Blood and Ashes

Watchful - Night Island

2008-03-24T23:43:00.001Z

I see why Armand loves his night Island. His rooms here at "Il Villagio" have given me an agreeable refuge since I made him leave. I come and go as I please, feed selectively and without sport. My mission of discovery comes together slowly. Nicki, Quinn and my vexing little Amadeo. How busy they are and becoming firm friends it seems. Maybe the Theatre will be one promise that Amadeo actually succeeds in keeping.

He's everywhere here. In the walls, in the soft silk bed linen that I am now wrapped in, the ripe little mortals who work here, speak the name Marius. Amadeo's Marius? It must be, I feel a great power in the air, as if time knows it's place and purpose. Strangely, I am drawn to Marius almost as much as I am to Armand. The Master is a way to know my redhaired tormentor better. Maybe, in his wise counsel, I can begin to fill the gaping holes in my memory at last. Perhaps even be a pupil again.

I know, I am surprised too, but I know he will not judge me for loving Amadeo. He cannot loath that that he also feels, after all.

The void of love

2008-03-11T20:00:00.001Z

After I ran into the rain, that dreaded Paris night. The night on which I am told I attacked Nicolas. There was nothing in my mind but the sea and the calling of EVERY blood-hunter within hundreds of miles. How can a vampire awake after four months , with no memory? Nicki is weak now because of me and lonely, so lonely.

I decided to tackle the situation with gusto and ordered my manservant "Adonis" to purchase every book written by a vampire in the last 20 years. I then applied myself to reading them, one by one. I read Lestat's and found it funny and refreshing, though woefully self indulgent. I read them all.

Forgive my lack of review for the other little efforts. You see, when I got to 'The Vampire Armand' I was entranced. His life is so much like mine, we are both of us artists, both sold for our beauty. Our master's are few yet our lovers many. We are twins, in the most unlikely way.
As I read, I felt I had heard his words before, so willful and bold. I could see his bow-like mouth as it spoke the words to David Talbot. Half trying to shock with his own brand of hunger. In my mind, I felt I KNEW what he might say or do next. I remember saying outloud "So like my Amadeo..." and then catching myself mid-sentence. I had never met Armand and yet somehow, I loved him completely. Adored every strand of his perfect curls.

His voice was calling me to come to Night Island, find some solace from poor Nicki's madness. From the moment I saw Amadeo, it was like going home. He was (and remains) perfect and sweet. Is it wrong that I felt at home in his arms, at peace? He covered me with kisses and then called me master? How could this be? Be so right....so soon and true to my ears?

I should have known that I am not allowed to adore anyone, for my beloved. whom sang to me of a life I felt I knew. Had already betrayed me... In the arms of QUINN....My QUINN...

Now Nicki and Quinn await death and my hand and I have caste Armand from his own Island. Who truly knows me? Why do I love so utterly and so blindly in this case, what is this song that I hear? Something is missing...so much to learn. I must face them both and face myself.

5th March 08 - reminded of the Rubicon

2008-03-05T09:33:00.005Z

This tome of mine must now record in my wakeful mind I am hearing things, voices in the daylight hours. I can do naught but listen, for sleep will not come to me until I answer their call. Blood-hunters from every corner of the world are writing to seek my counsel.

Vittorio di Ranriani, in a hand fair and bold, has written. We are both of us alone. He sends his likeness to my mind, like all of the blood-hunters that call to me, he is truly beautiful. He remembers Rome as I remember it. I fear though, he would not admire the raw brutality of my increasingly frequent rages. Yet, my instincts tell me that he knows nothing of the friendships, wars and politics that rattle on between the immortals of Paris, New Orleans and even Naples itself. Ahhh, what a blessing that must be.

My dear Tome, it is my own greed that has led to this. My scream rang out on that dark day in Paris, when I took the blood of Nicolas Lenfent - with it came an endless, seamless ocean of ebony silk. I know now, that as his blood seared through me, my actions rang out to to every immortal soul that had ever known or heard his name.
My selfish hunger has sent Nicolas insane again and there are those who would seek to profit from that. Now that I have taken his blood, I feel the possibility of treachery more keenly than ever.

Whom am I to trust now? Vittorio's is but one voice in many that now call me to them - in all politeness they reach out. How am I to know if they fain interest, while secretly planning some cold revenge for my actions?

Arion. My love, grant me peace in in your arms. Venga a casa! Commodo adveho domus!

The seamless sea

2008-02-18T12:04:00.005Z

Have five months really passed? I confess, I am in a haze.

