HOME | DD

Description
Pierced. Torn on the verge between art divinity and mundane pragmatism, borderline cynicism.
You would call my life a grim fairy tale and me, a cursed monster, a tragic main character.

I watch Cyrene slowly loosing her angelic beauty. It makes me insane to observe her turning into a monster, a monster like me.

How did it all start? I cannot recall the day my heart stopped beating. Vivid questions and fears of future erased all the fragile traces of the past. Did I have any past at all? Who was I before I caught the curse?

Funny thing. I haven’t written anything for such a long time. I spend all days making sure to get some meals for me and Cyrene, masterfully, skilfully avoiding being caught and killed…

Can I actually be killed? A robust soul, never dies, yet it is rotting, imprisoned in a diseased body, slowly decomposing. Very slowly. It tortures me the most.

The humiliating pacing of my life. All the last traces of bohemian life pleasures are gone. Yet, the aftertaste is the only vivid thing I have left. I cherish that very last proof of me being once alive. Before I turned into a shadow of a sun.

Keeping the mansion clean and tidy calms down my nerves. Who would have thought! The necessity, after Cyrene ate all our servants.

Funny thing, she tries to eat me constantly, never learning the lesson. What lessons? An instruction on being a hearteater? Natural instincts. Natural? Sounds ridiculous.

Survival of the fittest, we the carnivores of the night. They started writing about us in the newspaper. Yet, we remain a shadow, a dreadful force imposing terror.

Superior? I do not feel like that. Rather the opposite. As long as they do not know our weaknesses, we are safe.

Or what if it is all just a peculiar illness that still can be cured? If they knew just a bit more about us, could they help us? Save us? The question would rather be if they spare us.

No illusions left, there is no place for dreams. We are no angels.

We are the worst human nightmare, fallen lower than any wicked human would. Disgusting, but truth. We are the ghouls. Mere shadows of who we really are.

Description
Pierced. Torn on the verge between art divinity and mundane pragmatism, borderline cynicism.
You would call my life a grim fairy tale and me, a cursed monster, a tragic main character.

I watch Cyrene slowly loosing her angelic beauty. It makes me insane to observe her turning into a monster, a monster like me.

How did it all start? I cannot recall the day my heart stopped beating. Vivid questions and fears of future erased all the fragile traces of the past. Did I have any past at all? Who was I before I caught the curse?

Funny thing. I haven’t written anything for such a long time. I spend all days making sure to get some meals for me and Cyrene, masterfully, skilfully avoiding being caught and killed…

Can I actually be killed? A robust soul, never dies, yet it is rotting, imprisoned in a diseased body, slowly decomposing. Very slowly. It tortures me the most.

The humiliating pacing of my life. All the last traces of bohemian life pleasures are gone. Yet, the aftertaste is the only vivid thing I have left. I cherish that very last proof of me being once alive. Before I turned into a shadow of a sun.

Keeping the mansion clean and tidy calms down my nerves. Who would have thought! The necessity, after Cyrene ate all our servants.

Funny thing, she tries to eat me constantly, never learning the lesson. What lessons? An instruction on being a hearteater? Natural instincts. Natural? Sounds ridiculous.

Survival of the fittest, we the carnivores of the night. They started writing about us in the newspaper. Yet, we remain a shadow, a dreadful force imposing terror.

Superior? I do not feel like that. Rather the opposite. As long as they do not know our weaknesses, we are safe.

Or what if it is all just a peculiar illness that still can be cured? If they knew just a bit more about us, could they help us? Save us? The question would rather be if they spare us.

No illusions left, there is no place for dreams. We are no angels.

We are the worst human nightmare, fallen lower than any wicked human would. Disgusting, but truth. We are the ghouls. Mere shadows of who we really are.