Perhaps my curse is that I was born.
My mother was a vampire and my father a werewolf, nothing more but nothing less. I have lived over a thousand years and have experienced every aspect of humanity and wilderness there could ever exist. Pain is my every day companion and I have grown used to it. I torture myself regularly and I have committed suicide more often than I can remember, in many different ways. I found jumping off a building the most deliberating one.
My name is Simone and this is my story.
One thousand years have passed but I only remember the last 500 years. I met someone, someone that did not spit on me for who I was and did not invent ways to kill me. Someone who loved me for who I was and made me laugh every morning and smile every evening. He was human and I was happy.
As all good aspects in life, this one too had to be destroyed. One day he was taken from me. We were together laughing and joking. Then he died just like that, right before my eyes, killed and burned, gone. I could not rescue him. They killed me as well but what does killing mean to an immortal? I truly mean the word and every sense of it. I cannot die. So help me God I cannot die in any way: head cut off, burned, injected with silver, shot, stabbed in the heart, you name it. Once I was locked up for 50 years. I believe that is the only way to stop me. Stop me from what? I don’t know but people tend to believe bad things about me. I guess a vampire with lycanthrope tendencies does not look very friendly.
For hundreds of years I longed for the love I had lost and searched for similarities in others but never found them as precise as I desired. Until 150 years ago.
I was chasing a wolf pack for my own amusement or desperation. I liked being surrounded by wolves as they made me feel accepted and part of a family. But it was always temporary until they sensed my true nature and ran away.
Running through the forest I reached a house. It was tall, white and impressive though it took me a moment to see it all. And as simple as some things in life can be, I saw him. He was just sitting on the porch.
Years of searching, dreaming, praying and giving up and now there he was. Imagine my reaction.
I did not approach him. I just kept watching hidden behind a tree, studying his features.
He looked wonderful: black smooth hair falling over an angel face with dark eyes and perfect skin. I tried to find the differences between him and the one I lost. But, I couldn’t. He looked exactly the same, as if he had stayed alive all those years but that would have been impossible.
I did not approach him. I decided to watch him that whole day instead. It all seemed normal for as normal as life was in those days. He lived in a small town inhabited by a few people, all knowing each other of course. From the looks of it, he was fortunate with a house, a family, he had a brother, a mother and a father with whom he dined. In addition, he had love. Naturally, there had to be love in his life, a woman who would touch his face, kiss those lips and be held in his arms. He was living a life my lost love did not. He was happy and his future lay ahead.
I knew I should have left him alone but I was selfish. I wanted to see him that night and tell him I loved him, look in his eyes and maybe see something. The resemblance was so great, maybe he was brought back to me.
I climbed to his window and waited for the perfect moment.
He stood in his room, a beautifully decorated chamber with gold and white colors and flowers on the ceiling. It was now or never.
Then it happened.
It was horrible. I saw him. I saw him for who he truly was. He was not human!