All was silence in my black mausoleum, the life of the swamps cackling above me. My dreams, invaded by the curious calling of a sea-bird. My memories so vague and incomplete. Paris,Nickie, fire... Lestat laughing. I remember the rain lashing my face as I ran. Remember too, taking flight above Paris. The emotions I felt made no sense, so wanting to be away from Nicki, to bury myself in the earth of my swamps once again. I had no memory of what had gone before. Only that I was suddenly alone, trudging seemingly nowhere and getting nowhere. What was the point to it all? Why was I not blessed with death?
These feelings were new to me and very much not my own. I love the blood hunters life or un-life, if you will. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I could recall a visit to Nicolas. There had been a curious silence between us then an unfathomable blinding rage... After that, I remember nothing but silence and the familiarity of my hungry crocodiles waiting to be fed - as I must feed.

So, it was that woke me - hunger? For blood or answers, it didn't seem to matter which for my mind was so full of voices and questions. More than one of my children was awake, I could feel them. How was that possible? Quinn gave me nothing! Pierre, everything! We had a connection of destruction and violence that fed my soul. From this great distance, he was trying to be mindful of my presence and impress me - my blessed Pierre! Even as I forced my way through the earth, I knew that Quinn must be actively seeking me out, at last! His energy was so defiant and pure compared to Pierre's.

It was all too much! Weakness from not feeding, this black unfathomable sadness and Quinn barking at me from the ether! Pounding with my fists, I finally tasted air and gasped to find the names, calling out "Quinn, Nickie, Pierre!!" In one strange, garbled scream.

How I loathe the light

2007-08-20T15:32:00.000+01:00

As you may know, my computer has died a death. I am now reduced to booking a late evening slot at a cafe or library. I loath the public and how nosey they feel it is accepable to be. Soon though, I will be back on a new lap top!

My home is a buzz of new life! New faces and old. Lestat is like a ghost, I know he watches the goings on. His vanity will not permit him to ignore us. Louis and Nicki are there! Louis AND Nicki. Opon my stars, I am thrilled. I wanted them all and so they have come! The deadly games I shall witness from afar! Be sure, I am watching! Soon I shall dance at my court! Heee!

Lestatdelioncourt.com

2007-08-05T09:36:00.001+01:00

I know my site is quiet at this time. However, there are other places I frequent and I have some darling sparing partners at this places. In recent weeks a "Lestat De Lioncourt" has come into my social network. Of course, he adores himself & advises his beloved followers to "lick me to the point of delirium if they wish"

The sun is up so I will keep this short. At one of my haunts, he pointedly asked me to visit his home at Lestatdelioncourt.com I did just that and now, all his blessed little minions are crying "who is Petronia?"
One poster named "The Shadow" seems very interested in Lestat's opinion of me. The site regulars accused him of being me!
I can assure you, dear readers. I have no idea who this Shadow fellow is. However, it is nice to cause a stir every so often. I will also add that I am not a sad person seeking attention. Anyone who knows me will tell you, I value my privacy. In going to the site I was simply answering a call that Lestat himself put forth for me.

I now await his answer. I will update as and when. I feel sure this stew will thicken the more it is stirred

Chaos is raining.

2007-07-19T18:37:00.001+01:00

I know I have been gone a long time. I went away to recover my mind. We moved Yuber somewhere safe. He sleeps still and I fear, will continue to do so for the foreseeable future. When he sleeps, all is safe and still; so still. Yet, it is too quiet. There's a expectant air, as if the air itself is waiting to pounce on us all. This oppressiveness nearly sent me back to my tomb on Sugar Devil Island. Oh, how it's cold black marble called to me.

However, I went back to England. Hunted unseen in clubs, parks and in ever awake London. There is a new Prime Minister, widely considered a bumbling fool it seems. The weather in England was at once sunny & black, with some of the most extensive flooding in the the countries history. The English blame "Global Warming" but in reality (fragile as it is) there is a silent war being fought between Chaos and Order. Even as he sleeps, Yuber battles to maintain the balance of things. The weather is just the beginning, beware my darlings. There is more to come, I feel it.

I do tire of moving around so but I must. When I am with him changes occur to my being, barely noticeable at their onset now, so much stronger. He is with me, sharing his gifts and letting me taste his destiny; as if it is to become my own. Every flash flood, storm or bomb that happens - is Chaos correcting the balance of all things. I see it in every blink of my eye, we are merging slowly. It is to be, that the burden of humanity rests not only with the Scion but increasingly with me.
How am I to protect something I revile? People are cattle to me, toys and nothing more. I crave him, what I had with him. Yet, if he awakes. The forces that seek to end all things will set in motion a chain of events so dire, that there will be nothing. Simply an end.

