Guess who's back? Now, tell me just how much you've missed me.

I have given Eleni access to my journals in order to post this message, but rest assured that the words you read here are mine.

By now, you know where I am and what I've done. You are all entitled to your own thoughts and opinions on the events of the past few weeks, of course, but expect no apologies from me. There are none to be given. I have never claimed to be anything other than what I am and if I had it all to do over again, I wouldn't change a single thing... with the exception of my timing perhaps. Ah, you must admit, it was a perfect plan executed just a little too imperfectly for it to succeed. What? You were expecting some sort of guilt or remorse? You should know by now that you won't get any of that from me. There will be no begging or grovelling for forgiveness. I've paid the price for my sins... and oh, what a punishment it was, hmm? I have no doubt that you know all about that too.

What's done is done. Now, I bide my time in this god awful place... listening as Eleni reads your messages to me by candlelight. The fact that I still have your undying affection despite all of this stirs some long lost emotion from the very darkest depths of my soul and thrills me more than you can ever know.

Don't miss me too much, my darlings. Not even the strongest of chains will not keep me from you for long.

Yours always,
Nicolas de Lenfent

I wasn't sure if I could really go through with it.

There's no explanation for why I waited so long to act. This plan has been floating around in the back of my mind since I found out what happened and seeing him for the first time several nights ago only assured me of my eventual success.

He is such a creature of habit that even though he was careful not to tell me where he had been staying, locating him was easily done. I found him on the Boulevard des Capucines... in a hotel not far from where the Saint-Gabriel once stood. I have never been adept at reading the thoughts of the mortals around me, but those who had seen him pass by that night had a vivid image in their minds which led me directly to his room.

There was the briefest moment of hesitation as I grasped the door handle, but I quickly swallowed down my apprehension and stepped inside.

I saw him immediately, but he didn't seem to notice me. Cautiously I approached the leather recliner, uncertain of why he hadn't moved or spoken yet. His face was illuminated by he dim glow of one small lamp on the table nearby and he looked even more gaunt and pale than he had been when we last spoke. Monstrous, yet still as beautiful as he had ever been. His eyes were closed as if he were in a deep sleep and when I leaned in closer I could hear the shallow beating of his heart. He was dying slowly... and perhaps some might see it as an act of mercy to simply quicken the pace. Ah, but I've never been a merciful man. My motives tonight were fueled by something far more vindictive.

Unable to resist the temptation, I reached out to stroke his cheek. His eyes were open in an instant and his hand shot out to grasp my wrist.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was little more than whisper and I could tell the he was not nearly as upset by my presence as he was by the fact that he had been caught off guard in a building filled with mortals.

“I just want to talk” I lied, easily prying his thin fingers loose from my arm and resting my hand on his shoulder.

“There is nothing more to discuss,” he explained in an irritatingly polite tone. “We have come to an agreement.”

If this was going to work at all, I'd need a little cooperation.

“Non, not about that,” I continued. My hand slipped down just slightly and my thumb brushed the smooth skin of his throat. A small red mark was still visible there. Immortal flesh does not heal so quickly when lost blood is not replenished. I bent down until my lips where only inches from his ear and whispered...“Do you know how much I've missed you?”

His body tensed visibly and he turned his head to one side, unable to look me in the eye. I knew he didn't want to think about the time we shared here in the City of Lights. I was like some dirty little secret to him... a mistake that should never have happened, but could not be erased. I hated him for making me feel so insignificant.

“Louis...” I would not be ignored. When those gorgeous emerald eyes finally met mine, I nearly forgot my plan completely.

I didn't give him a chance to speak or even think. I had learned a few years back that the best way to get what I want from Louis is to surprise him. I pressed my tongue against one sharp fang until I could taste my own blood then I leaned in to kiss him. At first, he simply sat there... as still and cold as some ancient marble statue, but eventually his lips parted in sweet surrender and I felt his arms slip around my shoulders to draw me closer. No one can ever resist me for long.

There wasn't much time. Hesitating or pausing for even just a moment could mean disaster.

The recliner creaked and tilted back as I climbed onto it trapping him beneath me... though he didn't realise it yet. My mouth left his, moving past his chin and down his neck until I could feel the slow beating of his pulse beneath my lips. He didn't try to stop me, but he would soon if I failed to act quickly. His moan when my teeth broke his flesh was like music to my ears.

We both knew there wasn't enough blood for me to take, but I took it just the same... swallowing it down in great gushing gulps. Images of his life... the life I should have lived... flickered through my mind and by the time he realised what was happening, he was already too weak to fight me. The fingers that were tangled into my hair curled into fists and pounded against my chest in a futile attempt to throw me off, but I held fast, drinking down every last drop of blood that he had left to spare.

He was unconscious when I finally released him and he remained that way when I left him in a place where the morning sun will be sure to find him.

For Melissa...

I didn't expect to ever see her again.

Paris was on the verge of a Revolution and I knew from personal experience that none of the authorities would believe a word Aurele said about monsters beneath the theatre and most would probably reprimand her for even suggesting such a foolish thing. There were far more important issues to deal with than the ravings of a mad woman. No army would be sent to tear the place down and no one would care enough to even investigate her moonstruck claims.

That single selfless act had slipped from my mind and I had fallen back into the old patterns once again. I was in the midst of writing one of my greatest plays yet and that task consumed me completely. I spent countless nights locked away in my room, refusing all meals as I wrote and composed.

The candles on my desk had burned down to tiny stubs when I became aware of an odd scraping sound coming from the air shaft behind me. I turned around just in time to see a familiar face appear in the small opening. Her eyes met mine and she smiled the most radiant smile.

“I told you I'd come back for you,” she whispered as if she had never thought otherwise.

In absolute wonder, I helped lower her to the ground. She was dressed in a filthy pair of men`s breeches and a dirty military coat. Her hair was tied back and her dark eyes glistened in the candlelight. She was quite obviously in far better health than she had been when I helped her to escape several nights ago and I could tell from the sack slung over her back that she had come prepared... but prepared for what, I couldn't be certain.

I was speechless. I could do nothing but stare as she pulled an assortment of small weapons from the bag and laid them on the desk. There were three daggers of various different styles and one flintlock pistol... all obviously stolen since she had no money of her own with which to purchase such expensive items. She actually meant for us to fight for our freedom and she was willing to risk her own life to save mine!

