Vampire Journals: Story of Alexandra Jenkins

An Excerpt from The Journal of Alexandra Jenkins

It has occurred to me that I have not written in this journal on the events of the end of my life. I have seen that there are many who have lived for a very long time and their memories of the far past grow dim. I do not think that losing information that I may someday need is a wise thing to do, so I shall now endeavour to pen all that has occurred. In the years leading up to my death I was the plaything of men. I sang for a gentlemen's club largely ignored as they smoked their cigars and drank their brandy. I was, to them, a pretty songbird. Something to have in the room so that they could believe that I was there for them, instead of my wages. It was an illusion I did my utmost to uphold, for as they saw me as nothing more than a bird they talked around me. Spoke of trades and business and occasionally less savoury things. I filed it all away and at the end of each day I would write it all in this journal, I became known in the circles of those who sell knowledge as Songbird and for a fee, the knowledge I had was yours. Knowledge was my trade and beauty and music the tools with which I gained it. I was ruthless and used any trick I could conceive of to get what I wanted. I was young and beautiful and I revelled in it. It was the spring of my 21st year when Dorian began coming to me for information. He was a handsome man, a bit pale, and slightly behind the times of fashion. But he had a lordly air about him and he treated me not as a tool but as a person. I've no doubt that it was simply a trick to garner trust from me. But to a woman of 1898 it was truly a nice change. I never met with Dorian when the sun was up, but then most underhanded dealings occurred under cover of night. A quaint conceit that I've always been rather fond of. Regardless, eventually Dorian began coming around without any need of information and it seemed to me as if he were courting me. I know now he was observing, weighing options in his own mind. Eventually in late October Dorian came to me. His speech was obviously practised in advance, for it was carefully thought out and the arguments prepared to have the most weight in my mind.
He played upon my own fears of growing old, for beauty was the only coin I truly had to work with and the ravages of foul time were something I feared greatly. Then he offered me a way out, a way to escape Time and sickness. He was elusive as to what this may be, but you cannot be in the information trade in London as long as I and not hear whispers of... things, mysterious happenings that had no logical explanation. He had earned my trust over the months we had known each other and so I accepted his offer. It was then that he bit me, and there was ecstasy in that bite. I could feel my heart slowing, feel the pull of peace from beyond. It was quiet... and it terrified me. When he offered me his bleeding wrist I drank like a drowning man clings to a floating board in the sea. I would not go into that quiet, that nothingness. I drank his blood and his blood was like fire and ice mixed together. I drank and drank, in his blood was power and I made that power mine. After what seemed an eternity at his wrist he took it away, and I believe I whimpered for it's loss. But he picked me up and took me to his home and laid me upon his bed, and I remember no more of that night. I awoke the next night to find him sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, staring at me, waiting for me. I rose and he smiled and took me to my old home. There I packed my belongings and we returned to his flat, which was to be my new home as I learned under him. Then he had me dress in my finest and took me to meet his leader. The Prince of the vampires of London, a man named Mithras. Even untrained as I was I could feel the power radiating from him and I knew that as I would crush a fly so Mithras could crush me. Dorian presented me as his Childe and Mithras welcomed me. It seemed so... archaic, but I suppose for people who have been alive for centuries a touch of archaism is to be expected. After my presentation Dorian took me home and fed me from one of his pets, his herd he called them. He gave me a handsome young thing. I remember that boy's face clearly, his tousled blonde hair and his dreamy blue eyes, and I especially remember as he offered his long lily white neck to me. I drank and his blood was sweeter than wine, purer than gold, I knew that for me there was no other blood then the blood of the beautiful men. Years would pass, for though Time had no sway over me any longer it still marched on for the rest of the world. Dorian taught me of the need to hide among men and of those foul Vampires who did not. He taught me how to see with new eyes and to hone my beauty to a finer point so that I could, just by existing, dazzle those around me or make them run in fear. The century turned and the world of Men began to change, Germany started a war, a war unlike any other seen before. They called it the Great War. I called it the Great Famine, for all my pretty men went to fight for King and Country. Such a waste...
I was forced to live on those too sickly to go to war, or those sent back with wounds too great. They were still attractive, but it was the beauty of a wounded sparrow rather than a fierce hawk. Eventually the war came to a close and something incredible occurred. Women, all across Britain began demanding equal rights to men. I fought for this cause, never as a central figure, but I stood by my sisters, demanding the vote. I still recall the rally songs, I can almost hear them as a whisper in the back of my ear. It was a glorious time to be alive(?), a golden age as the new century moved forward into an age of enlightenment. But in the circles of my people things did not fair so well. Our Prince, Lord Mithras had fallen into slumber, a slumber our kind calls 'Torpor'. It was unknown whether he would awake.
With Mithras asleep, Dorian left me, saying that I was ready to be on my own. He was from France I learned and he had a desire to return to his homeland. He left me his flat and I have not seen him since. I found myself alone, and with my Sire gone I had no one I could trust completely. So I returned to what I did best. I learned the new music of the time and I became a singer in a lounge. While with the suffrage movement I no longer had the same level of invisibility I still was simply background sound to those in the lounge. They spoke at length in tones too low for mortals to overhear. But I am not mortal and their secrets became mine.
I passed this information on to the leaders who stood in Mithras' stead. Stock tips and insider trading, black market dealings, and criminal plots. And for those young people who came to the lounge merely to drink and be merry, from them I found men to slake my thirst. I never killed, just a sip here and there, enough to leave them feeling tired and sore. But they came back for more. Now there are whispers in the wind of another war, Germany grows strong under the ministrations of this Hitler, and he moves against Poland. I do not know what is to come, but I fear it will not be good.