Thanks.

Well, thanks. You just single-handedly ruined Christmas. Thanks a BUNCH. My shoes are not "fuck me" shoes. I do NOT want to go to this Christmas party. I would rather be at home ALONE than with those people. That's just sad. You made everyone sad. I woke up to you yelling about this damned party. Listen to me: I. DO. NOT. WANT. TO. GO. If this party gives you a bloody coronary and makes everyone else feel bad, then it's not worth it. We haven't had Christmas as a family EVER. I can't remember a time we did. Please. Before I go away, let's have a Christmas where we just stay home! No yelling, no fighting, no parties only you want to go to. Just one Christmas as a family. Santa, I've been good. Can I have this one thing?

Love and Bloody Kisses pt. 1

Yeah, I'm doing a NaNoWriMo... Here's the beginning.  I'll post more as I write it.

Dancing across the grimy walls, a moth flittered amongst the shadows.  It moved elegantly, darting through cobwebs and dust motes without hesitating.  I could taste the dirt in the air, the filth clogging my throat.  How long had I been here, in the garret of a London apartment building?  This was disgusting.  I had done nothing wrong.  I tugged at the leather straps binding me to the bedframe.  They had put me here without a word, without explanation.  This is madness.  I had lost track of the number of times the sun had slid across the floor, projected through the tiny window.  Everything was coated in dust.  I could see the footprints from rats, the trails left by cockroaches.  I had stopped screaming by now.  Who had put me in here?  I wasn’t sure how they had even captured me.  I groaned.  They had called me by an unknown name, Rhiannon Inkwell, as though I were actually one of the Dark One’s brides!  I chuckled.  He wouldn’t claim me… After all, my father would never claim his daughter… My name is Lydia Bathory.  I tugged again at the straps. 

“Bloody Hell.”  I sighed.  Punished for being born of the Dracul and the Blood Countess…They didn’t know my name, so I wouldn’t tell them.“I KNOW YOU’RE OUT THERE!  Do you know what you do?  I have no idea who you speak of!  My name is Scarlet Wolfsbane!”  I shouted while tugging at the straps.  “Let me out!”  I thrashed, managing to scrape the bed across the floor a tiny bit.  I started howling, attempting to bring attention to myself. “LET ME OUT OF HERE!!”  I was grimy and hungry.  This was NOT going to work.  Finally I heard someone barreling up the stairs.  “Rhiannon!  Stop this!” A man’s voice bellowed.  I turned.  Sadly, I could only see what I had remembered, a black cloak obscuring the man’s face to his nose.  I scowled. “My name isn’t Rhiannon!  It’s Scarlet.  I don’t know who you’re talking about.  Let me go!  I won’t tell anyone, I promise.” The man smiled.  “I can’t do that, lovely Scarlet.  But I can untie you.” 

I groaned.  “Fine.  Just let me go.”  He reached over to untie my bonds.  I stayed still, planning my escape.  He undid the bonds but stayed in his position, pinning me to the bed. “Oh, lovely Scarlet…”  I acted.  With a rebel yell my knee swung up, catching him in the stomach.  He gasped and collapsed.  I flung him off of me, leaping from the bed. “Unhand me!  I am a woman of virtue.”  I pivoted, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror.  My eyes…I was livid.  They were striated with blood-red, popping from my eternally young face.  My prized red silk gown hung in filthy tatters from my slim frame.  “You ruined my dress, you horrible man.”  Inky spirals tumbled down my back as I skipped lightly to where I had thrown him.  “Who are you, and what did you want with me?” He grinned. “I am Angelus Victor, lovely Scarlet.  We need the beloved Bride of the Dark One.  You are her, are you not?” I laughed.  “The Dark One would never take me as a wife, fool.”

He reached for the dagger I kept in a scabbard at my waist.  “Then, why, lovely Scarlet, do you have the Andul, the Kris of Misery on your hip?” I drew my blade.  It was a ritual dagger; its blade jagged, like a lightning bolt.  There was a series of silver runes carved into the deep black color of the blade, the guard in the shape of a bat’s wing.  I gripped the knife. “I knew not of what it was called.  I saw it in a shop and it caught my fancy.  Pardon me if the whims of a young woman interfered with your plans.” He smirked.  “I think it is not the whims of a girl.  Any person who sees that blade is rumored to have gone mad, unless the ownership is approved by the one who forged the blade.  The Dark One created that kris for ‘the beloved of his heart.’” I sighed.  “I am not the beloved of the Count!  He has no interest in me.  What do you want with me?” He kept smiling.  “We need your life’s blood for the Golden Ritual, your dagger for the Incantation of Blades, your skull for the Rite of Profane Bones.  As a Bride of the the Dark One, you’re profane enou--” His voice choked off into a wordless gargle as I withdrew Andul from his neck. “Enough with this blasphemy against my father.”  I clutched the blade, feeling the warm trickles over my fingers.  The shadows in the room began to swirl and dance, responding to my fury. “I am not a bride of Count Dracula.  What father would take his own daughter as a wife?  I am the beloved of his heart, his only girl, daughter of the Blood Countess Elizabeth Bathory and the Dark One himself.”  I stooped and pulled the cloak from the man’s body.  “It’s a pity one as handsome as you should give himself to the Brotherhood.”  The Unholy Brotherhood was a loosely organized group of arcane priests who claimed it was their mission to “purge the scum of the Earth to create a better world for the ‘pure of heart.’”  I fail to see how the ones who sacrifice children are the “pure of heart.”  At least my kind will only harm children if there is no alternative.  I cast one last look at the man lying on the floor.  He was attractive, wavy brown hair and fair skin.  Granted, he could be pale because I stabbed him.  I dipped the tip of one finger into the blood pooling around him.  Licking the viscous red liquid from my hand, I walked out the open door. 

Well then!

Well then...

He asked me out.

But it's not the him that I wrote C'est La Vie for.

Strange...

But I guess there's a purpose to this.

Who knows?

C'est la vie

Yeah... first post!  Woohoo! ...meh.  A sad bit of poetry I wrote.  It's for a couple different people.

I have something for you. 

                        I'm scared to share it... 

                                                I'm scared to offer it. 

                                                                        I'm offering my heart. 

I know, it's broken,

                        cracked,

                                    and covered in footprints,

                                                                        but it's all I have. 

I'm offering it to you. 

                        All I can ask is that you don't hurt it anymore. 

                                                            If you're willing to accept it, maybe we can put it back together.  Maybe you can help me make this whole again...

                                                                        If you want. 

                                                                                    I'm scared.

                                                                                                I've offered this to others...

                                                                                                                                    It hurt.

See those cracks?

                        That footprint right there?

                                                They're from the people

                                                                        Who rejected my gift.

It's supposed to be special.

                                    I guess it isn't.

                                                If it can be thrown out

                                                                        like a piece of trash

I'm scared of what you'll do to me.

I love you.

            You don't love me.

                                    Please, don't go!

                                                            I need you.

I need someone.

                        Anyone.

                                    Please, please don't leave me.

I'm sorry.

            I shouldn't have said anything.

I should have known.

                        It's happened before...

                                                I guess...

                                                            I guess I'm just not good enough, neh?

Karma's come to get her revenge

                                                I'm atoning for the past.

I understand.

            C'est la vie~

                        Such is life.

I was cruel in the past,

                                    The future is cruel to me.

                                                                        C'est la vie.

The formatting is a bit wonky, but whatever.  It works.