She didn't understand... she couldn't. As she looked at me in the dimly lit room she saw only a mortal man, as desperate and as terrified as she had been that night. She could never see me as I truly was. The vampires that attacked her on stage had become hideous monsters in her mind and no comparison between myself and them could ever be made.

Her plan was ludicrous, of course. Deliciously insane. She hadn't the vaguest idea of what she was up against and I really had no intention of leaving this place that had become my home.

“My love, this can never be,” I explained, taking her warm hands in my own. “We come from very different worlds, you and I... more different than you can ever imagine. I can't leave here with you tonight, but you can stay with me... always.”

A look of confusion furrowed her otherwise smooth brow.

“Life eternal...” I said with a smile that clearly showed my fangs. “It is mine to give and I want to share it with you.”

What came next happened rather quickly.

She screamed and stepped back clumsily; tripping and falling against the stone wall in her hasty retreat. I was on her in an instant, mistaking her useless pleas and struggles for nothing more than momentary trepidation and a fear of the unknown. I assured her that the pain would be brief and that by the time it was over, she would feel nothing at all. She would be as perfect and beautiful as she was now for all of time... and she would be mine.

My teeth pierced her skin and I felt her entire body tense beneath me. The hands that had been tearing at my clothing and ripping at my hair stopped moving completely and time seemed to stand still between us. I had never done this before... never even dreamed of it until now, but I was well aware of how it all played out. The memory of that night nine years ago was seared into my soul and I was certain that I could reenact the events flawlessly, even if I was on the giving rather than receiving end of the spectrum this time.

Hot blood filled my mouth and there was nothing but the sound of her heart pounding as it fought against mine. My mind was flooded with memories... none of them my own. Her life flashed before my eyes and in the span of those few brief minutes I felt as if I had known her for an eternity. All sound ceased as she slipped gently from my embrace to the cold floor below.

It was time to bring her back to me.

I snatched a dagger from the desk beside us and slashed its rusty blade across one side of my throat. Blood gushed down my neck, staining my white shirt a deep shade of crimson. Raising her lifeless body up in my arms I cradled her head in one hand until I felt her mouth against the wound. Patiently I waited for some sort of movement... longing for that euphoric pull on my veins that would surely come as soon as the first taste of immortality passed through her parted lips.

But there was nothing.

I can`t recall how many hours passed before I abandoned my futile efforts to revive her. Some dreadful mistake had been made and the heart that would not give up now steadfastly refused to beat.

Aurele was dead and she was merely the first in a series of failed attempts to bring another soul into this world of eternal night.


Fin.

For Melissa...

Her grip on my arm tightened as her wide eyes frantically searched the darkness of the room around her. Sharp fingernails dug into my flesh until I could feel the dampness of my own blood on the sleeve of my shirt. She was in such a panic that I don't think she even realised I was there. She struggled to her feet, tipping my coffin over on its side in her haste to escape the monsters that still attacked in her mind.

It was then that she caught sight of me. For a moment she simply stared and there was no recognition in her fearful gaze. She released my arm and leapt back with such terrified force that she hit the desk hard, sending the candle toppling to the floor and shrouding us both in blackness.

She couldn't see a thing, but my preternatural vision granted me a perfectly clear view of her. Her slender arms had moved instinctively to cover her bare breasts and her heart pounded so loudly that I was certain it might burst from her chest at any moment. In a strong, but still trembling voice she warned me to stay away and I knew that in the blink of an eye she could attempt to make an escape and possibly injure herself further in the process. This room was made of solid stone and iron, after all.

“Shh... you're safe now, ma chere,” I lied in the most comforting voice I could manage while reaching out gently with one hand to draw her nearer.

There was only the briefest hesitation before she literally tumbled into my arms. Sobs wracked her thin frame and she clung tightly to me as if I were her only salvation amidst the chaos. She was mumbling incoherently, something about how I must help her out of this place and how she couldn't die like this... not here and not now. Her fingers found the silver cross belonging to my mother that I always wore on a chain around my neck and the movement of her warm lips against my cold skin was almost sensual as she uttered the old Latin prayers.

“Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae.”

I wanted her more than I had ever wanted anything before, but I also wanted her alive. There was a fire burning deep within her soul that no amount of fear or hopelessness could extinguish. I found myself completely captivated by her determination and will to survive where others had so easily given up. Even I had descended quickly into madness after an experience similar to hers. Countless others like her had begged me to end their pain, yet here she stood, drained and fevered in my arms, pounding her little fists against my chest and demanding that I aid in her escape.

I think I loved her instantly.

A strange calm eventually came over her. Tearful sobs gave way to moments of reason and I found out that her name was Aurele. She was an aspiring actress when they dragged her in from the city streets. Penniless and hungry she had come to our doors in hopes that we might have some small job to offer. She would have been more than willing to mend costumes and empty slop buckets for a warm place to sleep and the opportunity to some day stand upon that painted stage herself.

Her story was painfully familiar and I didn't want to hear another word of it.

“I know of a way to get you out of here,” I explained, ignoring her questions about who I was or how long they had been keeping me here.

She thought me to be the same as her, a mortal prisoner held captive by these fiendish demons with razor sharp teeth and blood stained lips. In the darkness that surrounded us she couldn't see the whiteness of my skin or the unnatural gleam of my eyes. She didn't realise that I longed for the taste of her innocent blood just as much as they did, if not more so. Self control has never been one of my strengths and it took every ounce of it to prevent myself from ending her life right there.

There was an air shaft in the corner of my room. A small stone passageway too narrow to let in any sunlight, but just wide enough to vent the smell of rotting flesh. Though I hadn't seen it for myself, I'd heard the patrons complaining about the move of more than six million corpses from the cemeteries into the mines, so no one in the stinking city above would notice a bit of added stench anyhow. I could never have squeezed through there myself and I wasn't even sure that I wanted to, but I was certain that a tiny creature like Aurele could climb the slanted tunnel to freedom.

“But what about you?” She questioned as I held the chair steady on the desk and encouraged her to climb atop it.

“I'll be fine. Just go now while you still can.”

To my complete surprise and utter astonishment, her warm fingers touched the side of my face and she pressed her lips to mine before reluctantly turning away.

“I'll come back for you,” were the last words she spoke before disappearing from sight.

And what was even more incredible was the fact that she did.


Still more to follow...

For Melissa....

1788

Her eyes met mine and I saw nothing but blind panic there.

