About
My father was a holy man. He swayed people's belief with only his powerful words and phrases. He could turn a sinner to a saint in an instant. I had been training to become a preacher like my father, but that's not what I really wanted to do. I wanted to be a novelist; to write stories about the world! But my father would not hear of such aristocratic ideas.
There was a coven of vampires that my father had been slandering about, and after months of the verbal abuse, they tired of it and attacked. The church was burning, and my father kept on preaching. I saw one of the demons closing in on my father, and rushed to his aide, taking the force of the fangs instead of him. Seconds from death, my father flung the monster aside and they escaped.
But they did not escape unharmed.
I was turning, and my father was at a loss for words. The demons and sinners and unholy beings he had been going on and on about was now his own flesh and blood. The very thought of it reduced him to tears.
I ran away, not wanting to hurt my father anymore.
That was several decades ago. Now, I have come to terms with what I am, and know I cannot change it. But I still long to be human...
Life sure is ironic, ain't it?
P.S.
My birthday is the 15th of March!
YAY!!!
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