The art of blood:exquisite yet cursing. I am a professional in finding the best prey. Blood is my art, my life. I love it, yet loathe it. My dependency on it disgusts me, but I have learned to take advantage of it and turn it into art.
The good people who are happy and have done good things have the best blood. They bring the best feelings; but killing those people leaves you with their good consience and wears on you, makes you want to make up for it by draining someone cruel and selfish. So then you become selfish in turn and want to feed off the good people again and so the cycle continues.
The victims leave me their thoughts, their memories, their feelings, their soul. But only temporarily, they always leave a memory though. In a way they will now never be forgotten; their memories are immortalized in me.
I feel them coursing through me, taking over my emptiness, filling it with their essence. I am my victim. Humans have the saying "you are what you eat" They don't know the true meaning of it: they only know a quarter: organ donors, they feel somewhat what I feel, but not nearly as much.*
We get a different balance of emotions than them. We depend on their feelings to feel, without them we would cease to exist; because our existence would be meaningless: no boredom, no happiness, no motivation, no hope.
So when when feel a drain in emotion we become frantic for blood to keep our semblance of living. Sometimes after I feed on a more observant and thoughtful person I becom fascinated with humans. I wonder what its like to feel and have my feelings change over nothing. I wonder how it is possible their emotions can go flying over merely a sentence.
Feeding is like a high that changes drastically everytime. A much different high than what humans' memories show. I feel completely different - still me but a different person, if that makes any sense. Its as if I have a different soul. Everything is seen...sensed differently, there are no words to explain it.
There is much exhiliration in the hunts: anticipating the next feed and what feelings it'll bring. Picking out and predicting the taste of the victim.Drawing them in. Testing their blood, then finally feeding - I feel their fear coursing through me as I kill them. Then sitting and absorbing their essence: who they really were, who I have now become because of them. And finally, even though I feel what they feel, I feel satisfaction for doing the job right - for so would they if it wasn't them lying dead.
*There are people who get donated organs that begin to in a way become like their donors were, its a true fact