The young woman was positively terrified and with good reason. The white hands that held her firmly in place on the painted stage belonged to half a dozen pale-faced marionette dancers and all of them thirsted for her blood. Razor sharp nails dug into her skin and as she begged and pleaded for mercy the audience roared with applause.

This was a nightly event at the Theatre des Vampires. Our popularity soared since we first opened our doors to the Parisian public just over nine years ago and now we were performing two, sometimes three shows per night. People were shocked and disgusted by the macabre acts they witnessed on our stage, but that didn’t prevent them from filling every seat in the house. Little did they know that the tragic and often violent deaths that took place in the final scene were so much more than just the brilliant rendering of a mortal demise.

I stood in the orchestra pit, unaffected by it all. The Stradivarius was propped beneath my chin and my bow called forth a demonic melody that could almost drown out her screams.

The play had been written by me, of course, but I no longer found pleasure in watching them act it out. This place had become my prison and so many months had passed since I last saw the city outside of these walls that I could almost forget it existed at all. They wouldn’t let me out to hunt anymore because they said I was a danger to them all. They believed that I sought to destroy the life we lived here and their fears were entirely justified. I had grown weary of living in secrecy and the reaction I could stir in those disbelieving mortals who listened to my stories of monsters dwelling beneath the City of Light was impossible to resist.

I was a threat to our very existence and my little stone-walled room had been transformed into a jail cell. The door was barred from the outside and I was often left in this solitary confinement for countless nights with nothing but my coffin, an old wooden desk and a stack of candles to be burned on those evenings that I felt inspired to write and compose. My meals were brought to me there, though they were often dead before they arrived. Left-overs, perhaps they could be called... or scraps. I fed on those unfortunate souls who did not die at the hands of the vampires on stage and by the time they fell into my arms, their minds were already so far gone that they rarely put up a fight. This was the thanks I received for leading the bats of the old coven into a new era.

When they brought her to me, after the curtain has been drawn and all of the patrons cleared out, I was sitting at my desk in complete darkness. The room was foul with the smell of death and a few corpses in various stages of decomposition sat propped against the stone wall like a mindless and unmoving audience... the only witnesses to my own deterioration. I wouldn’t let the others through the door to remove the bodies and the vile odour was enough to make them to leave me in peace. It was a tolerable price to pay to keep from being bothered.

I heard the creak of the iron hinges and a faint moan as her body was dropped to the floor. I waited until the sound of their retreating footsteps had faded completely before I lit a single candle and rose from my chair.

She was naked save for a few scraps of crimson stained fabric that still clung to her slender hips and the scent of blood was strong in the air. Dark, matted hair obscured her face from view, but I hadn’t forgotten the way she looked when they dragged her, kicking and screaming into the footlights. They were chosen for their beauty, of course. Young men and women plucked from the ever-growing pool of indigent, destitute souls... those who will be missed by no one.

I scooped her up into my arms and deposited her gently into my open coffin, pushing her hair aside to I could get a better look at what they had left me with tonight. Her skin was as cold as ice and there was not a single inch of that once perfect flesh that wasn’t bruised and punctured. I shivered slightly and swallowed back the decade old memory of an experience that left my own skin similarly marked. She was breathtakingly beautiful, there was no doubt about that. Even in this weak and damaged condition it was easy to imagine how radiant she must have been before she had been captured and thrust into this world of unspeakable horrors.

I don’t know how long I sat in silence, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest and listening to the slow, but steady beating of her heart. Usually I killed them quickly before they could slip into oblivion on their own, but I simply couldn’t take my eyes off her.

Something about her made her different from the rest. Perhaps it was the fact that she fought them with the very last of her strength when so many others lost hope long before the curtain came down... or perhaps it was something else entirely. I can’t claim to understand the things that passed through my own mind back then. But when her eyes shot open and she clutched my arm with the strength of a woman who was fighting for her life, I knew that I wanted more than just her death.


More to come...

"You're the bad guy. The guy you choose not in spite of the fact that he's bad for you, but because he's bad for you. You're the monster in the closet with the charming, wicked smile. The one that terrifies you and excites you. The little glimpse of evil that is partially concealed by shadow that your curiosity won't let you ignore. You represent temptation and released inhibitions. Something most of us rarely experience in our short and ever constricted lives."

~Melissa a.k.a. Starryeyed

It didn’t take me long to locate her in a city of more than one hundred and forty thousand souls.

I hadn’t asked for a forwarding address nor did I have any wish to remain in contact with her after our night of passion. That brief encounter had served its purpose and I had no further use for her now, but still I could not quell the overwhelming desire to have her one last time before she stepped out of my world and back into her own.

Mona Mayfair.

I had never been very adept at the use of these preternatural gifts, yet it was easy enough to scan the mortal minds around me and follow the thoughts of those who had caught sight of her that evening like a trail of breadcrumbs. She had been to the Musée du Ranquet and visited the crypt of the Black Virgin in the Romanesque basilica of Notre-Dame-du-Port, drinking down the rich history of this city to feed her insatiable thirst for knowledge. There was a clear image of her in the minds of those she had passed by... a pale faced goddess with emerald eyes and hair like flames. She had wandered through the Place de Jaude on her way back to the hotel, turning the heads of every man and woman who happened to be in the square at such a late hour.

Standing outside the door to her room, I couldn’t sense her presence within. Her mind was an impenetrable fortress, locked up tight to keep out those who might wish to steal her most intimate thoughts. No matter... with that powerful blood coursing through her veins she had probably sensed my presence well before I ever made it that close.

Like an invitation, the lock clicked and the door slowly opened before me. I stepped inside and watched in wonder as it swung closed once again and the lock slid into place... another trick of the mind that I could never hope to master myself. She emerged from the dimly lit bedroom wearing nothing but a green satin robe and a mischievous grin. Seductive to a fault... there was no question in my mind as to how she attracted so many suitors in her mortal life.

Without a moments hesitation I moved forward, crushing her against me with one arm around her slender waist. My cold lips met hers and I felt her body relax as she surrendered to me for a second time. Hearts pounded with a mutual desire as we tumbled onto the bed.... fingers tearing at fabric until there were no longer any barriers between us. As she lay breathless beneath me, I noticed that her skin was warm and plaint like that of a mortal woman and despite her immense power she felt so very fragile in my arms. Her moans as my fangs pierced the tender flesh just above her breast were like music to my ears.

