A Man Loves His Skin

A man loves his skin. He bathes daily to keep it refreshed, using only the finest quality lotion to steep in. He basks in oxygen and sunlight for a few hours on his balcony and makes sure to drink plenty of fluid to keep it hydrated and functioning properly.

A man loves his skin. Prepared just right, paired from the muscle and tendon, washed and wiped of blood, being too messy for his liking. Stripped into slivers of stringy, chewy slices. Scintillating.

A man loves his skin. Across the room, his ebony skin glistening and aromatic of a few hours passed bathing. A man hovers over as if to be levitated by the scent, salivary glands taking hold and releasing a flood, a warning for a man's prey.

A man loves his skin. It is food, it is sustenance, it is life. It has enough of the finer tastings from the Giving Juices. Run red the inner lining of his meals, run red the plate after consumption is completed. Run red the pipes, carrying away the evidence of tonight’s festivity.

A man waits. Over and over, dotage at bay, sunlight moonlight, chasing around and round until nothing takes him. Forever isn’t what he thought it was. A man wants a way out.

Ebony Venom, human scholars created a path. A fortunate find of a man. For in taking of his sweet red, only then can a man take steps toward the void and abyss wished away by the young. A man has enjoyed his time, but find it’s enough. Life is too precious to be hoarded all for one. Regrets aren’t his to bear, a man loved once, a man loved many a skin too, but too long does the past endear and imprint on the memory.

Prepared for his last night, a man took into consideration the many families he’s accumulated, a Ball has gathered. Accoutre and furnishings of yore, nostalgia to finalize the days. An invitation to an Ebony Venom, and a graciously accepted one at that. Scholars cannot believe.

It works for both parties, a man wishing death, and academics wishing freedom. A symphony of effect.

A man loved the world, but loving too long steals from the importance of what it is to love. A man’s swan song has sung, and dance the world has.

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This is the story of an ancient vampire, by the name of Aman. He was not the first vampire, nothing so special. He was as old as history goes, but his death and secondary birth took place at the behest of an aged Cardinal of the Outset. Aman discovered in his last days that an Order of Man has created a vampiric antidote of sorts, a living vampire poison.

Aman being as old as he is, finds the opportunity all too gladly, he has been wishing death upon himself, fearing too long of life has made it lose its lustre. So he wishes to be able to say Farewell to the many families he’s birthed and turned. His love of his early centuries holding the dearest for him, he themes the party a ball. Gathering dresses, tunic, gowns, and garb for the occasion, he fashions his castle with the wearings of the time. The stage is set for his suicide. In meeting the poisoned man, Aman wishes to feast on the skin in the way he treats his favourite meals. Aman has become a connoisseur of flaying and cleansing the blood of his prey, feasting only on the skin for its raw taste rather than the Blood which strengthens him. Aman is a self-deprecating man, cursing his strength after millennia, only drinking to stay his life, but not his power.

In ingesting the human scientist’s project, he finds his death, the cure for his vampirism. The scientists cannot believe how well their plan worked, unknowing of the orchestration by their very target.

Aman dies a happy and peaceful passing, of his own volition and will. He parts the world he so loved so that he could continue to love it.