tower with steps and bluebells 2

The characters of the Southern Vampire Mysteries belong to Miss Charlaine Harris. No infringement on my part is intended. The characters on True Blood belong to Mr. Alan Ball. No infringement on my part is intended.

I have no BETA, editor, or other such charming person. All mistakes are my own.

 This story is rated M.

The Tower

There is no such thing as an Immortal.   All things die. Or fade or wish themselves into nothingness. Insanity works as well.

For a couple of hundred years, I was insane; well, according to Albert Einstein’s definition. I was doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. When you are vampire there are no different results, just the passing of time and surviving.

And for my first centuries as vampire, I survived very well and I earned a name for myself. I was a law unto myself and vampire everywhere envied me. Not content to sleep in the dirt like many of my comrades, I had built for myself a tower. And the hymen blood of many virgins stained its floors and steps.

It is magnificent! Thick at the base and perfectly round and capable of impaling anything. Because of my tower, I was resented and admired and told it was bigger than those that were built in the East.

In my younger days, when the flowers grew a carpet of blue and the blood moon rose in the sky, I would spend many nights staring at this magnificent representative of who I am.

Now I am older and I am wanting things to be different. Wishing things were different. And sometimes…why yes, I am crying and pleading for things to be different. And here I begin my story…my downfall…and the insanity that consumed my life.

Centuries ago, I reigned supreme in that tower. And I fucked and I killed in that tower. And my name spread among supernaturals and humans and with it came tribute in gold, blood whores and those that wished to just admire me. And truthfully, I was a lot to admire. Robust, ruthless and renegade. I bowed to no one and I took what I wanted. The old crown of the East thought to trap me in the daylight. I ate him and his many wives before I retired to my day rest. When they sent weres after me, I skinned them alive and wore them for clothing.

Until in the year 1412…and then I was renegade no longer…because of my strength and the fierceness that empowered me, I was declared and crowned Sovereign de Vampyr and I was to rule my fanged brethren, forever!

And in the deep recesses of my ego inflamed mind, I knew I could and I would and I should reign forever. For I was unstoppable and my brethren, they did not want me to stop. They told me to glory in my vampyrism and to incite them to do likewise. They rallied to me and we bathed in the blood of the moon and humans. And I ate from whom and where I wanted.

And the seasons passed…spring, summer…and in the blackness of my soul, I watched for each leaf of autumn to wither and die and blow away. Leaving a bare, bleak, landscape. For winter was coming with its heavy snows!

Then Spring would announce itself! All hail the warm winds that would blow! All hail the ending of winter darkness and the coming of bloom filled nights! And welcome the blue flowers that perfume our nostrils in the night air as we gather to hiss at the blood moon that weeps great tears for with the tenderness of the first greenery; for it is The Time of the Feast and humans trembled with fear. And wept and cried and pleaded for mercy! But there would be no mercy. For when the flowers bloomed blue and the night was pregnant with their sweet aroma, it meant that winter had passed and it was time to savor the sweetest of meat.

For humans, in their infinite wisdom, during the roar of snow and wind, locked their doors and when the light burned out, slipped beneath the covers and let their baser instincts take over. The need to procreate. And they would sweat and groan and grunt and find release, until the male’s seed took and then sorrow filled the house.

For when the blue flowers bloomed, there would be one or two whose bellies would be swollen and they were left naked, chained to the steps leading to my tower, awaiting my pleasure. And my pleasure I did take.

Sometimes the offerings were inferior and I left them to breed again. You do not needlessly slaughter cattle. If there was one that I liked, the female stayed with me until the child was weaned. And if the mother cried prettily enough, I let her stay and nurse the child until the fifth year passed. When the child turned six, they found a place in my household. And their mother became my evening meal, midnight feast, and before I retired, the last of her blood saw me into my day slumber.

It was, indeed, good to be king…and I was very good at being king.

I was a handsome monster and a charming rogue that killed for sport and pleasure. All remained sane until the night of the silver harvest moon in the year 1515…I was running my meal to ground that evening, one of my slaves having escaped.  This one that I terrorized, she was small but a fighter and a screamer and had broken off a branch that she would threaten me with each time she heard me rustle the leaves.

At times, I would just watch her and think about what I would do next to alarm her into screaming fits that I knew would dissolve into crying when she realized that all was lost.

The clouds had been playing chase with the moon all evening, like a fox smiling at a rabbit, and now the moon was gone and the darkness was my friend but the woman’s enemy. I did not laugh when she tripped and sat crying, beating the stick on the ground, daring me to come and get her.

Well, who I was to disappoint and not fulfill her wish! I remember laughing as I hauled her up off the ground by the hair.

That perhaps was a mistake. I had forgotten about the stick she held in her hand. She apparently had not.