Impossible to describe the taste of her blood. It was like sipping the sweet nectar of some forbidden fruit. Every drop scalded my tongue and made my entire body tingle as if electrified. Her pulse beat frantically beneath my lips and although I knew it wasn’t possible I wanted to hear it slow to that familiar rhythm. No matter how hard I drew the blood from her veins, I was denied the release I had come to expect with encounters of this nature.

She didn’t allow me to take much before the tables were turned and I found myself staring up at a pair of viridian eyes. Nails as sharp as daggers sliced through the flesh of my chest and a warm tongue lapped at the trails of blood that welled there. I was writhing in blissful torment by the time her teeth found my throat and I think I cried out her name when they finally broke the skin.

This was as close to heaven as an eternally damned soul would ever get. I was riding on a wave of elation and in that moment I would have given her anything she asked for, but I didn’t need to... she was taking exactly what she wanted. In fact, she was taking so much of my blood that I was beginning to feel light-headed and weak. I was lost in the moment, but somehow I found the strength to push her away. I felt her nestle close to me and the room spun around us as I slipped into oblivion.

When I woke the next evening the hotel room was empty and she was gone.

I left the building that night with a sense of diabolic triumph. I had accomplished what I set out to do and the upper hand was mine now. Round two was about to begin.

A quarter of a millennia...

It's almost impossible to fathom the fact that I have walked this earth for so many years. It boggles the mind, doesn't it? The innocent perish by the thousands each day and the most wicked souls are granted the gift of eternity. It must be true what they say about the good dying young.

I never really expected to make it this far. There are nights when the desire to put and end to this interminable existence is almost impossible to resist... the morning sun beckons with open arms and the flames seductively whisper my name. It would be so easy, wouldn't it? Ah, but I've never been one to take the simple path. I live for discord and turmoil. Chaos is the fuel which keeps me moving forward in this ever changing world.

A very long time ago I set out to secure an island for myself and that's exactly what I've done. What better way to spite them all than this? More than two centuries of death and destruction... so much blood on my hands that they will never wash clean. My only regret is that those who held me in such high regard are no longer here to see just how far I've fallen. I am the only witness to my own ruin.

This downward spiral hasn't ended yet. I descend one step further with every sunset and still rock bottom is no where in sight.

I've still got a long way to go, so here's to two hundred and fifty more.

The black towers of the cathedral rose in silhouette against the lightening horizon. They were a familiar warning that time was short. I knew that I had to quicken my pace unless I wanted to feel the parting kiss of the morning sun and I wasn’t ready for that just yet.

I'd left for Clermont when I finally realized that this time he didn't intend to return. I boarded the train late one evening with nothing but the clothes on my back and not a single thought of him passed through my mind as the City of Lights disappeared into the darkness behind me. To hell with him. To hell with all of it now.

I can’t say what always draws me to this place. I find a strange comfort in being surrounded by these ancient volcanoes in this city that I have known since I was a young boy.

In the hour just before dawn, the Place de Jaude was blissfully silent as I made my way through it. The windows of the closed shops were dimly lit and I could see my own reflection against the backdrop of the public square. The statue of Vercingétorix on his mount stood in the distance and the nearby fountain was lit up in brilliant shades of orange and red, glowing like liquid fire. The cold mist burned like ice against my skin. My hair was disheveled and my face was deathly pale. I couldn’t remember when I had last fed and at that moment, I didn’t care if I ever tasted mortal blood again.

The sky was golden by the time I reached the Cimetière des Carmes. I broke the lock and the heavy iron gates groaned in protest as I pulled them open just wide enough to gain entry to that vast city of the dead. I hurried down the paved pathways, amidst the rows of above-ground tombs and mausoleums until I reached the stone wall nearest the river. My eyes were burning and my movements were becoming increasingly sluggish. I knew I had mere minutes left before reason would be lost and instinct would take over, but then my life has always been propelled on by a curious imbalance of both.

I leapt over a small fence, kicking aside a dried up bouquet of dead flowers in my haste. It took every ounce of strength I had left to push the marble lid of the tomb out of my way and tear open the coffin lid. The sight that greeted me was not a pleasant one, but this was no time to be choosy about sleeping arrangements. The body was little more than bones and dust, but it still held the faint scent of decomposing flesh. I glanced up at the inscription carved into the volcanic stone before settling in beside my new bed partner and sliding the massive lid closed above me.

“Et ils s'en iront au châtiment éternel. Tandis que les justes entreront dans la vie éternelle”

The sound of my own muffled laughter was the last thing I heard before I fell into oblivion.

I can almost laugh as I look back on it now. I never would have guessed that one drunken kiss could seal a fate, but it did...

The year was 1779. A few months prior to my meeting with the revered wolf-killer I left university and was using the money which had been intended for my education to study the violin with Wolfgang Mozart in Paris. Of course that’s not all I was doing in the city of light to disgrace my family name and the god I had so recently abandoned. When I wasn’t practicing my music my time was spent at parties... drinking until dawn and taking all sorts of women and men into my bed. I was sin incarnate and I reveled in every moment of my new found damnation.

I didn’t think I could possibly lead a more blasphemous life than I was then, but how could I have known what the future would bring? I wanted Lestat from the first moment I set eyes upon him and I would have sold my soul just to have him, if it wasn’t already the Devil’s possession.

Our conversation at the inn before I walked him back to the castle that night was an experience I would never forget. The connection between us was impossible to deny, but it wasn’t until I tasted the light of his soul through wine stained lips that I realised just how different he and I truly were. For all that we had in common we were opposites in every sense of the word. He stood at the apex of possibility with the world in the palms of his hands, though he would never see that for himself. Even when his dreams were torn out from under him, he never lost hope. When the wolves attacked... he survived the unimaginable while any ordinary man would have been killed. Lestat de Lioncourt was a miraculous being and in the luminance that surrounded him I saw evidence of god. I hated him and loved him for that all at once.

In that moment of blissful intoxication as he lay beneath me under the Marquis’ own roof I knew that the only way I could ever possess him completely would be to extinguish his burning passion for life, leaving him as hopeless and destitute as I would soon be. What better place to ruin him than in that miserable hellhole of a city that held him so enrapt?

Within less than a fortnight, we were in Paris.

Ah, but that tale has already been told, hasn’t it? It is no secret that I failed miserably. My every effort to drag him into the abyss with me was defeated by the exuberance that had always been a part of him. Even poverty and despair could not prevent his triumph. The dark magic he thought he had been cursed with only served to strengthen his desire for goodness. Did you really expect anything else?

