Dark Journal....

[Myrrha]

_{*PLEASE NOTE: this journal is for fun/amusement and not to be taken serious - or to be revelled as a work of Christine Feehan. Some of the names will be familiar and are copyrighted by Christine Feehan - and I have her permission to utilize them so long as credit has been forementioned. Other characters introduced are of my own design. None of the scenerios related to CF's characters are actual scenerios she has devised - they too are of my own design... I hope you enjoy this unique look into the private lives, and thoughts of carpathian men*}



Krieger – South Western Ridge, Carpathia – April 23, 1398…

I have just come from a hunt – one I would have rather not had to participate in. Another brother has fallen to the darkness; and there is another notch, etched, into my forever blackening soul. I have taken shelter this night in the depths of the Carpathian Mountains, her earth welcomes me, even though I sit above the rich soil - I am tired.

The wounds, which Xander’s poisonous claws inflicted, are swelling, and on fire – I have not had time to force the toxin from my veins; my strength is waning. The blood loss I have endured, devastating.

I need to feed.

I need to sleep.

But if I do not write these thoughts down – or these things I have learned this night, they will not be around for the next generation after I am gone.

If there is a next generation

Many of the ancients are turning.

Xander – one of many mentors which I have studied beneath, would have been thirteen hundred and twenty-three years old come this winter – but he succumbed. With the older ones turning it leaves us younger lot to hunt them – and most, are not as lucky as I was this night.

I too hear the whispering – it is a siren’s call to indulge in the forbidden. “Drink of them deeply and I promise you will feel”…. the words are never spoken, but that is what I know they sing.

Rocondurri village was this vampire’s haven – he stalked the peasants ruthlessly, raping, and brutalizing most of the young villagers. If I could feel fear, I am sure I would be frightened at the fact; his lair was but a few hundred leagues from our Prince - Vladimir.

His son - Mikhail has been hunting with the Dark One – Gregori. Guarding well his Mother & Father.

If not for this knowledge, I would have long ago deserted my search and traveled immediately to the prince’s side. There are rumors our prince is weakening, that he does not sleep the sleep of our people, because he dreams of horrible things – or so the undead one claimed. I know enough not to listen to his lies – but the fledglings – they know little, and though I would hate to admit it I have seen this, evident in several young vampires I have slain.

Younger than even I.

They embrace the dark stain that spreads like a pestilence across our souls.

So young – so few.

I fear for this ever-changing world – if vampires get a foothold; then there is no telling what will happen.

My thoughts have wandered – my vision a mixing haze of grey-black.

The foul one claimed, that there is the possibility, that a great evil has awakened – and it is this that I am trying to write down, incase I do not make it through the night.

I would have denounced the vampire’s claim – but I saw in the flicker of his eyes the truth behind his words. There was something in his voice that trembled – I am not saying that the vampire was afraid, for they cannot feel anything – let alone fear.

Yet there was knowledge in his words, knowledge that did not sound false.

If the gods of man will hear my prayers, I would pray that those words and what they mean is proven false – I do not doubt my brothers – I cannot doubt. But I think that in this world of black & white anything may be possible….

[Myrrha]

Cáuldus – Northern Isle – April 30, 1398…

I returned to Scáthán Caisleán - Mirror Castle - after a particular harrowing hunt; to find a messenger awaiting my return. He was Carpathian – and young. Little more than a fledgeling. I know not how he found me – or why ? Until he handed me a, rather worn & weathered missive – the scent of my mother filled my nostrils.

I have not seen or heard from my mother in more than three centuries – my fault, not hers. Not since the night the world fully turned grey – and hours before I saw her, I wept tears of sorrow for the last time, using the very last of my vanishing emotions.

She had not wanted me to leave – I was her baby, the last child she bore; and I recall seeing in her eyes tremendous sadness, despair and love.

My father had told me…“to go”. I knew his words were not harsh or meant to be cruel – not that I would have known. I knew only that logically, it was for the best and so I wandered, killing vampires as they tried to kill me. Yet despite all the darkness staining my soul - I still remember that night and I remember wanting to hold her and tell her all would be well, because that was what she wished.