Yuber (click to read more)

2007-06-03T08:40:00.000+01:00

I must write this while I am still able, for my mind is slipping into a colourful kind of insanity. Perhaps I am willing..perhaps it is fate. We are under attack and my lover lies in a coma..A lover I have not talked about as yet. I may never be the same again and so with a shaky pen I shall recall him. Lest this is the last time I shall know him.

A year or so ago I was hunting in Rome, pickings were slim and I was ready to go to ground for the night. My mind felt sudden great pull, there was another immortal near. It wasn't a blood hunter but it was matching me step for step and it was close. The energy was layered and cold, black and swirling. It was a plan within disorder, it had chaos infecting every wet Rome paving stone.
I ran but not out of fear. No, rather to test it's mettle. My feet splashing puddles and wetting the ankles of passing mortals, much swearing was heard and ignored by me and my mystery partner . I felt the energy was here for a game and I wanted to play. Dark energies always have attracted me; I crave the lessons I may learn and the secret lore they carry. Greed made me want it.
This energy was intoxicating, carrying me into every dark place mentally. As I ran, I was seeing the old battles and feeds, old passions and pains. It was feeding on my memories and giving me flashes of untold power in return. My very molecules seemed to react to this presence, it's unseen hand pulling me finally into an unassuming bar.

Inside it was dark, fat business men were drinking cheap wine at over inflated prices.Women sat on their laps and stole money from their pockets as they lavished sweaty lips with soulless kisses. There was nothing special about this cat house... but the energy was here.
I slipped in and bought a drink, sitting in a booth. My mind scanned and spoke out ::Show yourself:: I willed it...taunted it :: you bought me here, impress me....::

I feel the black descend... I will continue..when and if I am myself again

Vampire Abroad part 2

2007-05-17T07:52:00.000+01:00

The pain on the girl's face was less apparent than what I felt from her mind, she was in terrible anguish. In one week she experienced attempted suicide, sexual assault and her family at war. Her mind while active, was addled with sleeping pills and alcohol. This young creature seemed to me to be an 'accidental' addict; in reality, all she wanted to do was sleep. France was death to her spirit & her personal hell.

As I made my way to her, people were dancing to some French group or other, playing a peculiar brand of a accordion based punk! It was jarring, somehow intrusive to the unfathomable connection she and I felt as we met eyes. Her mind sang out, immediately besotted by my clothing, hair and oddly; my height. As she smiled, her apple cheeks filled with blood. Yet, her eyes remained serious and sad to the core of her soul. In me she saw a male hero, someone who would understand her.

Now any individual who has ever been in company of a blood hunter, will know that convention is often discarded on a whim. In the case of my new friend, I indeed went straight to her side. seeming as if I had attended the event as her companion. You see, she had offered up a silent plea in those lovely blue eyes and it was heard as clearly by me as if she had spoken it aloud.

"Save me..."

For a while neither of us spoke, I gifted her little smiles now and then and she offered them back. Gradually, her posture altered as we began drawing stares and whispers. She relaxed, dared to show pride in her fine features and in doing so, her eyes slowly brimmed with held back tears.
to be continued

A vampire abroad

2007-02-17T03:01:00.000Z

Yes, I know dear readers - I have been away for some time. As is the whim of we immortals, I have been travelling. I went to France and England; brought back cheese, wine and and samples of hand-crafted lace for mounting my Cameos as chokers.

I first went La Rochelle, wandered among the people enjoying a fete of some kind. In France, you can always find some fete or other; on any given weekend. To me, they where like Christmas in the summer. People loved to dance and drink, eating could be a four hour event and dinners where held as a matter of (6) course(s). The meal was always followed by a DJ or band
If you wanted to show grace to guests, you fed them well and they returned the favour. Fund raising was done by way of dinners such as these. Fees were happily paid for an evening held in the local Maire. (town hall - if you like) Everyone attended, as in some more remote areas these dances where the only highlight.

Like everyone else, I paid my entrance. watched, wandered - took the "little drink" from lovers who ventured to let me toy with them. I greeted people correctly, with a simple kiss to each cheek. My confession is that, the wall was my friend that night. It was more my pleasure to observe the dance of mortality than to follow it's steps. At events like these, the interesting people are the shrinking dark violets. Those that find the corners and take root; clinging desperately to the notion of escape.