Nothing has really changed since the night he left me in his dusty little dressing room at Renaud’s theatre. I still crave his destruction more than anything else, but I know I will never have it. So instead, I look to what is attainable... if not him, why not lay waste to others like him? For more than two hundred years I have purposefully sought out those rare individuals who burn with a familiar light. I make a game of their ruin... playing with their minds and hearts while my own remains as cold and black as it ever was. I lead them to the very brink of possibility and send them crashing to the ground.

Michael once had that light. Art and god were his greatest passions and often the two were intertwined... his depictions of Christ on canvas are almost powerful enough to make an atheist believe. Now his greatest passion is me. I have taken a soul filled with faith and exuberance and ground it into dust. I’ve played upon every flaw and imperfection, leaving him with the devastating realisation that there can be no salvation for a soul as tarnished as his. The gates of Heaven are locked up tight and there is only place left for him now... here, in my arms.

Now, don’t you believe for one minute that he’s not enjoying his fall from grace.

Like Lestat so long ago, Michael is quick in yielding to temptation. It doesn’t take much effort at all to sink him so deep into sin’s dark waters that he can never find his way back to shore. But unlike Lestat, he is weak. Too troubled by his own addictions and insecurities to ever break free from the shackles of damnation... and that’s perfectly fine with me. After all, they say that misery loves company and why should I suffer alone when I can lure such a beautiful creature into the pits of Hell with me?

There have been times when he has tried to turn his back on me and walk away... when the call of life, family and love become too difficult to resist. Ah, but I am a perfect fiend and I will stop at nothing until things are exactly as I want them once again.

Persuasion and charm are the weapons I wield more often than any others. Like the serpent in the Garden of Eden, I grant him a taste of a world that, until now, he could only imagine. If that should happen to fail, I am not opposed to the use of threats... and sometimes I even follow through. I will go to great extremes to ensure that he knows exactly where he stands. Destroying his art, breaking his bones, and ending the lives of those he cares about until he sees that there is nothing for him beyond what I offer. That which I have claimed as my own must belong to me completely.

Like it or not, this is who I am and who I will always be. Devil, Lucifer, Beelzebub... call me whatever names you will and I shall answer to them all. The fact that I can make this confession here and now as he sleeps so soundly beside me is proof enough of what a cold-hearted bastard I truly am. Blame my utter distaste for god if you like or blame Lestat... it was he who first sparked this unrelenting desire to destroy every trace of goodness in this world and leave broken dreams in my wake.

Lestat’s story has already been written and will carry on indefinitely, but how will Michael’s end? The clock is ticking away and it’s difficult to decide upon that final victory. Do I draw straws, flip a coin or roll a die? Convincing him to end his own suffering would be so very easy, killing him myself... even easier. Or would it be far more cruel to let him live?

Either way, I triumph.

So you wish to hear about my most extravagant desires, do you? You want to know what sort of fantasies might lurk in the mind of a man who stops at nothing to get what he wants? Well, there’s one thing I can never have completely... one incessant need which can only be fulfilled in small tastes, but never in a gushing fount.

It’s something which I have fantasized about and acted upon for more than two centuries...

Imagine, if you will, a crowded Paris night club. Close your eyes and listen to the pounding beat of the music, smell the scent of sweat and perfume and feel the warm mortal bodies brush up against your own. Nothing thrills me more than this.

I stand at the bar clad in black faux snake-skin pants, a studded belt and a shirt made of some sheer fabric that shimmers beneath the flashing lights... anything to turn the heads of every man and woman in the room until all eyes are on me. I make the pretense of sipping my drink as I scan the dance floor for my preferred prey. Ah, but there is no innocent blood here... not in a place such as this... a place so well known for the sinful creatures that frequent it. The air here is so thick with lust that I can almost taste it. Both couples and perfect strangers move together in time with the music. Hips grind against hips while hands caress scantily clothed bodies, searching for any exposed bit of flesh to touch... and there is plenty to be found.

That is exactly what catches my eye.

Across the room, dancing with a group of other women, I spot a stunning latina beauty. Her hair is long and dark, hanging almost to the bottom tie of the low-cut, backless shirt she wears. Below that is a little black skirt, slit up one side to expose as much of that gorgeous bronze skin as possible. She glances in my direction and for just one brief moment our eyes meet and her fate is sealed.

I make my way through the crowd, indulging in a small taste of anyone who happens to get too close... my arm slips around a slender waist, there is a little prick of teeth, just a few drops to whet my already voracious appetite. Every measured step leads me closer to her... and then, before she even knows what has happened, my brown-eyed goddess is mine.

A surprised gasp escapes her painted lips as I pull her into my arms. Her soft body hits my chest and almost instantly her arms snake around my neck... warm fingers tangle in my hair. She is obviously no stranger to dance floor seduction and neither am I. I wrap my arms around her, sliding one hand over the curve of her hip and then things take a bit of an unexpected turn...

I want her to know me. I want her to see me for the monster that I am.

We begin to move around the floor at a surprising speed. Her grip tightens on my hair as she trips over her own sparkling, high-heeled shoes. She laughs at first, possibly writing the dizziness off as mere drunkenness... but we continue to spin at a rapid pace, attracting the attention of a few other dancers who pause to watch the show. She is no longer dancing on her own, but being dragged along with me as I move to the rhythm of the maddening music that plays inside my head.

She struggles to get away, but this only causes my grip to tighten painfully. We stop in the middle of the floor and I flash my most charming smile to both her and the crowd, but only she is close enough to see the light glint off my fangs and the predatory gleam in my eyes. I gaze into those dark pools of liquid brown and find recognition there.

She might not know exactly what I am, but she has realised that I am not what I appear to be.

“Are you afraid?” I whisper into her ear.

A soft whimper is her only reply.

“You should be.”

Her cry, as I sink my teeth into her neck, is drowned out by the deafening music around us. The taste of her fear is intoxicating... sweeter than I could have ever imagined. No one thinks anything of it when I deposit her lifeless body at a nearby table, but the wound remains on her skin so that whoever finds her corpse might question what they saw this night.

Recognition, acknowledgment, fear... this is what I live for.

You’re cold now... so cold that your body trembles and you pull your wool cloak up around your shoulders, clutching it tightly about your neck. The audience seems to have dispersed slightly. Some may have left due to the late hour, some scurried out voicing whispers of disgust at the previous performance and some were simply afraid. Despite those that remain you feel suddenly alone. There are moments when all of this seems far too real.

