The first weeks were, for lack of a more elegant word, abominable. The sounds you made alone... those high-pitched, unholy shrieks could have driven lesser creatures to madness.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFAq53XInkr
And I wasn't far from it myself.
And then there was the tiresome matter of feeding. Humans need food, not blood. You required, as it turned out... milk. No blood reserves. No raw meat. No essence of tormented souls.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNUcoLdKAMT
No.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5I2iR0abmf
Dull, white milk. You spat most of it right back out, but eventually, I thought, something had to work, right?21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSX6Zi3baX2
I learned through countless errors. I thought: warmth equals comfort, doesn't it?21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvs70SVhCCR
And since I myself am dead, I cannot truly feel warmth. So I did what any clueless vampire would do: I poured the milk into a dented pan, warmed it by the fire... and handed you a bottle that, as I now know, was nearly boiling.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvL5NhbHStI
You screamed so suddenly and so loudly. I panicked and dropped the goatskin. It fell to the ground and with it the steaming milk spilled across the cold stone floor. You cried. I held you desperately, rocking you somewhat soothingly, while cursing myself in every language I knew. The following hour I spent like a ridiculous dairy maid: cooling the milk on the windowsill, until I could say with certainty: "This one... won't burn her."
"What a pitiful appetite," I mocked one night, holding a goatskin bottle to your mouth like it was a cursed artifact. I had to try what worked. Goat milk. Cow milk. Sheep milk. And a vile herbal concoction from the hut of a rotting druid named Grellborn, because you would not stop crying.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDLeRcDSq6g
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Ah, Grellborn, a geriatric, half-decomposed herbalist who always claimed he was "once forged by lightning," though I rather believe he was conceived during a lukewarm summer drizzle that ended after five minutes.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxSzJpke6ad
I spare him because he's occasionally useful with his tinctures. He knows which herbs alter states of mind; they ward off the eternal boredom of eternity. And because his blood would taste musty. I can smell it. I entrust him with my secrets now and then, knowing they'll never leave the room.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTYGstiecj4
For his exceedingly generous services, I sometimes hunt him a rabbit or fetch him some bones from a crypt that he grinds up for his tinctures.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwVOJTx9uj8
He says the cold in the crypt makes his bones ache, but I think he's just scared and won't admit it. The old bastard.
"Szandor," he said calmly, "the child is in pain. Her belly cramps from the milk. No demonic possession." He sat in his chair, hands folded over his stomach, and I thought he'd fall asleep any second.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrvUdej3lmq
"With all due respect, Grell, the only creatures that scream like this are banshees."21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0NXKUi633Y
I placed you deliberately on Grellborn's curved hardwood table, whimpering, ready at any moment to start wailing again. Grellborn didn't look at you. He didn't need to. He knows everything, he always knows. After a deep breath, he reached for his walking stick, which he fondly called his "wand", and shuffled through his hut.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDZbvDGpnr7
He opened a few drawers, each creaking as if the wood was ready to give out.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡP1ij4O455d
"You're giving her cow milk?" he mumbled into his white beard, "by all sacred river nymphs, Szandor... she's no calf. Cow milk is heavy on a baby's belly."21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkKZ82LnbCK
I rolled my eyes. "She refuses all other milk. I don't want a wet nurse with human milk. Cow's the only thing she wants." Grellborn turned toward me with the slowness of a planet and raised a bushy eyebrow.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMaouK6jWUK
"Ah. She drinks like you. Picky, with a flair for the dramatic, godbless." He drew out a small clay bowl and, with astonishingly steady hands, crumbled various dried leaves into it. "Fennel, chamomile, a touch of valerian. Not for demon expulsion. Just for baby intestines."
Through painful attempts and embarrassingly many mistakes I found out: cow milk, heated to exactly body temperature, was the only thing you liked. Herbs helped with the cramps. I crushed them fresh, steeped them in barely-cooled water, and dabbed the brew into your mouth with a cloth or gave it to you straight in a bottle. And if all of that failed, only one thing calmed you: me. My voice, monotone and deep. No emotion. No rise or fall. Just the steady murmur of a creature who long forgot what sleep feels like. A vampire's lullaby. What an absurd notion.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaITqrt38eB
You were small. So devastatingly small. I thought a strong sneeze might snap your spine. You were still in that odd baby phase where everything wobbles and limbs move like wet noodles. I held you close, arm under your tiny head, the bottle tilted just right. Your lips latched with the resolve of a general, brow furrowed as if you were conquering a kingdom. I should have been bored. To my own surprise, I wasn't. I watched your throat, the way you swallowed. Felt your warmth against my chest, your heartbeat. And then came the thought. Unbidden, yet piercing: "I could drain her in an instant. And instead I give her life." It was dizzying, that reversal. I, the hunter, you, the prey. And yet... I nourished you. Not with blood. With milk. It wasn't affection. It was power. Gentle, alien, addictive power. A kind of control I had never known before. And I didn't know whether it frightened me more... or intoxicated me.
