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In a home I forgot long ago, lived my brother. Not a normal man, not a joyful man, a sad man he was. He called himself "Douleur" which is French for sorrow. His birthname was Caine. given the name from Cain who slew Abel, for our mother was killed bringing life to him.
When we grew up , we lived the life of princes. Our father was the mayor of a small town called Brive. The town looked nice, but everyone had their own little, dirty secrets. Every five months on the sixth day, a body would turn up in our town from towns nearby. The body was brutally destroyed, exposing ribs, blood everywhere, and claw marks down their faces. Nearby the body, in the victims blood, was a pentagram. The work of a devil-worshipper.
After every murder, my father would run around like a mad man, demanding the sheriff to do something. Each time, the sheriff could do nothing fo no evidence was left. This practice went on a hundred years before my birth, and will most likely continue a hundred, maybe two or three hundred years, when I die. Though we lived like princes, we were not permitted to ever leave the grounds. Our father feared the person or people responsible for the brutal murders would snatch us. Foolish Father! My only friend was my young brother. On our property was a small forest, for father's office and home was the same place, and we had a horse stable, and a small pond, and in addition a small forest. Caine and I played in the forest our whole lives, Caine called it the "Forest of Broken Dreams". Poor Caine never loved a women his whole life. While many of the village girls were very fond of me, I stole many of them into the complex, then stole their virginity as well. I brought more than thirty girls into the grounds. But no matter how many girls I brought into the complex, none satisfied my love. Every night I dreamed of two eyes, the most beautiful eyes staring at me, the eyes were like emeralds and I felt love to who ever was the owner of such eyes.
The only woman I ever saw, anyone over my age, and not two or three years younger was an old maid. She was my father's personal maid. We only saw her, she never spoke to us. She was about, now I only guess now, I'd say 67. She had a dark set of brown and green eyes, I felt as if she was a connection to my love, the one I only dream of, the one I call "Emerald Eyes."
Soon I was of the age of twenty-one, our father offered to send us off to go live on our own, with a extremely generous sum of money. I went but my brother, poor brother, did not. He lived there in that sad home. He lived there with father, and the maid, unloving, sad.
After I was gone, I wrote home every week, but slowly I did not write back. I found a nice French home, located in Mazamet, it was a small castle with a large tower. The place was surrounded by a large iron gate. As soon as I was settled, I wrote home to my sad brother. Weeks past and no response came. I did not know what to  do, but I stayed in Mazamet. I wrote again, and waited a few more weeks and no response from this letter either. I gave up, thinking they know longer cared. Two more years pasted, soon after I turned twenty-three, I came across a local village girl, her name was Gwen (I found this out through a few sources), and she was twenty-two. She was so beautiful, but I loved those eyes, those emerald eyes so much. I had to meet her, know her, fall in love with her. I finally gained courage about a month after I first saw her. I went to her, I spoke, or did I, Yes! Yes I spoke, of course I did!
"My name is Christophe, do not take this the wrong way, but my friend said your name is Gwen, and you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, your beautiful eyes, I would love to be with you."
"You are very sweet Christophe, but what if I have a jealous husband?"
"What if you don't?"
As I spoke that, I moved like the wind, and kissed her passionately on her ever inviting lips. I fell in love at once, a spark had lit my internal flame and could never be put out.
Once we stopped kissing she stepped back, gasped and spoke, "You are right, I do not have a jealous husband, nor a family, and now because of the destruction of it, I no longer have a home."
I don't know why I said it, but I said it, "Come live with me!"
"I don't know you!"
"No! Please! In all my years of life, I have never seen anyone as beautiful as you, no where is anyone as beautiful as you, not even in Brive..."
"The murders, my grandmother lives there, she was the maid for the..."
"The mayor"
"Yes! How did you know?"
"I am the mayor's son!"
"You? It would be an honor to live with you."
That began our love, her moving in with me. I showed her how to ride horses, and some of my more fun sports. I found out she wasn't a virgin, she had her virginity stolen like more girls I had known. I did not care about that I loved her, and began calling her "My Emerald Eyes." We were so in love.
After two years I asked her hand in marriage, she agreed. We were very happy, but came to the conclusion that having a child was not in our best interest.
Another year went past. One day I was in our room, and she ran to me holding a letter, she jumped into my arms. Her beautiful green eyes stained with tears. Fearing the worst I spoke with compassion that can only grow with love, "What is wrong Emerald Eyes? Your tears bring me to tears. Tell me what burden's your soul."
She glanced at the letter, and spoke, "My grandmother is dead, your father is dead, the murderer from long ago has struck again."
We got in the carriage, and took it back to Brive, to attend the funeral of my father and the funeral of Gwen's grandmother. It took two days to reach Brive, arriving early the third day.
I attended my father's funeral, Gwen was there by my side. I did not see Caine, so telling my wife I would come and get her from her grandmother's funeral, left to see where Caine was.
I walked in the home, my old, sad home. Inside in a corner was my brother unshaven, dirty. He was an absolute horror. He looked at me and spoke with a voice hoarse and broken, "Brother is that you?"
"Yes Caine it is I"
"I know who the murderer is."
I looked at him and my voice rose like a mountain, "Who Caine who!"
"I am the murderer."
"Do not be mad brother you are no murderer."
"I am brother, I do not believe in any god or devil, I just wanted to belong." He began to weep.
"What do you speak of Caine?"
"I speak of a devil-worshipper. I speak of the Devil's cult, and a boy wanting so bad to be near his father, that he would say and do anything to prove himself. I speak of father's secrets"
I stared at him and snapped like a shark, "What do you speak of, do not say such things or I will kill you!"
"It is true!"
"Caine you are mad!"
"I shall show you brother, I will show you!" He rose and walked over to the bookcase, and touched the side. It flew open with great force.
I entered following Caine's lead. The stairs wound down and down, finally reaching a basement of sorts. To my left was a mangled body decaying, flies covered the body's face. To my right was an assortment of amulets, weapons, and jewels. And straight ahead was a shrine for one people unlike myself, God worshippers believed as Lucifer. For I admit now in this log of my life, that I am not a believer in God or Devil. On the wall was a giant pentagram inverted on the wall, a goat's head was center stage. The stage was covered with a purple rug. A silk robe, purple, with a small inverted cross on it was next to the goat head.
I approached this shrine and noticed off stage was a table, covered in blood no doubt that of a human. And behind the head was a box. Inside this box, were two cups, and a knife. All three were stained with blood. I turned and looked at my brother. He looked at me frowned and said, "The other member's will be here soon."
"Caine, I don't care anymore, you have shown me horrors beyond belief, I leave your life forever."
At that I placed the items back into the box, got in my carriage, went to my wife's grandmother's funeral, I vowed never to return to this town ever again.
It's been a long journey from vampires to real life, from the 1700's to the present day one character has been there "Caine" here are his origins
Moonsong-Stock Featured By Owner Jan 29, 2006   Photographer
wow... this is amazing. I love your writting, it carries such emotion. I hope I can write like this, carry across meanings and bring characters to life like this.
jester81 Featured By Owner Jan 30, 2006
I wrote this a long time ago. 1999 I think. Anyway my style has progressed a great deal since then.
Moonsong-Stock Featured By Owner Feb 2, 2006   Photographer
well then i shall have to go read some of your more current works, now won't I? :P
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Submitted on
May 14, 2004
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