People may come and go throughout the evening but the Theatre des Vampires never fails to draw a large crowd and fill every seat again the very next night.


Part 3
La Mort d'Innocence

(Sound clips: Pablo de Sarasate - Gypsy Tunes for Violin and Orchestra performed by the Berlin Symphony Orchestra)

The curtain opens to reveal a lone musician upon the empty stage. The orchestra plays quietly in the background and his dark hair shadows his face as he brings the violin to his chin. Slowly the horsehair bow moves across the strings... producing music unlike any you have ever heard before. The melody is reminiscent of the kind played by bands of traveling gypsies yet it has a much more surreal and unearthly quality to it. It’s enough to make the blood run cold.

Several giant marionettes are lowered to the stage. Golden strings are attached to their ankles, wrists and the tops of their heads. They surround the dark violinist, obscuring him completely from view as the haunting melody plays on. Hand in hand they spin and whirl about - dancing as if the music itself is the only force that animates them. Every movement is in perfect time with time with the strokes of the musicians bow.... but when the group of wooden dancers separate for just a moment, he is no longer there. The song plays on as if it has a life of it’s own but the musician himself has vanished.

Black, unseeing eyes stare out into the audience. Painted crimson lips smile in the most inviting manner and suddenly one of the puppets breaks free from her strings and descends into the crowd. There is a startled gasp when this dark haired beauty reveals that she does indeed live... or so it appears... as she begins to weave her way through the rows of chairs towards you. Taking your warm hand in hers she leans in to whisper softly in your ear.

“Will you join us on the stage, Madame? Will you take part in the show?”

Without a moments hesitation you rise to your feet. Your cloak falls into the chair behind you. An opportunity such as this happens once in a life time. How many others dream of a moment like this; a chance to stand upon such a famed stage with all eyes upon them? Slightly nervous yet overcome by a wave of anticipation and excitement you follow her down the aisle to the stage.

This elegant creature who appeared to be carved from wood leads you to the golden cords which still hang empty from the rafters. The other pale-faced marionettes move closer. One by one, the strings are fastened to your ankles and wrists... the final cord is looped loosely around your neck like a hangman’s noose. It’s a rather disconcerting feeling, but surely these fabulous actors have done this many times before and all is perfectly safe. You peer up above the curtain, into the darkness, wondering if your strings are simply tied in place or being held by the unseen hands of some great puppeteer. You find nothing but shadows.

The marionettes form a circle around you then drop to the floor, leaving you to stand alone in the very center of the stage as the music begins again. Unmoving, these perfect puppets surround you. They sit in the most awkward positions... necks and limbs tilted and bent like those of discarded toys. Eyes like beads of glass seem to stare right through your soul, not truly seeing you at all. The cords tied to your ankles and wrists suddenly tighten uncomfortably and before you can protest you find yourself being pulled this way and that in a clumsy dance.

The crowd applauds and you try to smile despite the ropes which seem to sear your flesh with every tug. The speed of the music increases with each passing minute and no matter how hard you try you can’t keep your footing. Entertainment or not, this has become unbearable and you must break free. You stumble about the stage trying to escape your binds... but whoever might be pulling the cords will not allow you a moments rest in which you might loosen the knots.

The rope around your neck tightens unexpectedly and a strangled cry escapes your lips. You are spinning now, unable to control your own momentum. The golden strings cut into your flesh and you can feel the blood sticky on your skin. The theater whirls around you in a myriad of distorted colours and shapes. The marionettes have come to life around you, laughing in the most depraved manner. Your choked pleas for release fall upon deaf ears and you find that you can no longer draw breath.

The music slows to a somber dirge.

Your eyes focus for one brief moment and the very last thing you catch sight of before darkness envelops you is the young violinist, standing to one side of the stage behind the velvet curtain smiling as he witnesses your demise.


You wake with a scream that pierces the darkness of your room... gasping for air as you throw the bed sheets to the floor. Your heart is pounding rapidly in your ears as you grope blindly for the bedside lamp. Light floods the room and you sit trembling in the center of the bed with your knees pulled up tight to your chest.

In your own bed, within the safety of your room you try to convince yourself that it wasn’t real... it was just a nightmare. You can hear the electric hum of your air conditioner and the startled meow of the cat who had been sleeping peacefully at the foot of your bed.

It was only a dream...

You step carefully out of bed, still feeling somewhat light-headed and shaken. And as you make your way towards the kitchen for a calming cup of tea you notice a yellowed scrap of paper by the floor at your feet. You reach down to retrieve it and are overcome by a sudden feeling of dread as you read the words printed in fancy antique script;

“Welcome to the Theater of the Vampires - The greatest spectacle of the Boulevard!”

The ticket drops from your trembling fingers and floats to the ground.

Bonne nuit, my darling. Sweet dreams.

Your eyes snap open at the feeling of a cold hand upon the warm skin of your shoulder, yet when you spin around to find the source of this startling yet not entirely unwelcome touch you find that the row of seats directly behind you is empty. There are people further back, of course... rows upon rows of them but no one close enough to have reached out then moved out of view so quickly.

Such a dreadfully long intermission, wasn’t it? Perhaps you closed your eyes for just a little longer than you remembered, hmm? Maybe that monotone rumble of the crowd lulled you into such a relaxed state of mind that you drifted off and dreamed that touch.

Rather unsettling, non?

When your turn those gorgeous dark eyes back to the stage, the curtain is open once again and the second play has just begun.


Part 2
Marionnette de Diables

The light of a single lamp illuminates a long wooden table in the very center of the stage. At this table sits an old silver-haired man... a toy maker nearing the end of his life’s work. His pale blue eyes gaze down upon the beautiful marionette before him. She is his greatest creation. Carved of the finest oak that his meager wages could provide. With trembling hands, he whittles away with the most precise movements, adding the finishing touches to her face and then applying the paint in careful strokes of the tiniest brushes.

The soft melody played by the orchestra is barely audible, as though the slightest noise might disturb his work.

His tools are set down for the very last time. His creation is complete... years of effort have come to a close. He leans in to press his pale, thin lips to hers and draws his final breath. As his frail body falls to the floor beside the table hers begins to move. First her delicate wooden fingers then her arms. She raises herself up off the table and stands beside the corpse of the man who made her, glancing down at him with a look of cold disinterest. His life is over but hers has just begun.

