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I must write a confession of a crime I have committed. This is an unusual occurrence, me writing of myself. The crime was the worst kind, that against a heart. When I was brought unto this amazing world of crimson pain and macabre souls, it was by a man. A beautiful man. Bartholomew Caranovle. He lurked in the thick waters of the night and drank red flowing sin. Most called him monster. I called him father.



He was so lonely, yet so loving. He raised me well, teaching me academics, arts, and most importantly, control. A brilliant man and a wonderful father. I am his only child, he had no mate, no family, yet all of that love. He provided for me, he cared for me, he loved me, and I abused that infinite emotion in which he so whole-heartily gave.



When under his care I thought he restricted and imprisoned me. Now I realize, he only protected me. When he presented to me the opportunity to leave him, I took it, non-hesitantly. I left my sire, my mentor, my first love, my best friend, my father, for an exciting new world. This world that I left him for, with so much promise that I desired to attain that I threw away everything for... is not that great.

COMMENTS

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EstrangedOne7613
08:24 May 02 2013

Speaking seriously and bluntly, this world is cold, and condemning. When youths are told how "beautiful" it is, they are only being sheltered, to hide the truth of all reality.

The only beauty is within the eyes of the one who beholds it all. Besides that, there is no real beauty in the world, but what we show unto ourselves, and bring ourselves to see.

I am one who has not seen "beauty" in much of anything since I was abruptly awakened by a reality more cold than most people can possibly comprehend. It is what led me to being who I am, now, and partially to what I have become, outside of what I have seen.

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