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Post by cloudedstormrunner on Feb 23, 2010 19:02:56 GMT -5
(WARNING: This memoir is probably going to contain some rather graphic violence by the time it's finished. Also, this is a work in progress, and I'm editing as I go. This is a memoir for the real Valentine that occupies so much space in my mind- whether I continue posting it here depends on how much and what kind of feedback I get. Anyhoo, hope you enjoy reading it!)
Oh, where to begin? I've always found memoirs to make interesting reading, but to write one myself. . . . And at this reat I shan't get anywhere.
Allow me to introduce myself. I am Valentine Gregori St. Cloud. I was born the twenty-first of July in the year 1621 in what is now the United Kingdom. From the first time my heart beat while I was in my mother's womb, I have been a vampire. At this point, some would question my logic, perhaps my sanity as well. I can assure you with a fair amount of coherence that I do not jest.
What vampires are in reality and what one sees in literature and movies are two different things, though a few books I've run across come closer than others. In any case, it's not as glamorous a lifestyle as most would have you believe. It does have its perks, but more often than not it's a pain in the ass. But I won't bore you with lectures, I know I hate them. You'll form your own oppinions before the end.
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Post by cloudedstormrunner on Feb 24, 2010 23:03:30 GMT -5
I suppose it might be prudent to start with my origins. My family, the people that are related to me through genetics that bear that title, consists of my mother, younger brother, and my father. When I was a child, we lived in the country in a small house on a ten acre plot of land covered in trees. We weren't what one would call rich, but we managed to get by honestly. My father was of Irish descent, which is why one might notice the mix of a brough and a wee bit of a British accent when I talk, though it's not quite as pronounced as it used to be.
My father is also the reason for my being what I am. Half the stories in the world claim that vampires are walking corpses, incapable of reproducing. I stand before you as living, breathing proof that this is not so. I was born as I am now, as was my father and his father before him, coming from a lesser line of nobles. My dear mother was not a steriotypical damsel that my sire seduced and then had his way with. She is a wolf. Humans refer to her kind as 'were-creatures,' yet another race that has been misjudged.
One would think that, given what my parents are, I would have been born a hybrid, but it seems that the powers that be had other ideas. It somehow worked out that I take after father's side of the family, while my brother is very much our mother's child if you get my meaning. But I didn't escape the canine genetic traits completely- I am a vampire, yes, but I've always had a good sense of smell, even for one of my kind.
I digress. I came into the world near the end of the Renaissance. Though the "age of enlightenment" was on its way out, I was brought up with it's ideals. My mother loved to read, even writing poetry herself. From a young age I was exposed to litterature, and even before I could walk she spoke to me as if I were coherent in thought. Because of this, I developed a large vocabulary rather quickly.
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Post by cloudedstormrunner on Feb 28, 2010 23:32:17 GMT -5
I loved my mother dearly. She did everything she could to teach Allen and I. Despite not being well schooled herself, she was quite intelligent and had a prominent natural sense of curiosity. If the three of us went to the river, the day's discussion centered around tree species and animals. When mother went to cut up meat for a meal, we recieved a lesson in anatomy.
My brother and I spent a lot of time outside when we were young. I can remember so many times we would venture outside of our yard into the woods, despite mother having told us to stay close to the house. Eventually she would come looking for us and discover that we were gone again. Needless to say, in those days, recieving a swat to the backside was a common occurance for me, though I can't say I didn't deserve it. Mother's patience still astounds me to this day.
Even when I was small, the differences between Allen and I were clear. While he was sturdy and squarely built, I was taller and a bit lanky. His skin was evenly tanned with a healthy pink undertone, his eyes a lighter blue-grey as mother's were- my pallor was to the point of being nearly corpse-like, and my eyes were blue-grey as well, but with dark rims surrounding my irises, dark circles surrounding both eyes. . . .
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Post by cloudedstormrunner on Mar 7, 2010 2:02:39 GMT -5
Our eating habbits were another point of aggrivation. My dear brother loved meat and mother normally had to fix double portions for him even as a child. But meat was expensive, so often one of my parents would have to go out and hunt to put food on our table. I myself ate sparingly, at least when it came to solid foods. Protien was essential to my diet, of course, but I didn't care for red meat. Mother always cooked mine rare, and more often than not, I would gnaw on it a little and suck the juices from it before leaving it to Allen to finish. Nothing went to waiste in my house.
No matter how many vital fluids I took in, it always seemed I was still hungry, as if there were a void in me that stayed empty. I would grow terribly irritable until Mother would hold me.
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