Inside of me, for her sake, I had tried to find the gentler emotions I once possessed; but like everything else they too had faded becoming little more than a vague memory.

Since that night, mine is a life a battling and blood. I fled from Carpathia with no destination or purpose in mind. I would have stayed one more day if I thought it would do any good – but the only thing I know I would have accomplished, is causing my mother more time to sink into sorrows.

If I could fathom alarm, or if I could recall horror, then this would be what I suppose, I would have felt after opening the missive.

My older brother has turned…

And so here I am – sitting behind the cold walls of this castle, as rain falls against the dark earth like tears from heaven – contemplating how best to kill my brother….

Sometimes, I suppose that in the bleakness of my world, it is good that I cannot feel emotion. Because this would probably kill me….

[Myrrha]

Mikhail – Central Ridge Carpathia – December 19, 1400…

I have traveled back to my father’s house. Wouldst it be a happy reunion – but I cannot recall happiness, nor can I say that this is what my father has in mind. Jacques too has been recalled, and Gregori, who has come with me.

It is “odd” to be under my ancestor’s roof – especially since the last time I stood in its hollowed halls, was the day, I was sent to destroy my sibling.

Sarantha – my mother, was asleep deep with-in the earth – my father, had forced her slumber. A mother never loses connection to her children- even those who lose connection to their selves. These were the words she once shared with me – at the time I did not fathom their meaning.

Now I know.

A mother is still connected to her children, her sons, when the darkness engulfs them… She too is consumed – but by more than the knowledge that her child has turned vampire. She shares their thoughts, shares their destruction – and if she is not careful she will be lost in their bloodlust.

It is enough to make even me shudder – and I have no emotion.

As I traverse these marble passageways of my youth, I catch glimpses and whispers of my fledgling years – in my mind I see myself smiling, as I taunt Jacques yet again, to try transforming into a mouse, while Gregori hides in the shadows as a black cat – waiting to pounce.

It was a favored game of Gregori ‘s and mine – one that Jacques did not care for…

I remember the humor – but cannot feel it.

I also remember what my father did as punishment – his iron will, forcing Gregori and myself into the shape of mice, while he let Jacques practice pouncing, and hunting on us….

Those were good times.

I know whatever it is my father wishes to speak to us about – will not be good. I have heard my mother crying – and have heard my father try to soothe her….. I can only hope it – whatever it is can be diverted or changed with my brother and Gregori’s help…

[Myrrha]

Patér – Arthens, Greece – December 31, 1400…

I do not understand why I am compelled to write this – but I am. I have done something this night that I would never have done – took a mortal life while I drank.

He was a thief, a murderer. I saw these things inside his mind – relived them through him. He and his cohorts – who ran the moment their leader fell - tried to rob me as I traveled from my lodgings, down to the market in search of blood and Ceasarian.

Normally I would have simply fed , then wiped his mind – or given him a memory of my own devise. Instead - for whatever reason he pulled from my compulsion and tried to run my heart through with a nasty looking blade.

One which reeked of odd poison.

I was angered – an emotion that comes and goes as I get closer to 263 yrs of age. In a fit of rage – I sank my fangs deep and gulped the thief’s blood, almost desperately. I felt his heart stammer, realized that his blood came sluggishly – Still I refused, no, I could not release him.

It was as if I was being held captive by something dark inside - and then just before everything went silent, I was hit with this fireball – it raced through my system and for a moment I reveled in its promise of power.

I incinerated the man and let the Mediterranean breeze take his ashes into the night…And then I fell to my knees – retching the consumed man’s blood upon the dry earth. Ill to my stomach, and ill at myself for allowing this to happen.

I do not know if I will tell Ceasarian.

We have traveled together now for almost a century and he seems changed. I know his emotions are gone – for there is no trace of them in his words, or in his art, as once there was. He does not smile, and he does not look at the woman as once her did -there is a darkness in him now and I fear that it is coming for me as well…

If I believed in these simple peoples gods I would pray for myself – but I do not think they would hear me….