But to procure fresh milk every day? And freshly? Eh... now, that was an undertaking of its own.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbLRdgXS9LY
A delicate operation if you will. You see, once I discovered your preference, not goat, but warm, sweet cow milk, everything changed. You drank nothing else. Wrinkled your nose at goat milk, as if it had wronged you in a past life. You screamed bloody murder. Spat it out. Soiled my fine clothes.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡC9bzBlZPBK
The first few times I nearly hurled the bottle across the room. Not at you, I never aimed at you, but the sheer insult of being outwitted by a creature the size of a wine bottle? Madness. I cursed like a blacksmith berating a dense apprentice. So what does one do when one must fetch fresh cow milk daily... at dusk... and one is a vampire?21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEJyKj6VvYi
One improvises.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuiWZOjIwSS
Yes, I left you behind in the mansion. Safe. Always after you were fed, clean, bundled up and, of course, magically protected. Seals on the door. An enchanted nursery no wandering soul would ever find, should they foolishly stray onto my estate. Then I donned my cloak, long, black, flowing, as tradition demands, and slipped into the nearby village just as the sun dipped behind the hills. But mind you: I didn't simply buy the milk. Too conspicuous.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡl9sdwKG2BM
The same pale, ageless man, evening after evening, asking for fresh milk and vanishing before dawn? Too risky. People always talk. So I made arrangements. On the edge of town lay a farm. Quiet. Tidy. No questions asked. I paid a silver coin per week to an old, blind man who never looked at me.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYTwL3nXWH6
He left the milk in a cool box near the stable and found a satisfying coin under a stone. 21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvsUFaoyCMy
So I returned, walking through the woods, milk in hand like a deranged nanny from a grim fairytale, always hoping you hadn't awoken. Sometimes you had. Your cries tore through the silence as I neared the house, sharp, pleading. And oh gods, how they cut through me.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhDtmSqWe4j
I ran to you. A vampire, sprinting up stone steps, clutching a bottle of milk. And you reached for me, flailing like a living loaf of bread, and the moment I held you, the moment I offered you that ridiculous milk, you calmed. When I warmed it beforehand, I'd stir in a little spoon of honey. I convinced myself it helped you sleep. It was a nuisance. It was impractical. And I never missed a single night.
And as for cleaning you? Well, that was a chore. Would you believe me if I told you I was entirely unprepared for the sheer flood of bodily emissions a baby can produce? I understood blood: its texture, its scent, its sublime consistency... but... this? This godless slurry of milk, bile, and something that might once have been applesauce?21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIrcGdPA9mM
It was... humbling. At first I wore gloves. Silk, of course, but eventually I accepted the filth as part of the... experience.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqMaW3404GV
I cleaned you with fresh river water warmed over an old iron pan, muttering a string of curses like a deranged witch, while you kicked and screamed. You always tried to grab my hair. An especially annoying habit. I set up a basin in the washroom. Lukewarm water, lavender oil if I could spare it, otherwise chamomile, and scrubbed every cloth until it was soft and spotless again. Sometimes I boiled them afterward on the stove. For safety. Steam rose in the quiet hours of the night, my hands red and sore from the soap suds. The scent clung to me, to the walls, to you. And you know what was most impractical? You hated the smell of lavender. Wrinkled your tiny face and sneezed, as if the scent had insulted your entire lineage. So I gave it up.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMqpS8xa65d
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I folded each cloth into a precise, tidy square. Stacked them where you couldn't reach, but could always see them, just so you'd know: someone cared for you and kept things in order. Strange, isn't it? I, a creature of centuries, butcher of men, master of beasts... spent my evenings scrubbing shit from cotton.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkRredKa2jn
And believe it or not, I'd do it again in a heartbeat.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmvPAvrq2ky
Every soiled cloth. Every flailing tantrum. Every sticky, squirming bath. Because it meant:21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDpb0yjom8w
You were alive.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡywmQNZXiDi
Growing. Mine.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCyPjw6Ldll
And maybe... just maybe...21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqkvtffUfoq
it made me feel a touch human. Something I thought long forgotten.
