, however, promise to return in the future for the celebrated holidays, but admittedly, whenever I did return for the first time, they had changed so much that I had not recognized them, and I knew that the reign as high priestess would not be mine again. I happily relinquished my role, content to be myself again, and left for my new home. I did however, travel to England once more to see the grave of Kit Marlowe and another fine playwright, Shakespeare, in order to say my good-byes. I had left the world of order to find the chaos again, and when I returned, it was a dream. At Kit's grave I found a message there, hidden in the marble from Kit himself. In a flash it was gone, but I had read the inscription.

Never forget me,
Always remember the past,
But look to the future for strength.

My dear Kit, how well you touch the soul. 1784 I joined Armand and Nicholas de Lenfant's little coven.

Chapter 5

The Coven Years. What can I say that you do not know? I spent my nights performing, writing, feeding sometimes, enjoying the company of the newfound companions of the Theatre des Vampires in Paris France. They were no longer the staunch Christians they had been in the past, and even though I was required to be open, in most areas, I never felt the slave. That was the reason for not joining a coven before, I could not handle their Christian views of the world, nor would I appreciate the strict methods of the coven masters, who would not allow me to act as I pleased. The new theatre was different. It was difficult at first, to join a group of suspicious, sometimes egotistical vampires, but I do not look back in scorn. In fact, it was in those years that I held my greatest joy and my strictest lessons, my most dearest friends, and direst enemies. Armand, I had found after my audition, was a searching soul, as I was, and that made me at least content to know that I was not alone in my journey through the world. He was the one I ended up befriending and keeping as a friend throughout my life. Nicki, it would seem, was very inspirational, and mad. I never ceased to be fascinated by his wandering mind. But I could not blindly follow him, as many of the others did. Truly, I did find his music inspirational, but to suddenly become entranced in something was never my ability. I did not lose myself so easily. It was there in the Theatre that I found my eternal friends, those who would never leave me as the mortals did, those who respected my dark gifts of beauty far more than anyone has in the past. I loved, and still love, them so dearly, that I do not know how I had survived without those of my own kind, and in particular, them, for so long. I will never truly reveal the full meaning of the salvation, but they certainly had given me new life.

I befriended those mortals who were the greatest part of what was to be called the Romantic era. Indeed, it was there that I found my soul again. I was a part of the circles of emotional writers: Percy Shelly and his famous wife, Mary, Bram Stoker, and George Sand my biggest fan and friend. I loved her, and if not for the Coven, I am sure I might have taken her and brought her to the darkness she loved. We talked at night with Chopin and Lizst, with the others, and my writing flew out of my mind into a world of chaos. I could not contain myself. And when first our dear little Frederick died, then George herself, I was grief stricken beyond belief. I remember the little Moonlight Sonata from Beethoven that expressed everything I felt at the time, and I could not stop playing it along side Chopin's small Prelude No. 7. It was then that I told Armand that I was leaving. I had to be free again. I had a need to wander, to remove myself from the world and just observe. I had almost fallen into the despair that had wrecked me before, but I knew that I would survive better this time. The happiness I had felt before was leaving me, but I began to recall Kit's message to me, "Remember the past, but look to the future." As I looked to the future for strength, I found Paris to be restraining me. I think I even asked Armand to come with me. He refused. He was waiting for the one who would revive him, our dear Louis. I never met Louis until later, but found him most agreeable. I traveled, again,, to India and the East. I think somewhere in Russia I felt the call once more. This time I knew it for what it was, and I went to the Americas, the New World. I saw him, Marius, in a place called New York City. And my Remy was there too. 1915 had brought us all together again. My writing was flowing once more, and I began to write about home, something I never had done before. I saw New Orleans. There was something savage about the city, the Old French Quarter, the streets of a bustling metropolis on the banks of the Mississippi. I wrote and thought, and made my living again, fooling the mortals in their own world. I settled in San Francisco in the 1930s, and there is where I met Louis for the first time.


