Beginning to Bloom

When I think about myself now... I think I've come pretty far since the time at that very last moment in the cabin. I had escaped to the world outside and lived on to become its menace. I had been passed down from family to family in my youth, finding each time that I was never quite really the same as them. I started to understand more that I didn't belong.

At one point, I stopped trying to be the orphan that everyone tried to take in. When I turned sixteen, my skin started to become more susceptible to the rays of the sun. I took to wearing heavier clothes, but that did not help for long. Once I turned nineteen I would become completely immersed in indoor activities and my sleep schedule even reversed into what other's could barely comprehend at the time.

Thankfully, early America had been ridden with the terrible fleas of war and everyone was itching to grab a musket from the oncoming threat at the shore. I could easily refit myself into the taverns at night where I would give a little pleasure to the soldiers in exchange for some pocket coin. I didn't have to return to anyone after that point. I was an adult now.

The inns and taverns we're my favorite hot spot. I could mingle there with other patrons. Sometimes I would get a little antsy and even steal a little blood. It started off slow and then before I knew it I was beginning to drink more with each passing night. At one point, the coin mattered less and I began to care little for the straw beds. Nearby forests seemed to be of greater comfort over sleeping in any inns and taverns I visited.

I would continue this little act and perfect it. With each year of growth, I donned a new skill. It may have taken a little over the last two hundred and fifty years to home my skill but it came with new perks. There was the powers I managed to manifest but it took more practice to try to figure out than I thought it would. My abilities seemed to have a mind of their own and changed who I was each time, dramatically. I refer to this new manifest of power as my 'other' half.

I did not understand the severity of my situation in my youth. I know the man with wild eyes had not turned me. I had been this way as far back as I could remember. My mother and father never really did go out during the day often, but they would try to stay up - despite being tired - to watch my brother and I play in the dense mist out in the yard.

We always ate well and the food that was made was always sweet with that scent that drove my senses wild. I would ravenously eat pieces of meat that they carefully laid out for us. I didn't realize what that scent truly was until it wafted into my nose that night, though it had only been the beginning in understanding myself.

Now the scent came naturally and I grew accustomed to how drunk I would feel, dragging myself ever closer to each man. Their embrace was always rather warm and soft. The aroma of their pheromones would lull me into gentle moods but I knew that the ones who worked hard in the war smelled so perfect. The scent of blood mixed in with their sweat was just so natural that I had to get another taste of it.

Ah... Here I am thinking about how I recall each time I started to notice how my canines ached terribly when I heard their heart rate would elate when we touched. I could even start to differentiate between when a man was stressed or when he was calm. I even now know the sound of their blood rushing serves only to fever my hunger further.

This was when situations started to grow a little more out of control. I started to change and this was when I had only begun to notice all the other changes synchronizing with the latest to create my second self. I call her, Hunger, and she is always ravenously waiting for more. I know she would come to me in the night, making my body hot and uncomfortable. She even revealed how my voice had finally started to exude more femininity. I liked the way we matched our voice with our new found gaze that happened to catch our nightly suitors off guard only to freeze them in their tracks later.

Ah, the fever only furthered with how my heart would thunder loudly in my own chest at the way each word I spoke was taken like a direct order. I had a way of curving the words from my lips magnificently far better than I ever imagined I ever spoke.

My vocabulary seemed to enhance itself with this new absolute power. A dreadful power which dripped sweet honeyed words from my mouth, yet I loved how my poor victim's only seemed to dance to it; always unaware to the danger.