Thrusting it up into my chest, I felt it hit my heart.

“Fucker, “ she hissed. “Meet the sun and die.”

The moon once more blessed this creature with its light and she stomped on my manhood several times to damage me and then left me in the woods to die the final death.

Lying upon the forest floor, for hours I did not move for fear of pressing the wood into my undead heart. I could feel the sun sending its warmth into the pre-dawn air. And in the distance, I heard the sound of my child, calling for me. Frantic, terror in her voice! In my weakened state, I pushed what was left of my will at her and said goodbye to her, as I remembered fondly the dark when I gave her vampire life.

Finding me, gently she cradled me and was weeping as she carried me back to my lovely tower. As she climbed the steps, I could hear her footsteps echo. Was this to be the last sounds I would hear?

“How is it he is not dead,” they whispered.

“What can we do to save him?” my Pamela cried and pleaded.

“Cut off the limb and leave part of it in my chest,” I gasped. “Quickly child, before you and I sleep and I never wake, again.”

And so it was. When I woke that new dark, my wound was healed, but I could feel the cleaness of the wood and the truth that was the tree. Slipping from my chamber, I went to the creek and washed away the old that I had reveled in and looked down and saw my reflection, the Viking that I had been.

The vampire was gone. I knew this because I had no taste for blood or for killing or for fucking. I felt human once more in a vampire’s body and my mind could not grasp it!

I could feel Pamela casting for me on the wind. When my child found me, she knew that I was no longer the scourge that had made her and she had no love for me.

“Abomination! Abomination! Abomination!” she kept screaming until vampyr found us and I feared for my life and ran.

And so I still wander the earth. On silent, moonlit, star-filled nights, my child’s screams still echoes in my ears. And world-weary and tired of running, once more I stand at the steps of my once upon a time tower and wish that I was Sovereign of the Vampyr.

And the little blonde that staked me, I wish I had fucked her brains out.”

“Oh Eric…!” Sookie swatted him with her hand, “E-e-e-e uuu! And Baby Signy,” she patted her tummy, “you did not hear one word of that! Momma forbids it. Eric,” she pinched him, “story hour is supposed to have a happily ever after! We are practicing for Baby Signy. And that did not sound anything like Rapunzel and you were eating the baby mommas. E-e-e-e uw-w-w-w!” she pinched him again.

“Lover,” he said, “I have read through The Tales. They are violent. Written by a blood hungry supe of some type, I am sure.”

His voice became low and sensual. “Until you, I had never tasted baby momma before and find it to be most delicious,” he purred as he placed lavish kisses on her hand.

“Get…a…room,” Pam rolled her eyes. “And I must say Eric, to watch you go from a bad ass to a girly-man, I would have led the pack to destroy you, good type casting, ” she said matter of fact and then she gasped and sat back in horror… “Oh wait one…bad ass to a…,” she started to say the p word and thought better of if when Sookie arched an eyebrow at her. “Bad ass to a…girly man” she choked out, “I’ve witnessed that,” she was laughing so hard she fell off the couch.

“Child,” Eric smiled at her. “Talk to the hand. Besides, not anywhere did I reference my name in that story. I only referenced a Viking. You must write, or in this instance, tell what you know. And I honored you. Your name shall now live forever in the land of Fairy Tales.”

Samuel looked up from the book of fairy tales, opened to Rapunzel, confusion on his face. “Rapunzel did not appear anywhere in that story, nor did you ask her to let down her hair. There was no witch,” his eyes settled on Pam for a moment and moved on. “Thankfully,” he rolled his eyes, “you included the tower but I suspect that is because of your some not so subtle references to King Eric.”

“Of course I did,” Eric sputtered. “I referenced her. The escaped slave. She was the one that staked the vampire out in the woods. This is obvious. The story says she had to cut her hair to escape. She escaped and staked,” he hesitated. “the Viking vampire.”

“Well thanks for nothin’,” Sookie rolled her eyes. “I have to take that,” she shook her head in disbelief, “and continue the story and tell it from Rapunzel’s point of view.”

Eric grinned and kissed her hand. “I cannot wait, my fairy princess, to hear your tale of the tower.”

Dear Readers,

Late yesterday afternoon as I sat down to do a writing exercise…still using my photos as you can see…and this is where I landed…when it was finished…

This is me singing and dancing…its a one shot…it’s a one shot! Victory Dance as I spin around the floor! Woohooo!

Two hours later.

I fixed dinner and was thinking about fairy tales.

I had dinner…grilled salmon…h-m-m-m…brain food makes you think…

Then I had a few other thoughts and did some editing and I said…”Awww gee….now I have to tell it from S/POV…so maybe not a one shot….well drat…

As always, thanks for reading!

CES