Chapter 6

I remember the night well. I was sitting on the front porch of my home, feeling the breeze touch my face, my hair whip around me in all different directions. I had known that it would be a night like this that he would come. I had had a dream while still in the Theatre about the day I would meet Louis de Pointe du Lac. He was wandering the night, lost in thoughts when he came up the front steps and onto the porch. He looked at me, not knowing who I was, with a blank, dull expression on his face. I think I remember giving a small intake of breath. I am always taken aback when a dream has been fulfilled, and I recognize the situation for what it was. I politely introduced myself after I recovered, and he told me who he was. There started the relationship of an eternity.

Louis I found, was an interesting vampire. A bit dull and aloof sometimes, but his ideas of the world were intreguing. We would talk and read the night away, discussing writers, philosophy, poetry, others of our kind, the secrets of the ancients, and to his delight, religion. I managed to tolerate his ramblings on Christ, as he sat quietly while I discussed the Celtic pagans. He always had a hint of pain that he tried to keep from me, but I found it always. Apparently he was the fledgling to the Theatre's patron, Lestat, and my dear Louis thought he lost him. I knew this not to be true, that Lestat had survived Paris and was back in the United States, but where, I could not tell him. Actually, I did not tell Louis anything. I desperately tried to keep him with me, to protect him almost, but Louis would grow restless, in his own way, and I knew that his stay was not for eternity. He found the need to leave, like he had Armand as I found out. We experienced the New World emerging, a world that lacked restraint, a world that threw the old customs of the mortals out the window to be free of strict, Cold War-mentality. The music was the most radical that I had ever heard before! He gave me the greatest gift: Louis put a new kind of feeling into my work, without even knowing it. His solemn nights of pain seemed to eat at him, and through his reliving of the past, I learned how to truly express the agony I had felt before. Louis and I, in a vain attempt to not grow apart, to hate each other forever like so many of us eventually do, decided to leave each other. Like Marius and Armand, I gave Louis a parting gift, a hint that Lestat would rise again. The dream appeared a few nights before we parted, and I could not let my dear little Louis suffer too much. The parting was sweet, the friendship still remains, although now that he has his little Lestat again, I do not think Louis and I will ever recover what we once had.

After Louis and I departed, I found a most remarkable woman, strong and imaginative, and she had become my second fledgling. She did not live for long. Mercedes Giam, for all my careful attention and love, for all my studious work to find her as stable as she could have been, did not take to the darkness as well as she should have. The feminist had a sudden need for Christianity, and out of spite for me, she killed herself by going into the sun several months after she became my child. I suppose I should not have brought her the dark gift, and out of love of her beauty, I had made the mistake of deeming her well enough for the life of shadows that I would give her. My dreams had been wrong, I remember thinking, unless, the one who would be mine for a long time has not yet arrived, so I waited. I still wait.
The dreams I always had still came, but a peace had been found in them, for now. I quit writing after Mercedes had died, and have only recently begun again. A strange time, the end of the millenium. I still see my dearests, Armand and Louis, and I have met Armand's little fledgling Daniel. And Lestat. Yes, I finally met Lestat as well. He was a pompous twit if I ever saw one. But I let my initial feelings make me biased. What I can say is that he has become the epitome of everything we have striven for in the last hundred years. He is an amazing figure to watch on stage, and I must say that it strikes me as funny sometimes when I think about him. We were meant to fear and loathe him while he was the patron of the Theatre, and here we are, loving everything he has become. The young ones do not understand, but by coming outright to tell the mortals who we are, their rational, mortal minds will not accept the fiend Lestat, or what any of us are. I must admit, however, that I did not attend the concert. I had a dream, but that is another story for another time.

As for me, I have come to live for almost 1000 years, and the knowledge that I will one day become a child of the millenium makes me proud. I will go on forever, unless I turn away from the dark and need the light again.

The End


So there you have it, my dearest Armand, and Louis, and you too, Daniel. My story: nothing glamorous, but you finally know the truth of most of what has happened to me. Do what you will with it, I give it wholeheartedly to you with this dedication. May you always learn and strive to be better than yourselves, no matter what dreams may come!

Your dearest and most loving,
Alys