It was one such flower that caught my eye,. She looked to be around 17 years old. Blonde, with large fearful blue eyes - painted with strong Egyptian notes. The way she dressed was unlike anyone else. Tight spandex leg wear, heeled boots, band tee shirt and a short denim jacket; decorated with band patches. All this, I noticed first - before the fact that she was confined to a wheelchair.
As an immortal, crowds are a soup of noise and smells. The sensations are as beautiful as they can be terrifying. Remember too, I am 6 feet tall and predisposed to arrogant posturing, simply because I loathe humans. I walk always on stilts, unaffected by peoples view of me.
This girl had no such luxuries. Her world was a-wash with backs, legs and ill-placed handbags to the face. She was lost, out of place and utterly miserable. Even language was painful for her to hear. Her "cracked egg" of a mind, told me she was talker. A wildly intelligent communicator effectively rendered deaf and dumb by her inability to speak French. There she sat, staring at the door...waiting, just waiting for somebody to open up to her.

To be continued...

Correlations..

2006-09-29T02:47:00.000+01:00

Before the ash fell and made my beautiful Pompeii nothing more than a curios for greedy, sweaty tourists. I was a slave, a servant and a lap pet. All my masters were cruel before Arion came. Arion, the one who gave me the dark blood. Put me into the trade of carving cameos (I gave some of my original pieces to Lorraine McQueen - I wonder if she fathomed the value of them before she died - Dear woman. Yes, even I think that)
I fought as a gladiator, not as a man but as a woman. This was my choice back then. I wanted to be different, be noticed, be dragged up by my sandlestraps into a better station. You know all this already, I realize. Why do I mention it now?

In Roma, it is white night month (See link by clicking on blog title) . The stores stay open all night and there are many special events. During September, I can move about more freely at night. People assume I am an eccentric traveler or actor and simply let me go about my business unnoticed. Hunting is rich, due to the high level of thieves picking pockets. As quickly as they pick, so I then pick them off.
Often as I wander the cobbles, I think about the times I wasn't free. How I found pleasure in the the things life did deal me. My skills as a craftsman, the thrill of the fight and last but not least cold and bitter domination of males (even females) who would seek to look upon me with a perverted fascination. These were the things that made me, me. These are the things that I still delight in now.

I have turned the tables and own a house, with staff AND SLAVES..Yes even in this day and age. My manservant Adonis is utterly devoted to me. My opinion: So he should be, but when I have had my fill, I'll make him fight for his life in my very reception hall. He'll lose of course - beg me for the blood after I have nearly drained him dry. Then I shall merryily kiss him goodbye and step on his neck. Well, they shoot horses don't they?

More to be added here..the sun rises and I must rest.

Regards, P

Some things haven't changed

2006-09-17T00:51:00.000+01:00

Brief post, but it illustrates the daily rubbish one such as myself, must endure nightly. (terrible spelling left as as typed by the other)

sarathehealer: whats the hermatiage?
petronia vampire: A home I once shared with another
sarathehealer: oh thought something eles
petronia vampire: yes, why am I not surprised
sarathehealer: well you know
petronia vampire: no actually I do not
petronia vampire: You assumed it had something to do with my ambiguous gender?
sarathehealer: kinda
petronia vampire: Well sorry, but I am not that kind of individual *glares*
sarathehealer: ok sorry... i kinda thought it was sexy
petronia vampire: Everybody does. I am intersexed yes, that is the proper name for my condition. I am not a caricature, neither do I take joy in it. I thank you to remember that.
sarathehealer: so can i see?
petronia vampire: *grabs you and pins you hard to the wall by the throat* A snarling terror of rage* UNLESS YOU WANT YOUR NECK SNAPPED...Leave...NOW... I am NOT an OBJECT for your SEXUAL CURIOSITY. I am a PERSON! I have killed MEN for LESS! DO you understand??!!
sarathehealer: i am not curiose i want to please you
petronia vampire: Well I have no interest IN YOU CHILD. GO! Final warning!

I have nothing to say...I just...Despair. No I did not remove the name, why would I...IDIOT HUMANS!!!

