Writing Endless Sonata [M]

[Guest Appassionata]

[size=1][color=red][b]This is the backstoy to my main role-playing character. I've heard that my writing style seems like a homage to Anne Rice, and I will admit freely to that. She is a wonderful writer, in my opinion, and her works have greatly inspired Delano. However, none of her characters, events, mythologies, or otherwise have been used. I therefore think it's safe to start. Comments?[/size][/color][/b]
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[size=4][b][center]Endless Sonata: Part One[/b][/size]
[size=2](rated M for violence and sexuality)[/size][/center]



[size=1]Love. Is that a fitting word to begin my story, the story of my life? As I write this, the melody of the Moonlight Sonata wrapping me in ethereal arms, it certainly seems fitting. And who knows, when my story has concluded, love may be the word to end it all as well.

My name is Delano de Hardouin. I was born on November 22, 1765, to the noble Hardouin house in the center of Paris, France. It was a revolutionary time, filled with art and music, crime and poverty. It was my home, and, I think, still is today. I do not speak literally, mind you, for it has been many years since I prowled its cobblestone streets. In fact, it has been 300 years to the day since I left. Ah, but we will come to that later. But does 300 years confuse you? Yes, of course.

I am a vampire, if such a thing exists. In this current age the word conjures many images, usually those of a cape-clad man with sleek black hair and a blood-stained mouth, or of the contemporary leather-wearing outcasts of society, decked out in bodily piercings and dyed hair so as to shock the generation that sired them. I am none of these things, however, although I am closer to the first description if one must choose. I come from a time where fashion and chivalry dominated society, and I am quite fond of the soft velvets and lace styles of my old time, and have never once brought terror or pain to a victim. To be considered a monster, a demon of the Old World, ah, that would be a fate, for me, worse than death. You?ll excuse the expression.

As I have said, this is the story of my life. However, most, if not all, of my life points back to the one night, a night that I have never progressed from, the night of April 15th, 7:00 PM to be precise. Even after 300 years that date still remains in my thoughts, as if every night I have just awoken from it. Perhaps, after my tale is over, I shall finally see a new day. There is some part of me, however, which fears that new day with every part of my being, for that night defines who I was, am, and will yet stand to be.

For vampires, one never forgets the first kill, though one can have difficulty remembering any others, unless they were if significant importance. And, just as I remember even now my first Drink, I also, with perhaps greater clarity and respect, remember my first love. My first mortal love. With that said, I believe I can continue. Yes, let me continue, and let my tears fall if they must, for though they may be tears of blood, they will never be bloody enough.[/size]




[center]--to be continued--[/center]