She begins to dance around the room... her movements stiff and mechanical at first, but as the tempo of the music changes she becomes more accustomed to her wooden joints and limbs. She travels gracefully about the stage, her long hair flowing behind her like threads of golden silk. Aphrodite herself would envy such beauty.

There is a hushed murmur amongst the audience as they try to decide whether this perfect marionette is real or truly a life-sized puppet being moved by invisible stings from somewhere up above the red curtain.

Out into the night she goes, moving through the sleeping city in it’s very darkest hour. The melody is quicker now... a heated rhythm almost too fast to be played by human hands. The marionette races through the empty streets, spinning and twirling in a divine euphoria brought on by simply being alive. The lights behind the scrim brighten giving the appearance of crosses and tomb stones all around the stage. The gorgeous young puppet has danced herself into the cemetery. It is here that she finally comes to rest. Exhausted from the nights events, she lays down in the soft grass to sleep.

The lights dim and a dense fog rolls in. Is this smoke or some sort of fantastic stage magic? A lone wolf howls in the distance as a dark figure begins to emerge from the very ground itself. He steps forward from the grave, this revenant vampire... a creature of medieval tales. Long black hair is knotted and tangled about his face and his dark eyes shine like coal in a hearth. He thirsts for human blood and instantly spies the sleeping marionette. A smile tugs at the corners of his pale lips and his long, white fangs glisten in the lamp light.

He rushes over and scoops the wooden marionette into his arms, believing her to be the most alluring woman he has ever seen. And still she sleeps as peacefully as the corpses in the graves that surround them both. The vampire is puzzled yet entranced by this sleeping beauty. The lights are extinguished completely and when the torches are lit once again the scene has changed. He has carried the lovely puppet into a crypt beneath the cemetery. The painted backdrop appears to be made of stone and you can almost feel the change in atmosphere. The air suddenly seems damp and cold.

He gently places her upon a cold marble slab and watches in fascination. Never has he seen a creature of such perfection. His gaze moves over her flawless skin which looks human to him despite the fact that it has been carved from wood. Still thirsting, he leans in closer and tries to sink his fangs into her slender neck... only to discover that her skin is as hard as the stone upon which she lays and he cannot steal a single drop of her blood.

Night after night the vampire wakes with the setting of the sun to sit by her side in silent lamentation... and each evening he tries once again to drink her blood but always fails. He has fallen in love with the marionette and blinded by passion, he refuses to believe that she does not live.

Refusing to leave her side and unable to hunt, he grows weaker with each passing night until he finally perishes. The moment his body falls to the ground a shrill laughter pierces the silence. The marionette rises to her feet as if his death has quickened her a second time. She smiles wickedly and the orchestra strikes up a triumphant melody as she dances merrily on the vampire’s remains.

This wooden marvel is a thief of souls, you see. Her life is sustained by the death of others. From the old man who created her, she was only able to steal his last precious hours yet from this vampire... she has stolen eternity.


For a brief moment her coal black eyes fix upon you just before the curtain is drawn for the second intermission.

Close your eyes...

Breathe deeply and feel yourself drifting on the winds of time. Traveling back to an era long before you were born and a place which now exists only in the memories of those who once loved it dearly.

No, don’t open those gorgeous dark eyes of yours just yet. Take a moment to truly feel everything around you. Experience this place with your other four senses. Can you feel the wooden chair beneath you? The scent of oil burning brightly in hundreds of glass lamps is thick in the air. Do you hear the voices of the crowd around you? Hushed whispers of King Louis and the Revolution are soon drowned out by the somber melody of a nearby orchestra. Can you taste the excitement and anticipation? Word of this place has spread quickly around the City of Lights and there are many who cannot afford to pay the hefty admission price that would allow them to sit exactly where you are now.

Now open your eyes.

Directly in front of you is a stage draped in a heavy red velvet curtain. To your right is the orchestra pit. The musician’s faces are pale as death and their cheeks are painted with perfect circles in the most delicate shade of crimson. Their movements are stiff and mechanical like those of wooden marionettes and the music they produce is dark enough to send a chill through your soul.

Welcome to the Theatre des Vampires. Tonight’s performance will consist of three plays written and directly by yours truly.


Part 1
Le Violon Magique

The golden cords are pulled and the curtains open. The backdrop is a small village painted upon nearly translucent scrim, giving the illusion of depth and distance. A dozen dancers stand perfectly still upon the stage. The music takes on a more lighthearted tone and they begin to move... swaying to and fro in a dance which mimics the actions of daily life. One carries a basket of fruit down a busy street as others spin and twirl around her. Another sits in front of a tall mirror brushing her shiny, black hair in long, graceful strokes. A young couple strolls down the street arm and arm... then in the midst of all this movement and commotion one young man falls to the ground.

Pestilence had struck and it spreads quickly through the town. One after another, each of the beautiful young dancers took ill, succumbing to the fever and dropping to the floor in the very center of the stage in a broken heap of lifeless bodies.

There is a moment of darkness and silence and when the stage lights up again the scene has changed. The orchestra plays a somber funeral dirge and a solitary figure, dressed in a long black robe with a stark white collar, stands alone amidst a nighttime cemetery. He clutches a rosary in his trembling hands. The many tomb stones that surround him are wreathed in circles of blood-red chrysanthemums.

“Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine. Et lux perpetua luceat eis.” He repeats over and over again. The priest’s voice is strong, but his tone carries an underlying despair as he prays for the Lord to grant their souls eternal rest. He drops to his knees and weeps at this tragedy that has struck God’s children down in the very prime of their lives. The lights dim once again and the theater falls into a hush.

The haunting sound of a lone violin pierces the darkness. Its source is not the orchestra pit... in fact it seems to be coming from all around you. The mournful wail growls louder and a solo violinist is lowered onto the stage... as if the night skies opened up and the shadows themselves had aided his descent. Perched upon a broken tomb, his dark hair whips about his face as the melody becomes almost fierce in its intensity. One by one, the stone crosses fall to the ground and figures begin to emerge from the graves.