Thank goodness some are minimally sane

vampnet snicker

2006-09-09T02:58:00.000+01:00

I have to say I was amused to the point of laughter this evening while reading 'The Blood Canticle'. In it, Mona Mayfair asks Lestat "Why don't vampires have web sites?" He replies, in his ever-so casual (and annoyingly colloquial) manner "Beats me, Sweetheart. I've never sufficiently recovered from my first sight of a steam locomotive. I almost got run over"
That quote has nothing to do with the sweet person I was to dedicate this entry to. It just amused me, so I included it here. That said, it does illustrate Lestat's odd relationship with the modern world. Later on the same page of the book, Mona points out that he wrote and published his Chronicles (in fact, Mona says 'The Chronicles' - but I refuse to allow him blanket credit for all of them - no no! A reader may assume error on his part. To my mind, it's vanity. Pure and simple) He has little to say in response her observation, except to wax lyrical about how it's the oldest form of expressing ones soul. Far easier to fall back on the example of others, than it is set a precedence. He let Louis do that instead. I am vexed that The Brat has taken up far too much of this entry, my next entry is concerned with far sweeter things.

Quinn #1

2006-09-03T03:12:00.000+01:00

Only the second entry and I have news. I have found Quinn's online presence!! I am amazed it has happened so quickly. His site and blog seem dead but I have sent him a communication via e-mail and will keep you posted as to any reply. Here is a copy of the communication :

'Know that as I write this, I have been awake two straight days. Sleep had eluded me since I found your journal and forum. It's my hope that; you will not elude me in the same manner. However, I note that both your 'sites' are quiet and have been for sometime. So, I have to wonder if you will even receive this 'e-mail' at all.
I'm afraid I was not nearly as imaginative as you; when choosing my Internet persona, noble Abelard. Just my name is enough - Petronia. I realize you find my memory tough to bare, after all - I am the fiend of Sugar Devil Island am I not? Your cruel, thoughtless captor and tormentor.

Oh my dearest Quinn - I am so proud of you - you are beautiful my boy. That said, I have not changed and will never. My impulsiveness is a little lessened , but time has not brought about any softening on my part.
My life has moved on.I have lovers, interests; an on-line presence (which I will give you details of shortly) Through it all though Quinn - I crave to have you with me again. You and your red haired temptress if you like. I know, she is not a temptress. I was simply finding common ground, so you would know me to be who I claim I am.

My home on-line is as lonely as yours Quinn. You have your beloved Ophelia. I have Arion yet still there is you and me, like you and Goblin. Forever bound.

Your maker, your Sire. Petronia.

So, I close now. Leaving the choice as yours. Contact me via the means listed (I have already added you on AOL) I want to be part of your life now, my boy. As you know I should be. Love or hate me - I am part of you.

Graciously,
Petronia

Aim: Petr0nia
Blog: http://blood-and-lava.blogspot.com
'

now we wait...

Good night dear readers,

Petronia

2006-09-02T14:13:00.000+01:00

And so, it begins Dear reader.

I believe I shall simply give my name, Petronia. You may know me from Quinn Blackwood's re-telling of his damnation. I am the face he would put to it, the thief of his young life. I am neither woman nor man, living nor dead.
In life, I was forced to don many masks - Gladiator, whore, slave and artist. Unlife is much the same, only now I choose when and how I don them, gaining more power than can be fathomed by a mere human. I am a killer, drinker of the 'little drink' and I delight in the utter control over YOU that my immortality affords me.

If you think that perhaps I squander this power, my dear Arion would agree with you. He is the only one I shall ever call Master and he despairs at my often-needless rage. So, yes I squandered Quinn. There, are you happy? Your blessed admittance of ill conduct. You wanted me to admit I destroyed a boy at the prime of his life. Yes, I did that thing and will probably do so again. Why? Simply because it was my nature, I make no apologies.
There was a time when the boy loved me, craved my approval in as much as he feared me. The thrall of the Dark Gift insures that he shall never completely loathe me. My heart softened and thus, I gave him his Hemitage back. I owed him that little, did I not?

You wonder at my reasons for following vampiric suite and committing pen to paper. Simply put, it is my desire to use this missive to invite my child back to the fold. To invite all of them, friends and enemies alike. My critics will relish the chance to rally a charge! So, come one come all. How I delight that I disgust & confuse you. How delicious you are to hate me.

Is it that some of you find me magical, driven & intoxicating? My physical duality may truly be seen as a metaphor for the dark trick itself. The delicate balance between one thing and another. All my mortal life I have struggled with the subtleties of my emotional & physical body. Learned to use and harness my natural ambiguity. I was an object of fascination long before I took Master Arion's kiss. The lessons cruelly learned, I will pass on freely. I have to wonder however. Are you, my undead kin, ready to be taught, to learn under me? Will you adore me for showing you the truth of our kind, as you should? Or will you still think me a monster.

Only you, the reader, can decide upon your fate.I close then, hoping my words have fallen on fearless ears. Which of you shall come to me?

Petronia