As the corpses of those stricken down by the plague rise to their feet, it becomes obvious that they have been transformed. No longer does the pallor of sickness and death claim them... they are reborn. Their skin is as smooth and white as porcelain. Wide, expressive eyes glisten like dark glass orbs from beneath hair as black as coal. And if you look close enough, you can see the gleam of their long fangs as they hiss and cackle like the demons they have now become. Dressed in flowing ruffles of black lace and satin they begin to dance, moving like liquid over the old floor boards. Perfect bodies now trapped in an eternal but ghastly youth twist and writhe in time with the music. With gestures fluid and feline, they surround the violinist in the center of the stage... twirling and spin in circles around him obeying the command of the music, knowing that it’s magic has brought them forth from the grave.

They thirst for the blood of the living and it is the young violinist who must lead them the a place where they can quench this thirst. Like some gruesome Pied Piper, he lures them away from the cemetery. They dance along merrily behind him leaving one to wonder if it is the music itself which wills their lifeless bodies to move. Should it stop, would they drop to the ground as dead as they were when the sickness took them? Every step and motion is in perfect rhythm with the chilling requiem that now overtakes the entire theater.

The scrim lights up to display the most perfectly rendered painting of Paris. The Arc de Triomphe de la Porte Saint-Denis, the Conciergerie, Notre Dame and the Seine glow brightly in the background as these newly born vampires follow the musician towards the city, vanishing into the shadows to the left of the stage. They will create a plague of their own upon the people of Paris, leaving hundreds dead in their wake.

The velvet curtain closes slowly, shrouding the theater in darkness. A brief intermission before the next play begins.

I was wading waist-deep in the black waters of the river Styx through darkness so thick that I could feel it pressing against me like something tangible and solid. Pushing me back, trying to keep me from breaking free, back into the world above... the world of the living. The shadows had a life of their own and sometimes, when I least expected it, they would reach out and catch hold of me, causing me to lose my footing and stumble blindly against the damp stone walls.

Preternatural vision was useless to me here. I was forced to rely on instinct alone to guide us through these tunnels.

I wondered, what price Charon would ask to allow us to board the ferry that would take back though those great adamantine gates and out of this realm of Hades and all the gods of the Underworld.

I knew that I had more than enough to pay the fare.

Stolen offerings for the dead.

What did you think would happen, hmm? Despite what legend may say, our kind can still step foot into the house of god without fear of being struck down by the almighty himself. Did you truly believe that this particular place held some sacred power... that evil could be banished or locked out with the closing of those great bronze doors?

I’ve more than proven my point. God is as dead here as he is in the rest of the world.

Did you lose yourself in the brilliance that surrounded us as my fangs sliced through your skin? Did the painted figures reach out to you as I drank down your very soul? Did you stare into the face of Christ and find salvation there?

I tasted your fear... I know what lies beneath that foolish facade. In that moment of perfect terror and desperation I caught a glimpse of that which you keep locked away. You hide it well, mon cher. Behind those plaster saints and stained glass windows lurks the absolute embodiment of evil. He’s there, isn’t he? Watching... waiting... biding his time and counting the days until that final judgement when your soul will either ascend into the realm of glory or be cast down into his domain to writhe in the fires of hell for all of eternity.

It is on nights like this, when the balance is tipped in his favour, that you fear him most of all. You lie awake dwelling upon the sins you have committed and every shadow that passes over you transforms itself into his great black wings as he comes to claim you. Can you hear the sound of his cloven hooves as each passing minute brings him closer to your side? Do the flames sear your skin in your dreams as he drags you helpless into the abyss?

Allow me to ease your mind in telling you this...

The Devil isn’t real. That horned demon that torments you as you sleep is nothing more than a figment of a demented imagination. The hell you fear exists only within the boundaries of your own mind. I am the Prince of Darkness. There is no greater evil than that which I have shown you.

Enjoy your bed of cold, damp stone, my love. And take comfort in the knowledge that the only creature out to steal your soul has already had a taste of it.

Lying on crumpled, broken wings... a drunken mess in the midst of a city that never sleeps. The stagnant air smelled of spilt champagne and cigarettes. What sort of god would have allowed the devil himself to creep into the room of his faithful follower as he slept? I don’t know how long I watched from the shadows... not daring to make a sound lest I disturb his peaceful slumber. The minutes ticked by... painfully slow as I approached the bedside, gazing down upon his face for the very first time.

He was just as beautiful as I had imagined... this fallen angel.

His eyelids fluttered and a low, incoherent mummer escaped his full lips. I reached down to remove the half empty bottle that leaned against his chest, setting it quietly on the floor beside the bed as I moved to sit beside him. Dark hair spilled over the sweat soaked pillows and his head turned ever so slightly to one side granting me a perfect view of the vein that pulsed just beneath the taut skin of his throat. I leaned closer... drawn in by the heat of this mortal body so near to me. It would have been so easy.

My face was so very near to his that I had to fight back the urge to wake him... to jolt him out of his sleep for the sheer satisfaction of seeing the fear in his eyes when he realised that his plan had failed and that this perfect predator had been victorious in the first round of this dangerous game we played. Evil always triumphs in the end. Instead, I carefully unhooked the silver chain from around his neck and slipped it into my shirt pocket.

Checkmate.

Bold with my own devious little victory, I brushed my lips lightly over his. He tasted of defeat and expensive French champagne. His lips parted and he moaned softly as my fingers moved through his thick hair. I wondered if my gentle touch had stirred dreams of some lover from the past. Those very same pale, musicians fingers could have crushed his skull if I so desired.

Suddenly, something clattered to the floor. I shot up like a bat out of hell, cursing myself for my own nervous stupidity when I saw the small silver cell phone at my feet. He didn’t move. He was dead to the world, or so the saying goes... though the steady beating of his heart was maddeningly clear. Just as well that this should happen. Drunk on my own victory, I had nearly forgotten my reasons for being here. I gathered up the tiny phone then I searched the room until I had found the other objects I that came for as well.

Taking these with me and leaving nothing but a note and a small token of my affection, I vanished like a phantom into the night.

Amore Mio,

Please accept my sincerest apologies for my sudden departure. I should have spoken to you first rather than rushing out the door only hours before dawn, leaving you worried. Though there are nights when I find myself lost in this place which is so new and confusing to me, I have learned enough in my short time here to board one of the boats to the mainland and follow the aeroporto signs in the city.

I had urgent business to attend to in Paris... something which required my immediate attention. Knowing that you do not wish to return to the City of Lights just yet, I went on my own. Rest assured that I am well and I shall return to Italy as soon as my business here has been taken care of.

Just a few more nights, bella mia. I will be back at your side very soon.

Cara mia, ti voglio bene.